By 11:00 a.m. I couldn’t leave my bed. Life, for me—any kind of motion, for me—was just that miserable. Frankly, I had had enough. At noon I phoned my doctor and pleaded, “Can I be induced today instead? I know I’m scheduled to go in tomorrow but I hurt, Dr. Mary. I really hurt.”
“Absolutely,” she replied, and I was reminded yet again why I love her.
The kids grabbed their bags (they’d been packed for days) and John drove them over to my friend Tina’s. He was back by 3:30, all business-like and “Are you ready to go?” “Almost,” I replied, then grabbed a broom and started to sweep.
The truth is I was very nervous, and channeling Old Befana helped me cope.
And then I did what most everyone does these days: I posted an update for all & sundry on Facebook…and took much comfort in the “Praying!” that ensued. I also sent an email to the 8th grade mothers from my son’s school, as they had promised to pray for me too.
What was left, other than to face my fears? John and I left on a crisp & wintery Thursday afternoon. It was December 20, 2012, and our 7th child was on his way.
To be cont.