Cornbread

I love cornbread. The yellow, crumbly, cakey wonderful stuff.

We were lucky enough to receive some for dinner the other night and I was just polishing it off.

I took a piece to my bedroom b/c I was in the mood to read. As I sat on the bed, I had the fleeting thought, "Hmm.. this could make a huge mess if I'm not careful..."

I nestled in with my book and thought nothing of it.

Enter Eric, the once happy-husband-turned-housemaid due to the recent internment of his wife and is now uber conscience of what it takes to keep a house clean:

surprised - "Oh, you're eating crumbles in the bed..."
...
concerned - "... on my side..."
...
alarmed - "... with HONEY!"

I start laughing b/c I had the similar thought (mentioned above) but did not notice all the other circumstances Eric was now bringing to light.

This laughing causes Eric to give me a playful swat just as I'm eating the last piece of yellow-heaven.

And that's how sticky yellow crumbles land on the mattress.

exasperated - "You're cleaning that up."

Poor guy is a good sport.
He wasn't even actually mad even though we both knew who was going to clean it up.

Nothing Much...

This post will really interest no one, but I have a little spare time and wanted to share.

This is what my chain of bed rest days looks like today... nothing makes me happier:
Also, I've been plagued by a touch of the nausea lately (nothing compared to that ridiculous 1st trimester) but these items always sound good:

Dan Dan Noodles - P.F. Chang's
Double Double - In-N-Out
Pizza - from anywhere

I'm disgusting.

Lastly, Eric and I were just talking and I want Taylor to pursue these activities:
Piano
Guitar
Dance

Eric wants her to do:
Soccer
Basketball
Golf (see Footnote 1)

That's not too much to ask, right?

(Footnote 1: a competitive GOLFing pursuit? Doesn't this look suspiciously like a ploy for HIM to spend more time golfing? He also mentioned "hunting" and "fishing."
I would like a housekeeper and live-in cook, but did I add domestic education and culinary training to the list?)

The Ugly Reality of Bed Rest

I've been on bed rest for 30 days, I have 12 left.

But who's counting?

Oh wait, I am. EVERY DAY.

A ring left for each day... I still need to take today's off.

Now, in reality, I know it hasn't been that bad.

After Jen left, my MIL Bev came out to keep me company. I learned that she had been planning a surprise baby shower for me in Idaho during the weekend of Phil's (Eric's brother) wedding. Sadly, since I'm obviously not allowed to travel hundreds of miles, we missed out on the festivities and if you know ANYTHING about me, I'm mostly sad I had to miss an opportunity to be the center of attention. ;) But really, I am bummed. I would have loved to have been there for the marriage and see everyone... mostly Paislen and Kathryn's dress.

Bev brought out some of the decorations she'd been making for the shower so when I got home from the hospital, I found these:
"Welcome Baby" Banner
"Diaper cake" filled with items we were in desperate need of (i.e. bottles, towels, blankets)
and she also brought some Preemie sized clothes bc the Drs are sure I'm not going to make it to term (although, with my luck, they'll take me off the medication and bed rest and I'll end up overdue and they'll have to induce me at 42 weeks when I'm huge. This might be my worst fear at this point. Have I mentioned Eric weighed 10 lbs 4 oz when he was born? And on the ultrasound, Taylor looks very Teichert... you should see the width of her feet...). So, assuming the Drs are correct, this is the outfit she'll be coming home from the hospital in. It is so tiny it looks like doll clothes. We can't wait to put her in them and finally hold her.
So, by way of announcement, her name will be Taylor. Jen and I made this during the hospital stay and I've finished since I've been home. I'm not sure it will actually be displayed anywhere bc it's not the most beautiful creation I've seen, but it passed the time. I realize the alliteration of Taylor Teichert might not be some ppl's favorite, but I like it. I mean, I was Michelle Miller for awhile there, and it served me well.

After Bev left, my Grammy Miller came out and doted on me hand and foot. My apartment was SPOTLESS, meals were frozen for later consumption and she was willing to just sit and chat with me. She is the greatest Grandma ever. She even got all of Taylor's things organized and got the hospital bags packed up for whenever we'll need them.

And, on top of all of this service we've received, our ward at church has been outstanding. They have been bringing us meals (DELICIOUS, award-winning meals), checking in on me, coming to chat with me, bringing me movies, magazines, books and chocolate. Seriously, we are so blessed.

