Babies and Bagels

I had been, all in all, quite happy with the way this pregnancy was progressing until Monday. I hadn’t experienced near the degree of nausea I did with either of the girls, and although I was exhausted, I was feeling much like myself pre-baby. I think I’d rather deal with nausea than unexpected bleeding, but life isn’t really a game in which we can pick and choose situations like this. I am where I am, and that’s okay.

Nausea did find me Monday, though. And Tuesday. And while it’s coming back down to tolerable levels now, I was reminded of how bizarre pregnancy can really make a woman. With Anna, I was very sick for the first 13 weeks, and I remember the foods that were comforting to me were not the standard go-tos for the traditional upset stomach. I wanted nothing to do with Gatorade, Sprite, saltine crackers, toast, or chicken noodle soup. I wanted bagels with cream cheese, beef ramen noodles, loaded-down hot dogs, strawberry yogurt, and lemonade about as tart as you could make it. I remember savoring the brief break in the nausea granted by overly salty ramen noodles one night around 11:00. I was slurping them in bed beside Brian, and out of habit, I politely asked him if he wanted some. His incredulous look said it all, “Are you seriously asking me that question?! No. A thousand times, no.”

Ramen noodles are, once again, a staple in my cabinet, and I found myself trying to push thoughts of a plain Lender’s bagel with cream cheese out of my mind for nearly two hours yesterday before I caved and drove to the store to buy some.  I could have called someone instead of rolling off the couch and out the door in baggy sweats, but I told myself, “It’s modified bed rest, right?” and “It would be ridiculous to ask someone to buy me a bagel just because I’m a hormonal idiot.”  The bagel, by the way, tasted glorious.

So far in the early hours of today, there are no signs of bleeding. I am still doing my best to stay off my feet, well aware that the little life I carry is far more valuable than a stocked pantry or a clean house. (I do feel a bit bad that the baby got demoted by a bagel yesterday, but I like to think that the fat from that cream cheese will be put to good use myelinating developing neurons…or something…)

I have been humbled and renewed by this time of rest and am looking forward to slowly working my way back into normal routines. I’ve missed being Mom, missed rocking Anna and plunking Kate Kate into her bed at night. (Kate doesn’t think much of rocking. She looks at me with annoyance in her face and points to her bed when I try.) I missed watching them trick-or-treat last night, missed seeing them at their school Halloween parade. But we are all still here; we’re blessed, and I’m not moping. There’s too much to be grateful for to mope.

For some reason this morning, I’m remembering Anna’s words as we drove to the pediatrician’s office last week for the girls to get their flu shots. I suppose her words of wisdom are as applicable to our present situation as they were then. Anna, although apprehensive, was assuring her baby sister, “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid. The Lord is your helper.” I was so proud of her, proud of the little seeds of faith I can see taking root in her, grateful that Jesus is capturing her heart already. I asked if she was going to get her shot first to show Kate how to be brave. Anna gave me a resounding no.

“I want Kate Kate to go first, Mom.  I will help her be brave later.”

I suppose we all have a little room for improvement.