Take two

So, my very subtle nurse-friend told me that Korenna looks a little (okay, a LOT) yellow in that picture below, so I thought I would post another one so you know she is a normal color and not a misguided Smurf.

She doesn't look very girly there, but, fortunately, not EVERYTHING she owns is pink.

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Remember when Dillon would never nurse and I was his stubborn mama who insisted on pumping milk for him so he didn't have to eat formula?

You don't? Well, even if you don't remember, my mammaries do. Yesterday they triggered on their biological purpose and began filling up like water balloons in anticipation of the electric baby that was their relief for so many months. Instead, they got a tiny five-day-old human baby who can barely swallow an ounce at a time. The result is a disproportionate amount of milk, extra bottles taking up space in the fridge, and the incorporation of the pump already in our daily routine.

If it looks like a cow, and acts like a cow ...

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I would love to post a picture of Dillon with his new sister, but he is keeping his distance. He wants to tell her "ni-ni" and "I loh loo, Kwenna" but all from about three feet away. I am sure he feels a little intruded upon. So as soon as I can fit them both in the same camera frame (without tears) I'll get a picture for you.

'Til then, here is big brother helping daddy plant trees.

Korenna Kate

She is here! You wouldn't know it, cause it is pretty quiet at the Johnson house. She just sleeps a lot, and occasionally lets loose with a high-pitched girly cry when she is uncomfortable or hungry. But mostly, she just sleeps.

That is just fine by me!

Send me up some prayers. Tomorrow is the big day. :)

See you on the flip side!

Where is the path most taken, please?

In addition to my own medical woes, it seems that Dillon now is hosting the influenza virus. Daniel took him to a new doc today, while I was at my very last prenatal visit. Dr. G is my doctor, and Dr. D is Dillon's doctor.

I was checking out, saying fond farewells to my weekly-friends at the reception desk when someone stuck their head around the corner:

"Dr. G! Dr. D is on the phone for you."

(Okay, so this is a small town. And D is a common name. But still, a little weird.)

Just then, my cell rang. It was Daniel:

"Dr. D wants Dr. G to reschedule your c-section cause Dillon has the flu."

At the same time, Dr. G looks at me from his phone (he IS talking to Dillon's doc!), and says quietly into the receiver, "Um, yeah. The mother isn't going to go for that..."

My brain says: BWHAHAHAHAHAHA! YOU have GOT to be FREAKIN' KIDDING ME!

I can't BREATHE! My only hope of pain relief is going to come in the minutes after they extract this baby from my womb and start pumping me full of anti-inflammatory drugs for this killer pleurisy that I have. And Dr. D thinks I am going to willingly postpone that???

Thankfully, Dr. G knows better. He sets the record straight, reassures me that we will be doing a c-section on Thursday morning, as planned, and calls in some Tamiflu for me and the rest of my family.

So, in the meantime, I am sitting at home, holding my breath. For two reasons, really. The first is to provide short stints of pain relief for my lung. The second reason I am holding my breath is because I am praying fervently that Daniel doesn't get the flu. Wouldn't that be the icing on the cake?

Night walking

I went to bed early last night. (I know I am not supposed to be complaining, but pleurisy feels like you are walking around with a knife through your chest and coming out your back.) I needed some rest.

I slept pretty hard till about three, when my corner of the world lit up. That is what it seems like when Dillon's monitor shows sound. We usually keep the volume off because the bright flare of red lights wakes me up. I watched for a second, and listened, and I could hear his panicked voice coming down the hall.

I nudged Daniel. "Hey."

"Hmmmmmm?" he mumbled into his pillow.

"Can you go see what he needs?" I said, in my best I-am-hurting-so-bad-I-can't-move voice.

"Mmmmhmmm..." he said.

Poor Daniel.

He jumped up out of bed and lumbered toward the door like an intoxicated Rip Van Winkle.

*BAM!*

You know in cartoons, when someone runs into a pole, their arms and legs stick straight out in front of them on either side of the pole, then they slide to the ground with stars circling their heads? Well, that is what happened to Daniel.

Except it was the door, not a pole. It was open, and at just the right angle so he could run into the narrow part. With his head.

"Oh," was all he said.

I lay still and quiet, expecting him to collapse in the floor, KO'd by our very own house. But he didn't.

He opened Dillon's door and I heard Lil' D say, "Mama-mama! I got boogas!"

Oh, sheesh! Well, at least it wasn't a real emergency. I doubt Daniel would have had the snap to respond after his collision.

(I'll update later about if he has scars to show for his late night battle. I fully expect something! It was a rough fight.)

Still here

Yep. I am still here. I have been a little whiny lately, and who wants to read about all my gripes? Probably not you. And I don't want to write them! I am so blessed to be pregnant! It is an amazing gift from God. But lemme curse Eve for her poor decision making skills, cause the pain of labor comes weeks before the actual labor.

I'll have a c-section on Thursday, the 24th. Then our little girl will be here! We are working hard on preparing Dillon. We talk about it every day and read stories about new brothers and sisters. He puts his mouth against my belly and shouts "Helllloooo, bobby!" ("Bobby" is his word for baby, and it is too dang cute to correct, okay?) My sister suggested getting him a little doctor kit for when he comes to visit us in the hospital, so he won't be weirded out that mommy is in a bed and can't move and has staples in her stomach.

So, that is what is going on here. We won't talk about the sciatica, the severe cough, the pleurisy, the tailbone pain, or the overall fatigue.

Dangit, Eve!

Pregnant leg syndrome

I vaguely remember feeling a little uncomfortable in my own skin toward the end of my pregnancy with Dillon.

I more clearly remember my feeling last night as I lay in bed, trying desperately to get comfortable and fall asleep. Every nerve in my body cried out for me to move. To stretch. To twitch. To shift. To flex. To relax.

Ohmygosh, I thought I was going crazy. My scalp even felt restless.

"This is mind over matter," I thought. "If I can just lay still and ignore these impulses, I'll be asleep in no time."

I lasted about six seconds, then in a huge scary burst of pent up energy, I flipped from one side to another, the sheets and comforter puffing up and then drifting down to settle around me. "Ah. That's better. Mmmm... wait. I just need to move my ankle. And shift my shoulder down a little."

Fortunately, Daniel had stayed up to watch television in the living room, because, at one point, I was balanced ridiculously on my forehead and my knees, holding my huge belly off the mattress. Just trying to find some position of comfort. It wasn't happening.

I guess I finally wore myself to the point of exhaustion, because I woke up this morning a little better. Still a little twitchy, but better.

I really feel for people who truly have RLS, constantly, daily. Pregnancy isn't the only time I have felt this. I know there have been other nights I have kicked my feet like an Olympic swimmer to try to satisfy the tickle in my nerves. But I get relief - it isn't every day that I have these symptoms.

Usually, when I am not pregnant, a glass of wine will do it for me. Or any other legal sedative.

But, I am thinking that if it happens tonight, I will just tough it out.

It is mind over matter, you know.