But despite all of that (bc I really am grateful for everything and having kept her in thus far or even having the opportunity to be pregnant), let me complain:

I'm huge and can hardly move as I grow exponentially larger each day and my muscles continue to atrophy. It is seriously so hard to sit up or stand up if I lay down on the floor.

Our leather couch is about the most uncomfortable furniture to lay on for hours a day because it has absolutely no give. I'd trade it at any moment for a soft, fabric couch even in the most hideous floral print you could find.

I feel bad for Eric bc he has to wait on me ALL DAY LONG. I swear he just sits down when I run out of water, or need my computer charged, or laundry done, or accidentally dump chips on the floor. Then, I just have to look at him and hope he still loves me enough to endure (and I never get dressed or wear make-up so I know the ice gets thinner every day).

Lastly, my largest complaint (bc I can handle the boredom pretty well) is the

LACK OF SLEEP!

I swear, I am going to die if I don't find a solution soon. (That solution may be in the form of Tylenol PM.) First, I lay around all day so I don't exactly wear myself out. As I struggle to get comfortable, I flip over about a million times (which in itself is painful as all my ligaments readjust). Then, just as I get into a decent position, I realize I'm hungry, or thirsty, or Taylor starts to kick with all the fury she can muster, or she gets violent hiccups. Either way, the cycle takes about 2 hours to run its course and then I realize I need to pee. I get back in bed and suddenly... I'm hungry... and thirsty... and Taylor's awake again kicking my stomach so I'm nauseous... and then it finally stops when I start feeling hiccups... and then I have to pee...

IT IS RIDICULOUS!

I even bought this special, $60 pregnancy pillow bc everyone said it would solve all my problems. It hasn't. Well, except that it may have bought me a little extra patience from Eric. He seems to have gotten the hang of "bed rest" much better.


He calls this particular position with the pillow: "Diva Dozing"
and no, I didn't make that up.

Pre-Term Labor and the Worst 2 Weeks of My Life

I went for a routine Dr appointment on Tuesday, January 24th. I mentioned I had been experiencing some cramping and tightening lately. We decided to schedule an ultrasound for later in the week to take a look at my cervical length, but thought I may have just been experiencing some intense Braxton-Hicks.

I woke up early on Friday, January 27th because I was so excited for the ultrasound we had scheduled for that day. I figured we would get to see Baby and everything would be fine. When I was getting dressed that morning I put on some of my less-comfy clothes thinking I'd only be in them for a little while.

Well, the ultrasound tech said Baby looked fine and Eric had to get to class so he took off. After he left we measured the cervical length and found it to be about half the length it was at my 20 week appointment. The ultrasound tech hinted that I might be put on bed rest, but referred me to the Dr for an immediate follow up.

I met with the Dr and she tells me that she's going to send me over to the hospital to monitor these contractions. I'm sitting there, honestly shocked by what is happening.

THE HOSPITAL?

I text Eric to let him know where I'll be and he thinks I'm joking. Neither of us saw this coming AT ALL. We were going to have a normal Friday and a wonderful weekend.

As I'm being monitored the pain gets worse they tell me I'm having contractions about every 3 minutes. They're going to ADMIT me.

I kept saying, "This is so weird... this is not what I'm supposed to be doing today... this is so weird...I need to tell someone at work..."

The Drs and nurses kept assuring me that everything was going to be "fine" and this was all just "precautionary," to be on the safe side. As long as I wasn't dilating, nothing to worry about.

So they hook me up to all these machines and start a drip of magnesium. They also give me some steroids to help Baby's lungs in case she does decide it's time to see the world. Which, by the way, was quite a painful shot.

So the magnesium gets the contractions to slow down, but they're definitely not stopped by any means. The meds make me miserable and I get absolutely no sleep that night. Everyone keeps assuring me that I'll go home soon, for sure by Monday.

Anyway, the weekend continues like that. I hardly sleep, feel horrible, worry, and am not allowed to shower until the magnesium is stopped. I'm still wearing that less comfy shirt I put on Friday morning before leaving for the ultrasound.

Saturday night Eric starts to not feel so good. When I talk to him on Sunday morning he says he was up all night and he feels so much pressure and pain. I assume he must have gotten food poisoning and will start violently purging bodily fluids soon.

He doesn't.

On Monday my contractions get way more intense. They decide to transfer me to another hospital as the hospital I'm currently enjoying can only take babies after 32 weeks gestation... I'm only 30 weeks.

