Marathons

The worst of my morning sickness finally left my life at 27 weeks.

But ... if I am being honest, there are many days that it has reared its head once again. The good things? The bouts of nausea were shorter. The waves not quite as intense. The dip in my mood much more identifiable.

Since I've been back to Florida, I had two short 'bouts. One was in Costco with my parents. Bad day. Another came on me one morning. But both passed fairly quickly, and while I am definitely not floating through these last three weeks, this last trimester has been by far the best part of my pregnancy. (And not many women can say that!)

But then on Friday morning I found myself at JB's parents' home -- picking up the boys who had had a blast spending the night at Grampa and Grama K's house. Instead I got sick. And I stayed sick. All day Friday. Most of the day on Saturday. Woke up this morning, Sunday, and found myself knowing that as soon as I stood up the nausea was waiting.

And I got weary.

I called my husband.

My amazingly wonderful, incredibly patient, unbelievably supportive husband. He told me to "hang on a second." He was pulling up a calculator on the computer. "Ummm, JB? I'm feeling really sick and really down and really wondering if I can do this for three more weeks."

"Yeah," he began. "I know. But I'm comparing this to a marathon. And if you are 36 weeks into this, then you are 23.5 miles into your marathon. C'mon Wendi! You are 2.5 miles from the finish line where we finally get to meet our little girl. You ... can ... do ... this!"

He's right of course. I can. I have. I will. I just didn't want to feel sick anymore.

I managed to take the kids to my parents' church. Abigail didn't even attempt the nursery, but the boys, after a quick crying spell from Sidge, had a great time, and thoroughly enjoyed the post-church breakfast at Dunkin' Donuts (those stores are everywhere!)

And then this afternoon, the really intense nausea began to dissipate, and I began to feel a bit hopeful that it isn't as bad as it was and that I can do this and that I will do this and that this little miracle from the Lord will be worth every single day of nausea that I have had.

I also said a prayer to the Lord and thanked him for my husband. The logical thinker. The one who is busy adding up my weeks on a calculator in order to be encouraging to me even though he was up most of the night due to a very busy call phone.

I love you JB.
I love our boys.
Our girl.
Soon to be our girls.
Thank you.