{ Miss Peanut's Story, Part II }

When the alarm on my phone beeped on Thursday morning, telling me to get up now if I wanted to take a shower before going to the NICU for rounds at 8am, it seemed like I'd just fallen asleep. Considering that my last shower had been before we went to the hospital on Wednesday, another one was definitely needed. Everything that had happened since had been so intense, so physically and emotionally draining, I literally felt like I wasn't the same person. The jitters of Wednesday morning--membranes ruptured, no contractions, getting ready to go to the hospital--were literally a lifetime away from right now: tiny parent sleeping room, tiny baby daughter in the NICU, no idea what's going to happen in the next few hours.

Children's has this awesome setup where they have a few tiny rooms in the hospital for parents of NICU patients to sleep. Each one is just a double bed, a nightstand and lamp, and about a foot of space at the foot and on one side of the bed. Because Lainie was a congenital diaphragmatic hernia baby {typically very ill}, we got one of those rooms. There are also a couple of bathrooms with showers, a kitchen area, and laundry facilities. The space was undergoing renovations during our stay and half the sleeping rooms were unusable, so we were extremely fortunate to get one.

Down in the NICU, we found Lainie getting an echocardiogram, followed by an ultrasound of her diaphragma and a chest x-ray. We met her day nurse, Ramah, and went to rounds, where all the physicians were extremely positive about her health {and literally everyone remarked on what a cute baby she is}. I remember the attending neonatologist remarking that he wasn't sure if Elaina had had any poopy diapers yet, to which Ramah quickly replied, "Oh, she poops a lot!"

 

:: Daddy and Lainie ::

:: Mama and Lainie ::

At some point, we learned that the surgeon on call, the one who had paged us at 4am, wanted to take Lainie to surgery that morning.

Oh wow.

Not ready for that one. CDH {congenital diaphragmatic hernia} babies are usually taken to surgery when they are 2-7 days old; they do better when their bodies have time to adjust to life outside the womb before the trauma of surgery. But as the surgeon, Dr. M, explained to us, Lainie essentially wasn't "sick." Her hernia appeared to be so mild that it wasn't interfering with much of anything; she was breathing, pooping, etc. just fine. And there just happened to be one opening on the surgery schedule that day: 11am.

I was kind of freaked that her surgery was going to be today, but I don't think I had the emotional energy for any response except to just go with it. We talked it over with Dr. M, who is a very down-to-earth, friendly, high-energy guy in his 40's or 50's. He was confident that there was no reason to delay; Lainie was doing so well that they might as well hurry up and operate so she could begin recovering and go home sooner.

We spent the morning in Lainie's room, taking turns holding her. It was a two-patient room that she shared with a little fellow who kept having troubles breathing; there was a CD player with one CD on repeat the.entire.time.Lainie.was.in.that.room. It was a very soft, mellow, Enya-type album, but gee whiz, I was beginning to think it was groundhog day by the time we got out of there! I also became thoroughly acquainted with my new best friend, the breastpump. Because part of Lainie's GI tract might be going through the hernia, and because she'd have surgery in a couple hours, she couldn't take anything orally. {That's also why she had the suction tube in her stomach, vacuuming out stomach acid because her tummy was empty.} Depending on many factors, including how quickly she recovered from surgery, it could be a couple of weeks before she was able to take anything by mouth, so pumping became my new part-time job. In the meantime, she was getting IV nutrition.

The hours stretched by. Eleven o'clock came and went. Ramah called the OR. Her surgery has been delayed...not sure how much. Finally, with both of us famished and 2pm nearing {that's when the cafeteria closes for a couple hours}, Mike and I went to grab lunch, armed with cell phones and the pager that all NICU parents must have on them at all times. We had literally just gotten to the cafeteria...Mike was serving himself some onion rings...and I realized the pager bleeping, that oh-so-familiar sound from my working days, was coming from Mike's pocket. I don't remember if we called the phone number they'd paged us to, or if we just ran, but when we got to the NICU, the surgical team was waiting to take our baby. The nurse gave us the basics of what would happen. The anesthesiologist, a white-haired man with a British accent {Scottish? English?} explained the anesthesia. There was another guy, but I don't remember who he was. I was fighting tears, trying desperately not to cry, thinking a million things but mostly I'm not ready for my baby to go to surgery, I don't know how to say goodbye, I don't know what to say, what if this is goodbye?