They take me off the magnesium and start me on Procardia.

They call an ambulance.

I'm dilated to 1 cm.

Eric still feels horrible.

I tell Jen I need her to come out... ASAP. She books a flight and will arrive at 6:20. That seems forever away.

We get to the new hospital. I feel slightly better. But they start giving me penicillin bc they haven't done a Group B Strep test on me.

They keep telling me everything is "fine" and this is all "precautionary."

Eric still feels horrible so I send him to Urgent Care thinking maybe he has a kidney stone or something.

Jen shows up.

I'm still contracting every 5 minutes.

Eric comes back to tell me the news - IT'S AN APPENDICITIS.

He goes to the emergency room.

My contractions get much worse. I'm nauseous. I'm in pain. It's late.

They give me a shot of terbutaline.

It makes my pulse race and I shake like I am coming off cocaine for about 3 hours.

Basically this is the worst night of my life. I just want it to all be over with. I'm certain that my baby is going to be born with horrible medical complications, Eric will die during surgery, or, if he makes it through, he probably forgot to tell the Drs that he's allergic to penicillin and he'll die shortly thereafter. We lie to Eric and tell him everything is "fine" (we'd learned this tactic from all the ppl using it on me).

*The Dr tells me weeks later that she was sure I was going to deliver that night. She doesn't know why the contractions slowed and I didn't dilate any further. I didn't divulge to her, but I know what stopped that from being the worst-case-scenario it was leading up to: my family started fasting and praying for us that day. I also had ppl all over the country putting our names in the temple. I know, without any hesitation or shadow of a doubt, that it was answered prayers. I don't know how anyone in this world gets through anything without a knowledge of Christ in their lives.*

Jen rubs my legs for hours bc I find it the only comfort in that room. She also convinces me to take some Zofran and Ambien (against my will bc I don't want Baby to be accosted by so many drugs) and I finally sleep.

The next day I am feeling better. I even managed to eat a little and except for one horrible bout of contractions in the morning, the day passes without incident. Eric even makes a visit over to my room from his. Everyone in the hospital can hardly believe the timing of the whole fiasco. I still don't feel awesome and the anxiety is probably causing the worst of the symptoms. Especially at night.

Anyway, over the course of the week, with a LOT of help from Jen (making sure I eat, sleep, shower, and even negotiating a wheelchair ride for me once daily so that I can get out of my prison cell, I mean hospital room) I start making some progress and I get less and less depressed every day. She even put up a board that she would update each day to show that I had made it one more day. It made a huge difference. I even started to gain back the 5 lbs I'd lost since checking in.
She slept in this horrible sleeper chair for a week, never left the room, either, and never complained. I have the best sister, EVER. For real. As much as I keep saying Baby is going to be an only child, I don't think I'd forgive myself if I didn't at least try to give her a sister. I don't think I'd have made it through a few horrible experiences without her. This one takes the cake, though.

Anyway, after two weeks in the hospital, they finally sent me home. I'll update more about that later...

Best Husband

This is how I know I have THE BEST husband:

Upon my departure from work yesterday I called Eric to tell him,

"Don't bother making dinner. I am not even close to being hungry and probably won't be until much later tonight."

(Notice, this implied notion that he would be making me dinner, because, well, he usually does...)

We make a plan that I'll just drop by the house and pick him up for a little shopping at Babies R Us. We'll worry about dinner when we get back.

A half-hour later, as I'm pulling away from the train station, I call him back to say,

"We'll have to go by Babies R Us later, I'm starving. But still, don't worry about it. I'll be home in 10 minutes and I'll just grab something quick."

Eric's response?

"I figured. I already started making tacos and they should be done by the time you get here."

I mean, really!? How did he KNOW!? I swear, I don't pull shenanigans like that often.

BUT HERE'S THE ICING ON THE CAKE:

I'm about a mile from home and that noise I've been trying to ignore the past couple miles just becomes too suspicious not to take a peek at -

I have a COMPLETELY flat tire.

Seeing as though I don't bend at the waist anymore (and lets face it, I have no idea how I'd take care of this under normal circumstances), I knew this was out of my hands. I call Eric... again...

"Uhmm... I have a flat tire... and I'm pretty sure I've been driving on it flat for quite a while... like, since this morning when I left for work... sorry..."

