Zee
Insomnia, it seems, is hereditary.
Although I suppose that technically what I experience is not insomnia. It’s more of a lie-down-in-bed-and-instantly-find-six-billion-things-to-ponder-mnia. I get it from my mom.
She ponders (read: worries) about insurance and IRA’s and if everyone has brushed their teeth and changed their underwear.
My ponderings are a little less practical.
Like: do you think an orange is called an orange because it’s orange, or do you think orange is called orange because an orange is orange?
And: if everything in the universe was shrinking at the same rate, no one would ever notice. (Insert eerie “dun-dun-dun” here. It helps if you sing it.)
Last night the I’m-awake-mnia struck again. This time it was thoughts about Zee, being that it was his sixth birthday and all, and well...I was thinking about how we almost didn’t get to keep him.
I was six, maybe seven weeks pregnant when it began: that sudden, alarming rush of fluid, tinged pink with blood. Amniotic fluid? I had no idea. But whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.
Off to the ER we went.
The doc there said I had nice teeth, which was good news, I thought, considering that an orthodontist had likely vacationed somewhere tropical on the cost of aligning those choppers. But hey, since we’re here and all, could you please tell me if my baby’s okay?
A couple of tests later, we had the verdict: a large hemorrhage on the placenta. Not good indeed. My OB said I had a 2/3rds chance of losing this one, and so, well, pray.
Which I was doing already.
Lots and lots of people joined us in the praying. Boatloads of people. I kept bleeding, they kept praying. We bled/prayed through the whole nine months. And then he was here.
I can’t begin to imagine life without Zee, and more importantly, I don’t want to. His hugs come easily, and there’s even something winsome (albeit simultaneously vexing) about his melodrama (“I’m not going to make my bed again, never never ever!”). He still runs like a little boy, one arm pumping, feet galloping in a slightly off-beat cadence. And the way he wiggles his eyebrows when he’s telling a story? Downright enchanting.
So to all of you who were pray-ers 6.75 years ago...thank you. My heart is full.
Although I suppose that technically what I experience is not insomnia. It’s more of a lie-down-in-bed-and-instantly-find-six-billion-things-to-ponder-mnia. I get it from my mom.
She ponders (read: worries) about insurance and IRA’s and if everyone has brushed their teeth and changed their underwear.
My ponderings are a little less practical.
Like: do you think an orange is called an orange because it’s orange, or do you think orange is called orange because an orange is orange?
And: if everything in the universe was shrinking at the same rate, no one would ever notice. (Insert eerie “dun-dun-dun” here. It helps if you sing it.)
Last night the I’m-awake-mnia struck again. This time it was thoughts about Zee, being that it was his sixth birthday and all, and well...I was thinking about how we almost didn’t get to keep him.
I was six, maybe seven weeks pregnant when it began: that sudden, alarming rush of fluid, tinged pink with blood. Amniotic fluid? I had no idea. But whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.
Off to the ER we went.
The doc there said I had nice teeth, which was good news, I thought, considering that an orthodontist had likely vacationed somewhere tropical on the cost of aligning those choppers. But hey, since we’re here and all, could you please tell me if my baby’s okay?
A couple of tests later, we had the verdict: a large hemorrhage on the placenta. Not good indeed. My OB said I had a 2/3rds chance of losing this one, and so, well, pray.
Which I was doing already.
Lots and lots of people joined us in the praying. Boatloads of people. I kept bleeding, they kept praying. We bled/prayed through the whole nine months. And then he was here.
I can’t begin to imagine life without Zee, and more importantly, I don’t want to. His hugs come easily, and there’s even something winsome (albeit simultaneously vexing) about his melodrama (“I’m not going to make my bed again, never never ever!”). He still runs like a little boy, one arm pumping, feet galloping in a slightly off-beat cadence. And the way he wiggles his eyebrows when he’s telling a story? Downright enchanting.
So to all of you who were pray-ers 6.75 years ago...thank you. My heart is full.
posted by nic at 8:38 PM
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