Mike asked them if we could have a minute alone with her and everyone stepped out. We prayed for Lainie--or did just Mike pray? I don't remember--as I furiously wiped away tears. They told us we could follow them partway to the OR. So we did, as far as we could, and then they stopped and let us kiss her goodbye, and then they took her through double doors and we had to turn around and walk away.

I remember Mike asking if I wanted to get lunch from the cafeteria or go out somewhere, and being appalled at the thought of leaving the hospital during her operation. We ate in the cafeteria and then set up camp in one of the ICU waiting rooms. I called my parents, I think for the first time since talking to them soon after Lainie was born. The OR paged us once, to let us know that things were going fine. It seemed like not very long after that we were paged again, but this time it was because the operation was over and Dr. M wanted to talk to us. We met him in a little consult area. The surgery went great. He did it laparoscopically, through three small incisions on her side and back. The hole in her diaphragm was small, so he stitched it shut {rather than having to use a patch--yay!}. The probable reason the hernia had not been visible at her 19-week ultrasound--and that she could breathe just fine--was because she had a Morgagni hernia, which accounts for only 2% of all cases of CDH. Over 95% of diaphragmatic hernias are Bochdalek hernias, which involve the back part of the diaphragm, usually on the left side; they usually cause very severe medical problems. Morgagni hernias, however, involve the front and middle part of the diaphragm. Because they affect a different part of the diaphragm than Bochdalek hernias, often the only organ that goes through the hernia is the liver, rather than the intestines or stomach--so unlike the far more common Bochdalek hernias, Morgagnis often don't have symptoms. Many are not diagnosed until adulthood {and considering how perfectly Lainie functioned after birth, she may very well have fallen into that category if not for the ultrasound at 30 weeks}. In Lainie's case, the only organ that had gone through the hole was a 1.0 x 1.4 cm piece of liver. They put it back and Lainie was doing great! 

Around 5:30pm we were notified that Lainie was back in her room and we could see her. The British anesthesiologist was just leaving and explained that he had given her an epidural for post-surgical pain control. It's the only type of pain medication that did not have the possible side effect of depressing her breathing, so with an epidural she didn't need to keep the breathing tube they'd used during the operation.

She was completely out, a little puffier than I remembered, more IVs and some red marks on her cheek where the breathing tube had been taped down. Tiny rosy lips and eyelids so puffy we couldn't see her eyelashes at all. We couldn't see her incisions {they are toward the back of her side, if that  makes sense}; it was hard to believe her diaphragm had been repaired.

Our night nurse, Bessie, was awesome. She told us we were so lucky that Dr. M did Lainie's surgery! He was the first doctor to do laparoscopic {robotic} surgery on pediatric patients--he literally pioneered the equipment and techniques used in Lainie's operation. Bessie said he didn't operate very much any more, because he is so busy writing textbooks and traveling to teach other people how to do these surgeries. Mike and I just looked at each other, remembering Dr. M's parting words a few hours earlier: "I'm going on vacation tomorrow, so one of my colleagues will be following up with your daughter in the morning."

Lainie "just happened" to be born 16 days early. Dr. M "just happened" to be on call the night she came to Children's.There "just happened" to be one opening in the surgery schedule. She "just happened" to be well enough to go to surgery at 21 hours old. This "just happened" to be Dr. M's last day at work before leaving on vacation. So Lainie "just happened" to have her hernia repair performed by the world expert on laparoscopic chest surgery.

In other words, Jesus orchestrated all of this so that Lainie got the best possible care--better than we could ever have asked or imagined or planned! How can you plan something like this?! Here she was, barely a day old, hernia already repaired, resting comfortably, breathing easily, so well loved by her Heavenly Father.

Our pastor and his wife came to visit and brought us dinner that night. That was the first of many visits-and-dinners our church family gifted us. We chatted and laughed relief over Lainie's well-ness and smiled at her tininess, in disbelief over how quickly and how well everything had happened.

