Guest Post :: Worth The Wait by Cassie Stevens

Cassie and I met in 2006 when hubs and I moved to Skagit Valley and started teaching. She quickly became a friend, a really great friend. She brought us on blind dates with her {awesome story for another day}, got me to run my first 7 mile race and ate with me exuberantly throughout both my pregnancies. We’ve had the opportunity to be present for her and her husband’s introduction {we did that!}, dating, and marriage. Now they’re pregnant! And going to make fabulous parents. The thing is? As with many of the best things in life, this making a human thing is hard work, especially under Cassie’s circumstances. I thought you may be interested in what she has to say, in her story. Maybe some of you can relate, maybe you’ve been through something similar. If we’re really nice to her here at elSage Designs I might convince her to make this a regular thing. So without further ado I give you Cassie Stevens:

Worth the Wait –
A few words from an expecting mom…

There are three specific things to look forward to during pregnancy; no periods, second trimester sex, and slowing down the exercise routine with permission to eat more.  Not only have I spotted throughout my entire pregnancy, but I have had frighteningly short, heavy bleeds at two months, four months, and six months along.  Sex, because of doctor’s orders, disappeared along with the successful buttoning of my jeans, and it’s been 10 long weeks since I put on running shoes.  But, I am lucky.  Both baby and I are still strong and healthy. My grim-reaper placenta has troubled us both with a placenta previa and then with blood loss from a placental abruption. Currently 25 weeks along, I am held captive in a room at UW Medical Center in Seattle for three weeks, protected by the best medical care offered in our area. When put that way I feel safe in the four, butternut squash colored walls of my sterile hospital room.  However, it is daunting when a Neo-Natal team discusses the ramifications of giving birth at 25 weeks, with a 70% chance of the baby living, which sounds some-what promising until flipped into a 30% chance of death.  Surprisingly, I am not afraid. Mainly, because the man sleeping next to me on the thin day-bed-type sofa every night, refusing to go home, loves me enough that we’ll weather the most tragic of storms together. I know I can survive the worst with him by my side.  Also, because I am not allowing my mind to go there and because many, many women have battled much worse a circumstance.  However, going on day ten of at least 26 in my room, a small piece of me lashes out in irritable boredom as the prospects of tomorrow’s monotony stare me in the face.  Each day there is one highlight, a monitor placed on my stomach that echoes the sound of 140 beats per minute and for those twenty minutes I am truly peaceful because I am reminded that I love someone I have never even met.  I am reminded that I would do anything for this growing child and reminded that pregnancy is truly miraculous.  The other 1,420 minutes of the day get a little bit harder. Don’t get me wrong, the doctors and nurses here are amazing. There is even knitting club on Tuesdays and art group on Thursdays.  I can have visitors anytime of day and am allowed a wheelchair ride outside when there is someone available to push me.  Yet I am frustrated and feeling like a prisoner.  And this is where the irony catches me off guard. Three weeks in a hospital shouldn’t be this difficult. Isn’t this what we openly all want? I wish I didn’t have to go to work, wish I could stay in my PJs all day watch TV, surf the net, read a good book, take a nap, and have meals made for me.  I wish I didn’t have to clean house or grocery shop or pull the last of the weeds from the garden.  Finally, I am granted my wishes and all I can think about is how good it would feel to go on a run, teach hormonally – confused 7th graders (my current job), and purge my house of any unnecessary junk accumulating in next to non-existent storage space.  Do I need to give myself permission to embrace this redundancy or permission to enjoy it?  Isn’t it interesting how the happy moments in life really hinge on perspective? Truly, when it is all said and done this bump-in-road part of how our child came to be will told as an embellished, light-hearted tale. I can already hear myself saying “it wasn’t that bad…” I know this perfect, little miracle will be worth the wait, but more importantly maybe he or she will teach me to enjoy the wait. Couldn’t we all use a little lesson in stopping to enjoy the steps along the way, instead of just the finished product?  Tomorrow morning I’ll start with ordering the buttermilk pancakes, relish in my new love for Pinterest (this may be the only thing keeping me sane), really look at the changing fall leaves, and even reminisce about how great sex is with my husband.  I could even begin writing my first novel, or read The Help by Kathryn Stockett, or begin a marathon viewing of every Friends episodes ever made.  Regardless, I vow to take joy in it all.  If I am going to be a good model for this little one I am going to need a bit more practice enjoying the wait. I wonder if I have uncovered a secret of parenthood: I have just as much to learn as I do to teach.