The Last Time I Puked

As Elise's birthday approaches, I realize that it's important to me for her to know the story of her arrival. The title of this post comes from a conversation we had during our small group (yeah, I know). I couldn't think of the last time I had thrown up. But then it hit me... when I was pregnant, every day, sometimes three times a day, for about twenty weeks. Good times.

The pregnancy started off fairly normal. I didn't feel any different, and since we weren't telling anybody, life went on as usual. Then, at about week 7 it started. I'll spare you the details, but it was awful. I lost 13 pounds my first trimester. I was already thin to begin with, so losing 13 pounds was pretty drastic. Apparently, some of my friends were ready to have an intervention because they were so worried about me. People were telling me to go to the doctor. I kept thinking to myself, "Duh, I am!" But we still weren't telling anybody, so the whispers continued. It was so funny to see their faces when we finally did tell.

We found out she was a she when I was at 15 weeks. In my heart, I had always known it was going to be a girl, and it made it that much more real to have it confirmed. We started talking names, and I really loved the name Elise, after a little girl I had nannied for. Fred was cool with that, but coming up with a middle named proved to be more difficult. I was pushing for the name Rian (it's a Gaelic word that means imprint), but Fred wasn't so sure. He said that people wouldn't know how to spell it, or pronounce it. But to me, it WAS the name of our little girl. Fred finally agreed. We had our name!

At 20 weeks, my OB decided to retire. Seriously? You don't do that to a pregnant woman whose hormones are making her a little (okay, a lot) unbalanced. I cried, and then threatened to key his car. He recommended another OB, and I really believe God had His hand all over this one. She turned out to be an amazing doc, and was the perfect person to bring Elise into this world.

Since the travel embargo of 32 weeks was rapidly approaching, we decided to head to San Francisco for our final trip before Elise arrived. It was so fun to see old friends, and visit our old hang-outs. We even took a drive to the beach we were married at in Carmel.

One day, at about 33 weeks, I decided to clean my bathtub. Because pregnancy makes you incredibly stupid at times, I got in the tub right after I had finished cleaning it. As I said in a previous post, clean bathtubs are slippery bathtubs. I fell, and hit my stomach on the side of the tub. My doc ordered my to go to the hospital, and when they checked me out, they discovered that I was having pretty regular, strong contractions. So after many, many shots and two nights in the hospital, labour was stopped and I could go home. It was scary, but I'm glad we got to have that "dry run". I think it helped me to know what to expect when it was really time.

I'd be lying if I said I enjoyed being pregnant... I was so sick for such a long time. But I did have many good times. Three wonderful baby showers were thrown for me. One by the people at church (where I volunteered), one by my friends (a fun pyjama party where we stayed up until 2 a.m. playing Twister, Guitar Hero, and eating pizza), and one by Fred's work (such a blessing that people would want to do this for Fred and I). Fred and I took baby classes with friends that were due about three weeks after I was. My favourite part of being pregnant was feeling Elise move. It is so amazing to feel God's handiwork growing inside you, it's unexplainable.

So those are just a few of my memories from when I was pregnant. Next up, the delivery!