Little did we know, the miracles were far from over...

to be continued

{ Miss Peanut's Story, Part I }

Today Lainie is four weeks old--Happy Four-Week Birthday, Lainie Rae! Where do I even begin recounting this story of amazing grace?

The weekend Amaryah took maternity photos, Mike said that I looked "so pregnant" that he was giving me a week and a half, tops, before Lainie was born. "Really?" I countered. "You realize that means she would be born on June 26 or 27, right?" {Mike will be discouraged from making predictions on the birthdates of future children, by the way.}

I spent Tuesday, June 26 running errands: stocking up on snacks for the hospital and groceries for the week, taking the cushions from our craigslisted glider to the dry cleaner, getting a massage. A day or two before I had made a list of all the things I wanted to get done around the house before her birth--terribly important things like dust the baseboards and clean the refrigerator--as well as a list of specific prayer requests for Lainie's birth and hospitalization to share with my women's Bible study group, which meets on Wednesdays. Here is that list:

~ That she will have normal lung function before and after surgery

~ That her GI tract will function normally

~ That the surgery will be successful and there won't be any complications

~ That she will learn to breastfeed quickly
~ That there won't be long-term lung or digestive problems

~ That I will go into labor on my own and not get an induction or a C-section
~ That our attending physician will be Dr. J {the only neonatologist we had met, out of 11 or so who could be on call when Lainie was born}

So when I got up from my laptop to make a cup of tea and my water broke, I freaked. 5:03pm. June 26. I'm only 37 weeks and 4 days. This isn't supposed to happen now. This isn't supposed to happen for weeks. I'm not ready for this to start...this crazy scary huge train is leaving the station, and I'm not ready. I called Mike, the doula, my mom, the Bible study host to let her know I, um, wouldn't be at group tomorrow. Thank God I caught Mike as he was walking into a meeting, which he promptly ditched.

When Mike got home, we finished packing for the hospital, went out to dinner at our favorite local Thai restaurant, and tried to get some sleep. I had continual cramp-like sensations throughout the night, but nothing more. While Mike slept like a rock, I only dozed a couple times. At 3am, the alarm went off--our compromise: Mike was willing to wait it out at home for awhile, but if labor didn't start during the night, he wanted to leave for the hospital by 4am.

I did have the presence of mind to have Mike snap one last maternity photo:

:: 37 weeks, 5 days ::

I realized that, regardless of how it happened, it would happen today: Lainie would be born, we'd go to Children's Hospital...this whole crazy chain of unknowns had really started and we would really meet Lainie today. It was so unreal, almost like an out-of-body experience.

At the hospital, once they'd confirmed my water broke, I was admitted. Much to my disappointment, I wasn't dilated at all and the fetal monitor didn't pick up any contractions. We got settled in my room, met my *amazing* nurse Caren, and ordered breakfast. A couple doctors came in while Mike was at the cafeteria and tried to convince me that I needed to let them start a Pitocin IV to get labor started, since my water had broken more than 12 hours before and I wasn't in active labor. They were polite but quite firm that I was risking intrauterine infection and jeopardizing my baby, who was already high-risk, if I chose not to use Pitocin. Mike and I knew a natural birth was the best option for Lainie, if it was at all possible: Induction leads to longer, stronger contractions and thus increases the risk that the baby will go into distress and need respiratory support after birth {or a C-section because the stronger contractions can cause oxygen deprivation}. I was equally firm that I wanted some time to try other methods of starting labor. And what if my mom's labors are an indication of what mine would be like: long periods of "nothing" after her water broke {22 hours when she was pregnant with me}, followed by short labors {only two hours of contractions before I was born}? The same two doctors came back a couple hours later, when active labor still hadn't started, but again we asked for more time.

At some point that morning, Dr. J came in to see how things were going. It was Wednesday, high-risk clinic day, so she was at the hospital already. She said she'd check back in a few hours. Our doula, Serena, arrived around 11, and at her suggestion we walked...and walked...around the unit. Active labor started around noon, and things get kind of blurry after that. The only reason I have any idea what time anything happened is because Serena took notes! Be it known that Mike was amazing. I could not have done this without him. He was my rock.