Eric seems completely unperturbed by the recent turn of events, comes down the hill, changes the tire in about 10 minutes and we drive home... to a STILL WARM, fresh-cooked meal.

I think this picture I took over Christmas shows the full extent of his greatness

Yes, he is vacuuming and taking care of Ezra while Jen&Jeff are gone and I'm doing what!?
IDLY SITTING BY AND TAKING A PICTURE!

And as I sit here on the couch, watching TV and eating everything I can get my hands on, Eric is doing the laundry. He just finished sorting through his tools and getting the 72-hour kit ready...

Best of both worlds? I think YES!

It's a GIRL!

It all began one hot, steamy July night...

but we can skip that part for EVERYONE'S sake.

On July 31st we thought we better take THE TEST.

We were both certain it would be negative, but apparently neither of us knew what we were talking about.
Then, we were both SURE it was a boy.

Again, neither of us knew what we were talking about because

IT'S A GIRL!
(Although, our subconsciouses must have been trying to help us out as we each dreamed it was a girl last night...)

Anyway, we're in the ultrasound (looking for gender at this point as the rest of baby looks healthy (which, I should add, I'm so grateful for, I know I'll spend some time tonight thanking God for all the blessings He has given me. Seriously, this whole things is nothing short of a miracle)) and I yell out, before the tech even has a chance, "It's a GIRL!?" After a few minutes of utter bewilderment I was so excited I could hardly contain myself. I repeated "I can't believe it's a girl!" for about 2 hours. Then, OF COURSE, my mom and I went shopping for clothes and yarn for me to begin my knitting endeavors (still to no avail!).

Eric and I had been looking forward to today for the past 3 months. I woke up at 6 AM this morning b/c the excitement was too much for me. It was like I was 6 years old on Christmas morning. We're already so grateful for this tiny angel that pokes me all day long. We thought we'd be content once we knew the gender and that everything appeared healthy, but now we can't wait until she actually gets here!

Anyway, we'll keep praying for a happy, healthy baby girl!
<3

In His Own Words

You hear about it all the time. All the new mom's talk about it. You can't quite understand it, but you know it must be true. They all seem to say the same thing.

"Leaving your child, even if just for a day, can be tough."

They say they worry about them and miss them. They hope they're safe, that they're being looked after.

You wonder, "What the he!! is going to happen to your kid while you're out for a few hours?"

Now I know.

I left Eric unattended for 24 hours this week while I flew to BYU for some EY recruiting. Was I worried about him? Not really.

I will be next time...

In his own words, the morning after I had left:

"It ended up being a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day... it's almost too soon to relive it.

I went out the front door, unlocked by bike from the banister, and started on my way to school. It was like any other day.

Cold. Rainy.

I'm going through the only intersection between home and class. A fairly busy intersection, always cars waiting for a green light. The construction has made it worse.

So what happened was, I'm in the bike lane, coming up on the construction zone. I suddenly realize the the bike lane has been blocked by a road-roller.
(Eric now calls this "The Enemy" whenever we drive by)

I had to get out of the bike lane. I noticed just before the road-roller, there was a break to enter the sidewalk.

I'm about a foot from the sidewalk... and then I see it.

The construction workers had dug a divot for the road repaving right before the ramp. Now there's a 3 inch high lip to the sidewalk, but I figured my tough mountain bike could handle it.

It couldn't.

(Eric swears the construction workers must have filled in the divot since then... I'm skeptical)

It stops me dead... and I fall all the way off my bike. I land on the ground, my bike wrecked, jeans ripped and hands bleeding.

I know people saw the whole thing because when they're light turned green, it took them a moment to get going.

The worst part: I picked up my bike and the brakes were bent, making it impossible for the wheel to turn. So I had to turn around and walk back across the busy intersection... dragging my bike home.

Later, after I got my hand all bandaged up, people kept asking me what happened. When I told them I crashed on my bike, they'd ask, 'Motorcycle?'

'Nope... my bicycle.'

Then we'd usually just part ways."


I am going back to BYU for recruiting next weekend. I'm not sure what I'll do to keep him safe in my absence. Today I think we'll stop by the bike store and get him some necessary gear (helmet, elbow pads, knee pads, reflective vest, gloves, maybe a protective leather jumpsuit that erupts into sirens and lights upon impact).

Maybe I'll ask around church on Sunday for a good babysitter to check in on him... because this is apparently a recurring problem: