It seems like Luke was trouble even before he was born. I've never really shared it, but before we were expecting Luke, I suffered a miscarriage. I was about 8 weeks along when it happened, and although it was a very sad experience, I thanked God I still had two healthy kids. I was pretty down and out for a few weeks afterward, and I felt the only way to "get over it" was to get pregnant again. There went from being a baby, to being no baby. I wanted there to be a baby. The doctor gave us the ok, and a month after the miscarriage, I was pregnant with Luke. Then he started giving me trouble...
About 8 weeks along again, I started bleeding. I called the doctor in a panic. I was able to get an ultrasound right away, and they said the baby had a strong heartbeat. That was good news. But there was no way to predict what might happen. They called it a "threatened miscarriage" and I was put on partial bed rest. I could get up and do normal things, but nothing strenuous. That continued for a few weeks. Then, finally, it stopped. Whew.
About 2 weeks later, Gracie started kindergarten. Her third day, she had some mild, cold-like symptoms. She had no fever and felt fine, so she went to school the next day. When I picked her up that afternoon, she was covered in a lacy red rash. I took her to the doctor, who said she had fifth-disease, a common, nothing-to-worry-about virus- unless you're in the first trimester of pregnancy. If you contract it while pregnant, the baby can A) die or B) become anemic and need blood transfusions in-utero. Awesome. Needless to say, I was now a basket case. My only hope was that I had already had it earlier in life without knowing it( you don't always get the rash), because you can only get it once. I made an appointment for blood work. I had to wait a week for the appointment, and another week for the results. It seemed like forever. When I finally got the results, they showed I had not been exposed, which means I probably had it once already.
After those weeks of freak-outs, it was fairly smooth sailing for a while. The only "problem" was that every time I went for a check-up, they told me Luke's heart rate was "a little high", but "nothing to worry about" (THEN WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME??!).
Then, at 37 weeks, so close to the finish line, it hit me: the mother of all stomach flus. All day I was sick, until finally I was dehydrated. Gracie had it too, so together we went to the ER, only to lay on the waiting room chairs for six hours. We finally got treated, and I was anxious to go home. But...Luke's heart rate was"a little high".(I know! it's always high!) So instead of letting me go home, I had to be admitted to maternity to be monitored until his heart rate went back to normal. So I laid there for another hour, with all kinds of wires. His heart rate never went down, and they finally got word from my doctor that it seemed to be normal for him. At 4 am I went home.
Needless to say, I was anxious to have this baby. The doctor recommended I be induced, because Gracie was born in 15 minutes and Caleb in 5, so they were afraid I would have Luke in the minivan if I waited it out.
So on March 31st I got all hooked up with monitors and what not, and everything was going great, until I almost died.
I'm not joking, and if you know me, you know I'm not a drama queen. Luke tried to kill me. For whatever reason, my blood pressure and heart rate dropped, and I felt like I was floating. Everything was fuzzy around the corners of my eyes- tunnel vision, and I knew without a doubt, that if I closed my eyes, it was all over.All I could think was I was going to die and Jeremiah was going to be left to raise our kids alone. I just kept praying and praying and focusing on Jeremiah, just trying to keep my eyes open. I just wanted to shut them and go to sleep. Voices were muffled. Oxygen was hooked up. Shots were given. There were about seven extra people in the room, all of whom I later realized were specialists they had called in to be on hand for whatever happened next. Finally whatever medicine they gave me kicked in, and I started to come around. They told me Luke was ready to go...but his heart rate was "a little high" (ugh!)
Later I wondered if the delivery was really as scary as I thought. We didn't talk about it for a few weeks. Then one day I asked Jeremiah if I had exaggerated it in my head. "No," he said, "you were cashing in your chips".
So here I am, almost seven months later, with my strong, beautiful, healthy (although his heart rate remains, "a little high") MONSTER. I love him to death, but the kid is a pain in the butt! All he does is cry. But not pitiful, make-you-feel-sorry cry. Demanding ,hey-lady-pick-me-up-now! cry. He is absolutely incapable of entertaining himself. In the swing...cry. In the playpen...cry. Jumper...cry. You get the idea. And he's sneaky. He tricks people. Everyone thinks he is a calm, happy baby, because whenever we are out, I'm holding him. But as soon as we get home, and I set him down, his evil twin emerges and demands my unadulterated attention.
So here I am, trying to homeschool Gracie, with a screaming baby. We started doing schoolwork in the afternoons. Gracie can play with Caleb in the morning, then after lunch it's naptime for both boys and she and I do her lessons. It looks good on paper, except Luke never sleeps. I get him in for a nap. I start with Gracie. 10 minutes into it, he's screaming. I get him back to sleep. Or sometimes I don't, and he just screams while I shout over him. Or I hold him on my lap while he grabs the books, crumples the pages, yanks my hair, smudges my glasses. Very frustrating.
I should insert here, to his credit, Luke does sleep pretty well at night, most of the time. I guess I would be a zombie if he didn't.
The only thing keeping me going at this point, is that it won't be like this forever, and I guess it's better to interrupt first grade work than something harder. My mom always says, "Don't wish it away" and I don't want to do that, but...I do dream of homeschooling my kids with no one screaming. Of reading a book without stopping six times to wipe up spit-up. Then I kiss his chubby little cheeks and he smiles his gigantic smile and feel guilty I ever felt this way.
'Cause babies don't keep.
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