At 1:30pm I was already 6cm dilated and 100% effaced. I remember being shocked by the intensity of the contractions, and how unspeakably luxurious the breaks between felt. Awhile after that I was going to get in the tub because that sounded like it would feel good, but nurse Caren got concerned because I was sounding "grunty" and asked me to wait till she could get a doctor to check me again. At 3:00 I was 9.5cm with an anterior cervical lip {no tub for Nikki!}, so they asked me not to push even though I was involuntarily pushing with each contraction...and that was awful. I finally got the okay to push at 4:00. Pushing seemed to last forever. I was aware of people filling the room. Lots of sterile gowns, the newborn isolette being pulled out of its cubby, a palpable thrum of activity. Everyone was very focused. At some point I realized Dr. J was next to the bed. I had figured that since she had appointments with clinic patients all day, she wouldn't be able to come up unless Lainie was born after hours, and I was really glad she was there.

At 5:03pm, 24 hours to the minute after my water broke, Miss Peanut was born. They put her on my chest, purple and vernix-covered, with the longest fingers and dark eyes that looked right at Mike and me when we talked to her. She breathed on her own after a few seconds; then tiny little kitten-like whimpers. It was probably only 20-30 seconds before they whisked her to another room to be assessed. Mike went with her. A few minutes later, Dr. J came back and said they didn't need to intubate her; she was screaming up a storm, with her oxygen saturation at 99-100%, all on her own! A little later they wheeled her in, a tiny pink thing in the isolette, surrounded by staff in sterile gowns and masks and hats, so I could see her before they took her to the NICU. I petted her face and talked to her for a few minutes. I thought Mike's face was going to split open, he was grinning so huge. I've never seen him so happy before!

:: family photo ::

When they were done cleaning me up, I was beyond exhausted and so relaxed, I didn't think I could move if my life depended on it. It's done! Lainie was born, free of induction and interventions, and she can breathe on her own! Serena stayed with me for a couple of hours. Mike's parents and sister and our friend Lisa from our Bible study group came to see me. Mike took them to the NICU to see Lainie. I ordered macaroni and cheese for dinner, but didn't eat much...my insides had no idea what had just happened to them.

Isn't God amazing? Look at what I hoped for: That I'd go into labor naturally; that I could have an intervention-free birth and avoid drugs that might compromise Lainie's respiratory function; that Dr. J would attend the birth; that Lainie would have normal lung function and we could hold her after she was born. Every single one of those things seemed to me like pie in the sky wishful thinking at some point. I mean, really, what more could I ask for--what more could I hope for--than a healthy baby at the end of the day, regardless of how exactly she was born? Yet God poured out grace on her birthday, showered us with the gifts I'd hardly dared ask for because they seemed so presumptuous in the face of her possibly huge medical problems:

I went into labor naturally.

No induction, no drugs, no interventions.

Dr. J was present.

Lainie didn't need oxygen at all--not only did they put her on my chest when she was born, I actually got to HOLD her a few hours later!

Grace. Amazing grace.

Everyone was so nice--my nurses, the doctors, Lainie's NICU nurse. I was on track to be discharged at 9pm, and Lainie was scheduled to be transferred to Children's at 9:30. Our friends Luke and Joanna came by as I was packing up, and we all went to the NICU. It was the first time I'd seen Baby Bug since the photo above. Her transfer to Children's kept being delayed because there were other, sicker kids who needed the ambulance more. Eventually Luke and Jo headed home; Lainie's nurse got me a recliner and let me hold Lainie for the first time. That was sweet.

