Suddenly, I was hit with a sense of urgency to DO something! Anything! Right now! Spontaneous fun!
I threw on a sweater, grabbed my purse, shoved on my shoes, and rushed out the door, down the stairs and I hopped into the car. (The whole process actually took about 10 minutes since I was moving so slowly.) I drove to the mailbox and saw my husband and daughter at the neighborhood playground. They saw me and walked over to the car.
"Get in," I said with a smile. My husband looked warily at me. He hadn't seen me smile in months.
"What's going on? Where are we going?" he asked.
"I-C-E C-R-E-A-M."
"Okay!" He laughed.
We pulled up in front of my favorite ice cream shop and our daughter screamed from the backseat: "YAY!! MOMMY'S FAVORITE ICE CREAM AND MY FAVORITE ICE CREAM! That's why you're my best friend!"
She and I had peppermint Christmas ice cream and my husband had this spicy sweet chocolate chili thing. After, I realized that I was actually hungry. So we decided to dine at the shady Chinese place next door to the antique store that is adjacent to my favorite ice cream shop. (It's an eclectic part of town.) And by "we decided" I mean that I was 8 months pregnant and thought soy sauce would be a great chaser to peppermint Christmas ice cream and my husband loves me enough to not disagree.
After eating bad Chinese food, we drove around the neighborhoods in that part of town that have big houses with residents that can afford big electricity bills that reflect extravagant Christmas light displays.
A few words about Christmas... I celebrate everything about Christmas. I like Santa Christmas. I like Retail Christmas. I like Jesus Christmas. I especially love Advent. I love the colors (gold, silver, red, and green for Santa Christmas; burgundy, navy and money -- yes, money is a color -- of Retail Christmas; brown for Jesus Christmas; pink and purple for Advent), the sounds (Jingle Bells, Dickens read aloud, register chimes and annoying pop music, carols, hymns, and silent prayers), the sights (random coniferous with red velvet bows, twinkling lights, gaudy tinsel, warm candles, Grandmas in unfortunate holiday sweater vests, muted colors of painted Nativity faces), the feelings. I was looking forward to this Christmas, our last as a family of three. My next appointment with the Maternal-Fetal Medical Institute at the University Research Hospital was the next day and I was going to ask for a note to get me out of work for the last two weeks of my pregnancy (moving around was getting unbearable at the time when my mobility was most needed). I'd be home to do so many Christmasy things with my husband and daughter, even though I wouldn't be able to go out much.
We drove home, singing "O Christmas Tree" and "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing," my daughter's favorites. I don't remember putting her to bed that night or if I had a snack before bed.
I remember the next morning. We were running late. The hospital that was treating me/us was 2 1/2 hours away and my first of three appointments that day was at 10am. I spanked my daughter that morning. I hate that part. I cringe at the memory. I will never get over it. She was in a cranky mood, having woken up for awhile in the middle of the night and still being sleepy. She was being cranky and mean to us. She slapped her dad. She doesn't normally behave that way, and we don't allow it. I didn't want to spank her. God knows she didn't want to be spanked. After we dropped her off at school, I cried a bit on the way to the hospital. It didn't seem right: being scared and sad at the same time. She was okay, though. She gave me a hug and a kiss and told me she loved me before we left her at school.
I settled in for the non-stress test once we got to the hospital. I loved that test. You sit in a warm easy chair with your feet propped up, blanket draped over you, soft felt straps holding the two monitors in place on your belly. You're given a cup of iced water to drink and music plays softly. All you have to do is push a button every time you feel your baby move. So I sat there and pushed a button intermittently and talked to my husband about a Christmas party we'd gone to over the past weekend, while Ray Coniff's Christmas CD played in the background. I fell asleep for a few minutes. When I woke up, he was playing with his phone.
"Did it look to you like he has a cleft palate?" I asked him. We'd had a detailed ultrasound first. They looked at his heart, stomach, bowels, and kidneys; the places that had given cause for concern.
"I don't know," he answered.
The nurse came back and took off my blanket and straps. She asked us to wait in the hallway. The ultrasound technician came out of a room and said:
"Your baby has very low amniotic fluid and we'll need to deliver immediately."
"What?" I think that's what I said. I may have said something unintelligible or I may have used foul language. Or maybe that's what was said, but my husband said it.
"Congratulations!" that stupid woman said. "You get your baby today."
"But... it's too early."
"Well, that's just what the doctor said. You have to do it today or he may not make it," she said haughtily. "Go over to Labor & Delivery and they'll get you started." And she started to walk away!
"Wait," my husband called after her. "We had amniocentesis a couple weeks ago and never heard back from Genetics. What were the results?"
The ultrasound technician walked down the hall to the Genetics office and came back 15 minutes later. (I don't actually know if it was 15 minutes, but that's what it felt like.)
"The results were inconclusive," she said in an oddly decisive tone.
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