:: tiny little Bug with a suction tube going into her stomach ::

:: transport nurse and Lainie just before her ambulance ride ::

It was after midnight by the time Lainie left for Children's, just a mile from the hospital where she was born. The transport people were so kind and gentle with her. She looked so tiny and fragile, little stomach tube and IV hooked up to her, bundled up in all those blankets in the incubator-on-wheels. Mike took me downstairs in a wheelchair and parked me outside the front entrance while he went to get the car. It was a really warm, balmy night--I could tell it had been a lovely day outside--and it was completely surreal to be sitting in a wheelchair, my lap piled high with discharge paraphernalia, knowing I'd just given birth, waiting for Mike to pick me up and take us to Children's, watching security guards make their rounds and hoping the shady characters who walked by wouldn't try to mug me. I saw Lainie's ambulance leave just before Mike pulled up. As we pulled out of the hospital roundabout, Mike said, "So, whaddaya think? Still wanna do four in four?" {referring to his joke about having four kids in four years}. I responded that at this point, we are probably adopting the rest of our children, thankyouverymuch! 

In the Children's NICU, the nurse let Mike hold Lainie for the first time. He kept falling asleep, so we stumbled upstairs to the parent sleeping room we'd been assigned and slept like the dead, even though it was a double bed with no pillows and I had yet to shower after having given birth. {In case you are wondering, that was by far the longest, most exhausting day of my life.} At 4am I stepped out to use the restroom and came back to find Mike, in the pitch black, talking on the phone and clearly not 100% awake. It was a surgeon, saying he wanted us to come down to the NICU and sign consent forms because they wanted to take Lainie to surgery "tomorrow," which, since it was now Thursday, Mike interpreted to mean Friday. Mike told him we'd sign the forms when we came down for rounds at 8am and we both fell fast asleep for another couple of hours.

to be continued...

{ Three Years }

{Note: Contrary to appearances, I did *not* write the previous blog post while in labor! I was at the hospital at the time it was published, but I'd written that post, and this one, a few days earlier. I assumed on our anniversary we'd be at Children's Hospital with Lainie, so I'd better get an anniversary post pre-written! I also made a list of all the posts I wanted to write before the baby arrived: baby showers, the nursery, etc. And then my water broke, 17 days before her due date, and 24 hours later--exactly to the minute!!--Lainie was born, and all my blog-writing aspirations dissipated like the morning dew. I'll be back, with lots of pictures and details, someday...but for now, I'm just trying to sleep when I can and snuggle my baby.}

Dearest Mike,

On a balmy July day exactly three years ago, we were all grins and excitement and wedding-day-butterflies.

We dreamed about babies and what the future held.

I probably hoped that by the time our third anniversary rolled around, we'd be a little family of three.

When we found out I was pregnant last November, it looked like the chances were pretty good that we might end up sharing our anniversary with our baby's birthday--my due date was only five days before our anniversary!

Then, when we found out about Elaina's diaphragmatic hernia in May, we began to prepare ourselves for a long summer at Children's Hospital with our sick little daughter. Neither of us ever imagined we'd spend our third anniversary at Children's Hospital, but now it looked like that was inevitable. 

But my love, no matter where we are, there are no people I'd rather spend our anniversary with than you and Lainie. 

And by sheer grace from God, not only are we not in the hospital on our special day, Lainie was discharged 13 days ago! Not only was she born early...not only was she able to breathe on her own from the moment she was born...not only was she far beyond every best case scenario the doctors ever predicted...she was discharged from the hospital when she was only 8 days old!

I'm sure we'll steal a few kisses today when Lainie isn't lookin...and thank Jesus for the innumerable graces He has lavished on us in our three years as Mr. & Mrs.

I love you!

{ Maternity Photos }

Mike's sister Amaryah took these photos when I was 36 weeks. {She also gave me the purple dress I'm wearing--yay for a SIL with both exceptional fashion sense and photography know-how!}

{ Humbled }

"The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms."

~ Deuteronomy 33:27a

Steadfast love abounds.

I'm 37 or 38 weeks--depends on whether you ask me or the neonatologist--which means Lainie has the all-clear to be born if she likes; at this point, she's considered full-term.

We are part of an amazing church family spread across four states, with 11 church "campuses" in Washington alone. Last Sunday, Father's Day, the pastor at our campus asked Mike if we'd come on stage before the service and explain what's going on with Lainie so our church can pray for us. There are between 600 and 700 people on an average Sunday just at our "campus," so even with Mike's stellar social skills, we worship with a lot of brothers and sisters in Christ that we don't know personally. It was amazing. People I'd never met came up to me afterward and said they'd be praying for us. And we keep hearing of other people who are praying for Lainie, people we don't even know: the church in Oregon where my childhood pastor and his wife {now retired} attend. My mom's friend's prayer chain in Montana. People Mike knows through his business.

 

 

One thing we have been hoping and praying for is somewhere close to Children's for Mike and I to stay while Lainie is hospitalized. We only live 22 miles away, but in traffic it can easily take over an hour and a half to drive that distance. We're too close to qualify for the Ronald McDonald House. And Mike's work is pretty much in the opposite direction. I've been trying to psych myself up for sleepless nights on the floor of her hospital room, telling myself that I can handle a sick newborn and no home base and no sleep for a few weeks to months. I have to. {How Mike will be able to handle the same and continue working, I do not know...but I believe he can do it. He's an incredible man.} For several weeks we have been trying to find closer lodging through contacts at the church campus closer to Children's, but with no luck.

Last week, after our church prayed for us, that changed in a big way.

By Wednesday, Mike was in contact with a family that goes to the church campus near Children's. Their oldest child was born prematurely and spent several weeks in the NICU; they have a huge heart for families in situations like ours. They also live 10 minutes from Children's and have a spare bedroom they are letting us use for as long as we need it! But wait--here's the crazy part: It's Wednesday night. They are leaving on a two-week vacation on Friday morning, and Lainie could easily be born while they are away. Mike and the dad of this family both have to work all day Thursday, so the wife and I arrange for me to come to their home to meet her and get keys.

These people have never met us before.
They don't know us from Adam.
They are about to go on vacation, and they give their house keys to perfect strangers and tell us to make ourselves at home, use the shower and laundry, here's how to run the TV, there's a BBQ grill on the deck you can use anytime, come and go whenever you need and don't feel like you have to check in with us--we just want to help you.

That's all Jesus. That's not something you do, not in this day and age, not in Seattle. I'm speechless and completely humbled and grateful and thankful to this family. They're letting us into their home and their lives with open hands, no expectations, truly getting nothing out of this in return. All because they love Jesus, we're part of the same crazy-huge church family, and when they heard about our need, they stepped up. It's crazy. Just crazy. I can't wrap my head around it. And I can't express what a relief it is to know that if we need a couple hours' uninterrupted sleep, we don't have to check into a hotel or drive hours away from Baby Girl. We can zip literally 10 minutes up the street...and if Lainie needs us, we're only 10 minutes away.

That's God's grace. That's steadfast love. That's everlasting arms, our refuge just when we need it, at just the right time: a place to stay, provided the day before Lainie's considered full-term.

{ Becoming Hospital Pros }

Dear Lainie-bug,

You and I are becoming quite proficient at ultrasounds, consultation rooms, and waiting for doctors. Quite proficient. Yesterday we spent almost five hours at the university hospital getting a nonstress test, another complete fetal ultrasound {your fifth!!}, consulting with a neonatologist and an OB/GYN, and getting a tour of the labor & delivery unit. Daddy joined us partway through the ultrasound, since he had some important meetings at work in the morning.

You passed the nonstress test with flying colors. They wanted to see your heart rate increase by at least 20 beats per minute, for 15 seconds, two different times during the 20-minute test--and you had increases of at least 30 beats per minute, for over 20 seconds, at least six different times--I lost count! Way to go!

Your ultrasound looked really good, too. Amniotic fluid levels are normal--that's one of the main ways they gauge whether or not you're doing well inside me. I know that ultrasound assessments of fetal size are notoriously inaccurate, but you measure on the petite side--estimated at 5 pounds, 10 ounces. I need to fatten you up! {Convenient...there are brownies and caramel ice cream in the kitchen.} The only thing that was different at this ultrasound was that the doctors are now not completely sure that you have a diaphragmatic hernia. There is now a question of whether or not it may be a diaphragmatic eventration. Here's the difference: With a hernia, there is a hole in the diaphragm, and abdominal organs move up through the hole into the chest. With an eventration, part of the diaphragm is thin and abnormal and forms a pouch or pocket that pushes up into the chest. So the main difference is that in an eventration, there is still tissue separating the abdominal and chest cavities, whereas in a hernia abdominal organs are pushed up through a small hole. Either way, the lungs are still compressed and don't develop normally, because the abdominal organs {whether or not they are contained within a pocket of diaphragmatic tissue} are taking up chest space. The doctor said that an eventration is slightly less serious and has slightly better outcomes, but it's still the same basic problem. You will still need surgery and special care after your birth. Once you're born, they will be able to image your chest more precisely to determine whether it's a hernia or an eventration.

I really like the NICU doctor who talked to us. He reminds me of a skinny old grandpa; he's been a doctor for over 40 years! When we asked if we can hold you after you're born, he basically said, "Be assertive! Tell them you've been told it's a small hernia and that you can hold her. Don't ask if you can hold her. Tell them you've been told she may not need aggressive respiratory support and that you want to hold her." That made us smile and feel better!

We also got a little tour of the labor and delivery unit. I'll be honest, Lainie Rae: It's not my first choice of where I'd like to give birth. I'm very glad that you will be so well taken care of, and that whatever may be needed to give you a safe, healthy start to life outside the womb is available there. But it's not the nicest L&D I've seen...and I've seen a few!

And I must say, you are a funny girl. You are almost always pretty mellow, not moving much unless I have been lying very still for awhile. At about 4am yesterday morning, you spent a good half hour thumping and tapping every few seconds. It was very methodical: Right elbow...two seconds...left foot...two seconds...right fist...two seconds...right foot...two seconds. On and on and on! You've never done that during the night before...maybe you were excited about the cheese stick I had just eaten. {Yes, sometimes I wake up hungry in the night.} But a few hours later, as you have with every single ultrasound in the past six weeks, you stubbornly refused to move to give them a better view of your chest. And after we left the hospital, you stretched and thumped and swirled your legs regularly for the rest of the day. Maybe you don't like being the center of attention!

Well, Little Miss, we have mounds of laundry and errands to take care of today, so we'd better get busy!

Love you always,
Mama

{ Babymoon, Part II }

It felt so luxurious to sleep in. So indulgent. So...almost naughty. But blissful!!

And we don't even have a baby yet...how will I handle the sleep-deprived-ness of a newborn?

Cooking big breakfasts. Reading the Bible on the deck. Watching the ferries come and go. Nowhere to go, nothing to do at any particular time. In spite of our severe lack of practice in the art of relaxing, I think we did a pretty good job.

When the tide was out, we walked down the beach. I found some awesome, huge shells that are now gracing our mantle.

 

:: That's Seattle, way over yonder! ::

In the afternoon, we went to the Point Robinson Lighthouse. It looks very similar to the Mukilteo Lighthouse...but shhhh, I think the one in Mukilteo is nicer!

There are two houses on the premises--both keepers' quarters--that can be rented year-round. Doesn't that sound like a fun family vacation?

We found a swing in a corner of grass between the keepers' quarters and the wilderness, and spent an hour or two reading and swinging and hoping the clouds over Mt. Rainier would lift.

They didn't.

On Sunday, we went to the Vashon Island Coffee Roasterie, where Seattle's Best Coffee got its start. It was a cool old building and we enjoyed browsing through the coffee memorabilia and the natural foods market that shares the space.

:: shelves upon shelves of herbs, many of which we'd never heard of ::

As I look back over these photos, I realize we didn't take a whole lot of pictures...which is nice. A change of pace for us. We enjoyed just hanging out together. No agenda. No alarms. No schedule. No plans. We've never done that, to this degree, before. It was great.

And can I just say that, for a couple who has had no TV for almost three years and just watches Hulu and movies on a laptop, the fact that the apartment had a flatscreen TV and streaming Netflix literally made us giddy! We are both adamantly anti-TV-in-the-bedroom, but it was so much fun to snuggle up next to Mike and watch "Dirty Jobs" {I love that show!} and "Burn Notice" {one of Mike's favorites}. Seriously, the best.

Thank you, Lord, for a wonderful weekend with my husband.