Today is my last day at work, and my last day near a computer with Internet access for a while. After the baby is born, I will attempt to send a family member to the library to post the info for you.

Until I'm back, know that I will be missing my blog desperately!

Kimmie came with me to work today, and the following conversation took place...

Kimmie: "I'm going over to the library across the street so I can send you a message on facebook."

Me: "Why don't you just send me a facebook message from the computer that you are sitting at right now?"

Kimmie: "I can't send you a message from here. I'm sitting in the room right next to you!"

Me: "So?"

Kimmie: "So, if I send you a message from here, then you can't send a message back to me."

Me: "Sure I can. As soon as I get it, I'll write something back."

Kimmie: "But we're practically in the same room!"

Me: "Uh, yeah, so why don't you just TALK to me?"

Kimmie: "Because I want to message you! I'm going to the library."

This is an email that I sent to some of my friends after Liberty was born. Since the new baby's birth is only DAYS away, (yippee!!) I've been remembering Liberty's birth, so thought I'd post it for you.

Liberty Grace was born Tuesday, September 26, 2006 at 1:03 PM.

The previous Tuesday, September 19th, I went to the doctor because I was experiencing spotty blue vision, a terrible headache, and disorientation. I had extremely high blood pressure when I arrived at the office, even though I had had no blood pressure problems before or after that. My doctor sent me to the hospital for tests and observation. My blood pressure went down as soon as I arrived at the hospital, and it never went back up so I was released the following day but put on bed rest until the baby was born. My wonderful mom decided to come stay with us at this point. (And I am very glad because I would have never been able to get the rest that I needed if she had not.)

On Saturday night, the 23rd, I started having mild contractions. They intensified throughout the night until I woke Jeremy up on Sunday morning and told him that we needed to go to the hospital. At this point, the contractions were about 4 minutes apart.

We stayed in at the hospital for seven hours, during which time the contractions increased to two minutes apart, and I dilated to 3 centimeters. My doctor was away for the weekend, and another doctor was on call at the hospital. We never did see the on call doctor, but my nurse relayed a message from her that we should go home since it was taking so long for any progress. My contractions were still two minutes apart, but I was more than happy to go home because the bed was EXTREMELY uncomfortable, and I had been telling God how much I wished that I could be back in my own bed to have this baby!

On Monday afternoon, I had another doctor appointment. When I showed up in his office, he took one look at me and said, "You're in labor! You should be at the hospital, not here! Would you like to be induced?" I was still having regular, strong contractions, but I had not dilated past three cm. I immediately said YES!!!!

We had to go to another hospital because the first one's birthing center was full. (I am very thankful that we went to a different hospital because their bed was so much more comfortable!!!) They gave me Petocin at 10:00 that night. At 7:00 the following morning, my doctor showed up to see how I was doing. He saw that I was still not dilated past three, so he broke my water and told me that things would progress very quickly from here on out. He said he was going to go to his office and planned to be back around lunch-time, but he figured he would receive a call before then that I would be ready to deliver.

At noon, my doctor returned. I was dilated to five cm, and he was surprised that I was not progressing any faster. He told Jeremy and me that at the rate I was going, I probably would not have the baby for another several hours...possibly not until seven pm or so. That's when I decided to ask for some pain medicine! I figured I could handle another two hours or so of the pain, but SEVEN??? Forget it! That is also when Jeremy asked me if I would mind if he went down to the cafeteria for lunch since nothing would be happening any time soon. I told him no problem. (I figured there was no reason for both of us to be miserable!)

Jeremy left, and the anaesthesiologist arrived to give me some narcotics. I heard my doctor in the hallway telling my nurse that we had a "situation" and that he believed we were going to have to do a C-Section. She told him that she would begin preparations for that.

The medicine that I received caused a strange reaction for me. Apparently, I stopped breathing, because the nurse kept slapping my face and telling me, "Take a deep breath; Take a deep breath." I thought I was falling off of the bed, so I kept correcting myself in the opposite direction...which of course pulled my IV and all the other things they had hooked up to me. By this time, several people were in the room, and they were all running around doing things to me. I was drifting in and out of consciousness, and I knew it, but I couldn't do anything to stop it. Every time I came back to consciousness I was completely aware of what was being said and done, but I couldn't seem to respond. I felt like I was sleeping and it was all a very vivid dream. At one point, I heard the doctor at my side. I looked over, and he was showing my nurse the print-out of the fetal monitor that was attached to my belly. He told her that the baby was in distress, and they had to act quickly. I could hear Liberty's heart monitor. Every time I had a contraction her heart would stop. After what seemed like forever, it would VERY SLOWLY regain its original rhythm. Because of my medication, although I knew that the monitor belonged to Liberty, I kept wondering to myself if that was my heart stopping or hers. (The fact that the nurse kept slapping me and telling me to breathe also contributed to my wondering.)

At some point, the nurse lifted me to the side of the bed, and the anaesthesiologist gave me an epidural. After that, I felt absolutely NOTHING. He showed me a needle and told me he was going to prick me with it. I was supposed to tell him how much I could feel on a scale of 1-10. I never felt it at all. In fact, I was having a hard time telling him that I couldn't feel it, because I also could not feel my mouth! That stuff numbed more than it was supposed to! (But I am definitely not complaining!) :-)

There must have been about 50 people in the room by now...I am exaggerating, but it definitely seemed like there were 50 people in there, and there was a feeling of frantic movement. I remember thinking to myself, "This must be pretty serious if they are all so worried about it." But I must have been too out of it to be worried myself. I felt very pleasantly comfortable and drifting, although I was extremely hot. I suppose the only thing that had brought me down to earth before, was the contractions every minute or so, but now that I couldn't feel those anymore, I was just as happy as could be. I wonder if the narcotics helped to make me feel that way, but I also know that God was keeping me calm. This song kept running through my head:

T minus 7 days...


...and counting!

Does anybody know what that T stands for? I've always wondered.

I have finished statements...early!

I've been working like crazy to get them all finished before I have the baby, and I've been wondering if the baby would come early and upstage the statements. But lo, the statements are done, and there is no baby in sight.

Can I get a big disappointed sigh?

Because you know I'm doing my share of sighing (both in relief and in disappointment...and in just normal trying-to-catch-my-breath breathing because this child is WAY too big for her current location.)

And now, boys and girls, a story for you:

This morning, the office phone rang, and I answered in my usual cheerful manner, "Good morning, this is Melissa. How can I help you?"

A low-pitched voice demanded, "Why do you keep calling me?"

I paused, "Excuse me?"

"I've had enough," the voice ranted, "I just got back from a weekend at the hospital, and I am tired of getting these phone calls from you! Who are you, and why do you keep calling me?" The raspy voice could have been a man's or a woman's, and the thick Polish accent could have been a speech impediment. I scrounged up all of my brain cells trying to place the voice, trying to make sense of the conversation.

Many times, Craig's friends will call leaving rediculous messages for Craig, and many times I have been the victim of their prank phone calls. "Moe Skeeto" frequently calls. "Earl Acker" has called a few times. "General Johnson" leaves messages at times, and these are just a few. Some more imaginative gentlemen call with stories that I have fallen for, and this phone call fit right into that particular genre of prank call.

I determined not to make a fool of myself this time. But, I still wasn't sure if this was a prank call. So I had to hedge my bets.

In a polite, I'm-Really-Just-Playing-Along tone of voice, I asked, "May I ask who is calling?"

"Who do you think is calling!?" the out-raged voice yelled out. "I'm not putting up with this any longer! Why do you keep calling me and hanging up, anyway? I've had enough of this! I'm going to report you to the police for harrassment if you don't stop!"

"Calling and hanging up?" I inquired politely, my guard still up.

"Listen, I am 85 years old. I don't have time for this! You stop calling me! Who are you, anyway?"

I began to wonder if my prank call theory might be wrong, but I hesitated to cave in too soon and play the fool once again. "This is a place of business located in Iowa." I stated politely, "When have you received a phone call from us?"

"When have I received a phone call from you?" the voice repeated incredulously, "Every hour on the hour for the past month! This is stopping today! What kind of business is this, anyway?"

"This is a financial business," I stated carefully, not sure how much information I wanted to give out, and still wondering when the punch line would pop out.

"WELL! I know that I've been behind on my payments, but I've been in the hospital this weekend, and my neice stayed at the house this weekend, and I've been trying to pay things off slowly. Just last week, I payed off a large chunk of my bills, and I'm still getting things in order. This is nothing more than harrassment! You cannot keep calling me and hanging up, day and night! That's no way for a financial corporation to operate! I am calling the police! What's your name, young lady?"

By this time, I had determined that the voice belonged to a woman. "Ma'am," I interjected in a hopefully not too placating way, "No one from our company has been calling you. In fact, we leave the office at five o'clock pm, and there is no one here to call you after that time."

"Then we'll just talk about the calls that I've been getting BEFORE five pm. Never mind about the ones that come after five pm! Tell me about the phone calls during the day!"

"Well, I can promise you that no one here is calling you repeatedly and hanging up during the day," I started in a respectful tone.

"Don't tell me that! I have caller ID! I see your phone number! I know it's you!"

I glanced at my phone display, disappointed that I did not have caller ID. "Would you mind telling me the phone number that has been calling you?" I asked.

"It's this one! The one that I called!" she rattled the number off to me. It was our toll-free number. The one programmed for incoming calls only and not capable of making out-going calls. But the fact that she had dialed the number from her caller ID and reached us only further proved her accusations.

"Hmm, do you mind if I call my phone company and find out what they can tell me about these calls?" I asked.

She seemed pleased, "You certainly can! And tell them that I won't stand for any more of this harrassment!"

"Yes, Ma'am. Would you like me to call you back with the information that I find out?"

"You'd better!" she responded. She gave me her phone number, and I wrote it down and repeated it to her. Then she told me her name was Rose, and I was happy to confirm that she was a woman, since I had been calling her ma'am!

I called our long distance carrier, who confirmed that our toll free number was incapable of making outbound calls. They tested the line and determined that it was working properly, then they told me that the problem must be occuring on her end of the line. Her local phone company must be accidently routing something through our phone number to her line. But since no one was actually on the call, she was getting what she thought were hang-up calls.

I dialed Rose's number and waited. Boo-doo-boop: The number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and try again. I dialed again, paying closer attention to the numbers as I punched them into the phone. Boo-doo-boop: All circuits are currently busy. Please hang up and try your call again. 041T.

I laughed out loud, realizing that I had falled prey once again to one of Craig's friend's elaborate phone pranks! I waddled into Craig's office, and I related the story to him. We both got a big laugh out of the whole thing, and we tried to guess which of his friends had set me up.

A few hours passed.

"Good afternoon, this is Melissa. How can I help you?" I answered the phone after lunch.

"You never called me! I waited by my phone for hours, and you did not call me back!" Rose's raspy voice accused.

"Hi," I stated, surprised, and wondering what to think. "I actually did try to call you, but my call would not go through. I found out some information for you."

She calmed down slightly, "What did you find out?"

I related what my long distance company had told me, and I stated that she might want to call her local company to find out what they could tell her.

"It most certainly is NOT my local company! I've had this same phone number since 1949, and I've NEVER had any problems with it. I have not changed a thing! That is a bunch of rubbish you are trying to tell me, and I won't stand for it! I'm reporting this number!"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, "That's a good idea. Write my number down, and here is my name," I spelled it out for her. "Call your phone company and report this number. Make sure you give them my name so that they can verify with me when they try to check out the problem. That's a great idea!" I tried to sound enthusiastic and happy and helpful. The truth was, I was really beginning to enjoy our conversation. She made me laugh (internally) with every new sentence, and I really felt sorry for her. I wished I could meet her in real life.

In my mind, she had shrunk to a tiny four foot three inches, her tanned skin hung in wrinkles around her face, and her curly white hair bobbed with every exclamation point. She wore a floral dress, elastic at the waist, and her small home was filled with green plants, magazines, a small dog, and a parakeet.

"Wait a minute!" she interjected, "You said you are in Iowa? I live in Maryland, but my granddaughter and her husband moved to Iowa...I think. Iowa. She works...somewhere. Do you know her?"

Because I live in Iowa, do I know her? I remained silent, not sure what she meant.

"Maybe she works for your company. Maybe she has been trying to call me from your company."

"Oh! No, ma'am, I don't think so. There are only two of us who work at this company. Your granddaughter does not work here."

The suspicion was back. "Only two of you work at that company?" she questioned sharply, "Only two? Well, who else works there?"

The phone call was getting long, and I did not see an end in sight. "I can check our records to see if your granddaughter works here." I abruptly changed my tune, "What is her name?" Rose did not seem to mind my switch in stories.

I waited the approximate amount of time it would take to check employment records and then informed her, "No, we have no one here by that name. I'm sorry."

She sighed, "Oh, I guess it wasn't her then."

In closing, I gently suggested again that she contact her local phone company and report the calls she had been receiving, and she adamantly refused to entertain the idea that they could have anything to do with the problem.

She finished by blessing me. Blessing me! Over the phone. How fun! She told me how wonderful and helpful I had been, and how blessed she hoped I was for all the trouble I had gone to for her. The blessing really surprised me, because she had been acting as though I were lying to her about the whole situation.

I think, though, she was lonely. Talking to me gave her something fun to do that day, and it definitely gave me something fun to do! I wish I had a recording of our two conversations because they were both much longer and much more diversified than what I have typed here.

I'm so thankful that God made people!

PS> Only 8 days until the baby is due! :-)

We interrupt this blog to bring you the following news:

At my doctor appointment this morning, they determined that the baby is in position.

I repeat: THE BABY IS IN POSITION!!!

Hallelujah! So am I!

Posting will be sporadic for the next several days due to quarterly statements. My goal is to have them finished by July 16th.

Did I say that out loud? Yikes!

For my birthday, Jeremy gave me an iPod. Do you have any idea how I have been longing for an iPod? I have thousands of tapes that I want to transfer to an iPod.

Yes, I said tapes. Jeremy laughed at me when he realized I own two boxes full of tapes, fifteen record albums and only nine CD's. The CD's I can easily burn onto the computer and then install into my iPod, but the tapes and the record albums I haven't figured out yet.

So I'm surfing around on iTunes, because there are millions of soundtracks that I want to buy. But somehow, I can't seem to find any of them. Either I am REALLY old, or REALLY pregnant.

Maybe both.

Help me out here. If I want to type in the name of an entire soundtrack and search for it, how can I do that? It's only letting me search for songs.

My fingers hover over the keys. I know what I want to say, but I struggle still to put in all into words.

I suppose I could just start at the beginning.

Jeremy and I were married five years ago this month. (Woo-hoo!) And for most of that time, Jeremy has worked from 4:30 PM to 3:30 AM with lots of overtime and weekends thrown in randomly. His body has not been able to switch from "night shift" to "day shift" over the weekends like some people's bodies can. Therefore, he and I have seen each other every Saturday afternoon and every Sunday afternoon for the last almost five years.

I won't lie to you. It has been lonely and hard.

Then Kimmie came to live with us, and Liberty was born: it became exceedingly difficult.

I begged God to put Jeremy on days. I pleaded with Him. I persuaded Him. I bowed to His sovereign will and experienced joyful peace. I became angry and bitter. I shut Him completely out of my life for about five months straight. I repented and realized God is good. Always. Even when I can't see the good. Over and over I cycled through emotional feelings versus reality and truth. In five years, I have not seen God move in this area. I have not heard Him speak.

Part of me has given up hope. But then I evaluate that sentence and all that it entails, and I think, no, I haven't given up hope...so then what is that feeling? Submission? Resignation? Peace? Endurance?

I still hope for a day-shift job for Jeremy. I still long to live with my husband. I see the family across the street: a mom, a dad and two little girls who work in their yard together, go for walks in the neighborhood together, ride their bikes together, and I want that so badly it hurts inside. The commandment not to covet my neighbor's life jumps into my heart and I tell God, "I don't want to covet their lifestyle. I'm not trying to sin. In fact, I'm trying very hard NOT to sin in this area. But the truth is, You have given them exactly what I want. So I need You to grow inside me until You alone are enough. Until there is no room left for other desires."

Like I said, this is a struggle. Some days God and I are winning, and some days we are losing. In thinking back, I will say that for the most part, God and I win more often than we lose. This is especially true more recently than it was a while ago, and I am thankful to God for that reality.

However, about a month or so ago, in my prayer journal, I spelled out my heart's desire to my God, my Daddy. He already knew it. We had already discussed it in detail. But you know me...I have to write. So I wrote. I described my pain, my anger, my longing for a right relationship with Him as well as my longing for a more detailed relationship with my husband. I believe those two desires can and should go hand in hand. They are not mutually exclusive. I told God how overwhelmed I felt from constantly making the household decisions, from being the primary and almost only care-giver to our children, from trying to survive the end of this pregnancy completely on my own.

I cried.

I described.

I worshipped.

I submitted.

I left it in His hands.

In short, I did the same thing that I have done repeatedly over the past five years. Nothing different.

A few days later, Jeremy's manager called him into his office and told him that he would be on day-shift at work until our baby was born. (Not because of the baby, but because of circumstances at work.) That was three weeks ago.

Jeremy has been on day-shift for three weeks! Three wonderful, blissful, incredible weeks!

Do you know why I haven't mentioned it?

Because part of me is still in awe over the wonderfulness of God. Part of me is afraid that if I talk about it, it might disappear. Part of me couldn't find the words to describe how great it feels to have him home, to have him lead, to have him make decisions, to have him help me, to have him rub my back at night and force me to put my feet up during the day, to have him chase Liberty, to have him answer Kimmie, to have him be my MAN. I love watching him love our daughters. I cannot describe that feeling. Kimmie is happier. Liberty is happier. I am happier. And really, we weren't sad before (although everything I wrote prior to this paragraph has made it seem like we were). There is a completely different feeling in our house. Maybe all of us girls needed some testosterone floating around. Who knows?

But I am telling you, I am thankful.

According to the plan, Jeremy may be back on night shift for next week only, and he is scheduled to go back to night shift after the baby is born. But I want to shout from the top of the world,

THANK YOU, GOD, FOR GIVING ME THIS PRESENT. A MONTH AND A HALF WITH MY HUSBAND. AMAZING!

My daughter has a hero.

This weekend, Liberty followed her hero wherever he went. His name flew from her lips repeatedly, "Daddy! Daddy!" If he sat down, she climbed onto his lap. If he walked into another room, she followed closely on his heels. When he switched directions, she whirled around, fell over, picked herself up and trotted after him.

Daddy cleaned out the garage this weekend and pushed his to-be-restored 1983 Camaro into the driveway. He talked about washing the car, and Liberty dragged out the bucket and sponges necessary to complete the task. Daddy pulled the garden hose over to the driveway and began spraying his beloved machine. In her pink and green sun-suit, Liberty followed directly behind. When the wind blew droplets of water onto her skin, she squealed and ran away laughing then quickly returned for more, her little blond curls bouncing as she ran. Liberty kept Daddy supplied with fresh, soapy sponges, and she scattered bubbles delightedly in between sponge deliveries.

When Daddy walked to the other side of the car, Liberty walked to the other side of the car. When Daddy backed up suddenly, Liberty got stepped on. But that did not deter her from her hero-worship!

I really can't blame her. He makes my heart go pitter-patter, too!

Yesterday was HOT. Ninety-five degrees hot, to be exact, and I told Liberty she could swim when we got home. We walked into the blessedly cool house, but when I opened the shades on the back patio doors, I realized Liberty would not be swimming for a while.

A largish, pure white bird was sitting in our kiddie pool.

I stared at it for a moment, trying to classify it in my mind. It was about the size and shape of a pigeon. Ruffled feathers and a strange bump on it's beak made me hesitate to call it pretty. It must have been residing in our pool for most of the day; multiple bird droppings marred the liner at the bottom of the pool, and small floating feathers and crud swirled around the surface of the water.

Liberty and I pulled up a dining room chair and discussed the bird for several minutes. I slowly wrapped my mind around the task ahead: empty, scrub, disinfect...and even then, I wasn't sure that I would let Liberty swim in that pool again. I pondered the power of bleach, all the while dreading the energy required to bend over my enormous belly-bump AND keep Liberty away from the pool AND work in the 95 degree sunshine. Finally, Liberty insisted on going out. I hesitantly opened the door, ready to grab her back if she appeared too close to jumping into the contaminated water.

I expected the bird to fly away in a flurry of feathers and rushing noises, and I prepared myself not to flinch. (I am scared of birds...blame Alfred Hitchcock.) Instead, the bird just stared as we slowly slid the patio door open. Liberty squealed and ran onto the deck. The bird just stared. "Hi!" Liberty proclaimed to her new friend, and she ran over to the pool. The bird looked very nervous and poised for flight but remained in place, just staring. The two of them were less than two feet apart, and my warning radar jumped into full alert mode. Birds SHOULD be afraid of people. Birds SHOULD fly away immediately, and it scared me that this one did not. I pulled Liberty back inside amidst much protesting.

I sat back down at the patio doors, and watched The Bird. That's when I noticed the blue rubber band around one of his orange legs and the white band with tiny marks around his other leg. I decided to call a wildlife preserve a few miles away from our house. Rick answered the phone. After I described The Bird, he thought it might be a homing pigeon or a carrier pigeon.

A Carrier Pigeon! For the tiniest fraction of a moment, I considered checking that white band around his leg to see if a secret message was being carried by The Bird. My adventure radar and imagination were in full bloom. But my fear quickly tackled that thought and shut it down. America could be taken over by terrorists, and I would not lift one finger to stop them as long as they used birds to frighten me into submission. (Unless I had a gun.)

I'm sorry! Birds scare me. I enjoy them from a distance or with a protective barrier in place, but too close is entirely too close. When I was about ten, I watched a group of blue jays peck my brother's skull repeatedly until he ran into the house crying. And this was my tough brother. And he hadn't done anything to them.

Rick then asked the unthinkable. "Why don't you go out there and tell me what the markings on the white band say?"

"Uh. NO. Can't you come out here and do that yourself?"

"Wal," he drawled, "I could, but I would have to charge you for it."

"Oh." He didn't seem very interested in the possibility of a rare and glorious creature being recaptured and put back into it's natural environment. I hung up with nothing accomplished. I flipped through the phone book some more. Then I called the local animal clinic.

My new best friend Bev was enthusiastic about the whole situation and eagerly peppered me with questions over the phone. I just as enthusiastically answered them, thrilled to finally have someone who seemed as excited about this fun happening as I was. She decided it was probably a dove released at a wedding and lost. With this new insight, I examined The Bird again...through the patio doors. "Is it a dove?" she asked.

"I don't know. I always pictured doves as prettier than this. But maybe." The odd bump on the beak and the out-of-place feathers gave it a scraggly appearance. Then I noticed the strange dark markings on the chest. It looked like a spatter of mud or blood had hit The Bird squarely in the center of it's chest and then leaked in irregular lines down the front of its body. I strained to get a better look. I told Bev about it. "I wonder if it might be hurt." Small stirrings of sympathy struggled to slip free in my heart.

Bev and I chatted in some detail for a while, but she could not leave her clinic, and I was not about to collect The Bird and take it to her. She suggested I call the state wildlife department. I did. They were closed. She suggested I call the police. I did. They didn't plan to come out to see a bird...not even if it could have been a jailbird. (I'm so funny.)

Bev and I hung up, and I continued gazing out the window at the motionless bird standing in our pool.

Jeremy came home. I excitedly informed him of The Bird trapping us in our house. He wanted me to leave the window and begin making supper. I explained to him why that would be physically impossible. "But I can't watch him if I'm making supper. That would require me to step away from the window."

"Is he doing anything?" Jeremy asked.

"No."

"Has he done anything in the entire time that you've been staring?"

"No."

"Then you probably won't miss anything if you decide to make supper." He pointed out so logically. I sighed and left the window.

For 23 seconds.

I couldn't help it. I was drawn to The Bird. Even Liberty had stopped being fascinated long before this and gone to the living room to play with her toys. Why couldn't I?

I forced myself to stay by Jeremy's side as we prepared supper, but every so often I would make a quick dash over to the glass doors to check on Fred.

I had to leave the house to pick Kimmie up from work several hours later, and on the way home, I told her all about our new pet Fred. We eagerly ran to the patio doors as soon as we got home to check on him.

But he was gone.

I checked the yard, my body in a permanent ducking position in case he dive-beaked me from the sky. But it looked as though Fred had flown the coop.

Now, I just have to deal with his poop.

Maybe I'll buy a new pool.

After that horrid post on Thursday, I took a deep breath and decided to claim a vacation day for Friday...which was also Jeremy's 30th birthday!!!!

We began the day just like any other ordinary day...in the hospital. (Don't worry. I was at the hospital for an ultrasound. Hee-hee! My sugar level has been up and down at odd times, and my doctor wanted an ultrasound run to be sure that the baby was doing okay.)

My technician was named Donna, and she began telling me about her recently deceased husband. She was so sad. She revealed memory after memory as we explored the interior of my tummy, and we cried together there in the darkened room behind the curtain. While we cried, I prayed that God would use me to comfort her somehow, and I believe she just needed someone to talk with, to listen to her. While I am still very sad for her, I really enjoyed our time of story-telling and memory-sharing. Her husband sounds like he was a fun-loving man, and her stories made me smile through my tears.

My baby is due on her husband's birthday, and I am glad to share it with him. It's more special that way.

After the ultrasound, we dropped my van off for an oil change, and to our delighted surprise the shop gave us a loaner car with a FULL GAS TANK!!!! We stared at each other gleefully, and Jeremy announced, "Let's go to Des Moines!"

The sunny day, bright blue sky, beautiful temperatures and happily singing birds all encouraged us on our journey. I settled deeply into the luxurious passenger seat and snored away as Jeremy piloted us down the road.

Our first stop was Barnes & Noble to return a purchased book that did not live up to its cover. This provided us with an in-store credit that burned a hole in my pocket immediately. I haven't mentioned this before, but I've been testing my blood sugar twice a day for the past week, and the levels have been great! So I decided to reward myself at the Starbucks in Barnes & Noble. I marched happily towards the counter with my in-store credit card waving high above my head.

"I want something with lots of chocolate and caramel in it! Iced!" I proclaimed to the barrista. She laughed and pointed out a couple options. I chose one, and then hesitated. "Um, do you happen to know the nutritional information on that drink?" Inwardly, I sighed at myself. I knew that I didn't want to know the real answer. She pulled out the paper bearing the information. I fainted dead away in complete shock. There were enough carbs in that one drink to eat up my allowance for lunch and supper together!

"Oh. Nevermind."

She must have taken pity on me because she valiantly flipped through her nutritional info book, pouring over page after page of drinks, trying to find one that didn't use up so many of my valuable carbs. Fifteen minutes later, I decided to try a strawberry lemonade.

Because that page was missing from her book.

And it sounded less carb-ful to me.

I hope it was.

Anyway, it was good!

Jeremy and I continued on our adventure into the mall, and I felt my body relaxing as we held hands and laughed our way through the stores. I marveled at the lack of responsibility I felt. My shoulder muscles un-tensed. I sighed happily, reveling in the freedom.

After purchasing a few items for him, we decided to find a place for lunch. On the way to the mall, we had passed a new restaurant called Johnny's Italian Steakhouse. It looked fancy. We decided to check it out. The darkened lobby and thick carpeting informed us right away that this was no ordinary eating establishment. The prices on the menu resting casually at the "Please Wait To Be Seated" podium quickly confirmed that this was no ordinary eating establishment.

We fled. Quickly. Before a host could captured us and wrestle us to a table.

Instead, we dined at Red Robin, where I further ruined my diet by sharing onion rings with Jeremy before finishing off the fries that came with my meal.

And boy, was it worth it!

I had forgotten how good food could taste!

I did, however, NOT eat any of the rest of my meal in an effort to reduce the damage I was probably causing to my blood sugar.

I took it home in a doggie bag and ate it for supper.

It was good.

We stopped at a swimming pool store to look into buying a pool for our yard. Yeah. The prices were a bit steep. We gazed longingly at the sparkly water and the refreshing blue promise of coolness. And a sudden sharp pain stabbed my abdomen. I gasped and stumbled backwards. Another knife-thrust knocked me into a nearby seat. I sat, quietly enduring, while a saleswoman explained the benefits of a new pool to us, but when I attempted to rise from the seat, my grimace triggered her concern. With Jeremy helping me, I staggered to the car, all the while evaluating my pains. They didn't feel like contractions. At least, not like anything I had experienced with Liberty.

The pains continued most of Friday evening and intermittently throughout Saturday. But my newly relaxed attitude and muscles prevented me from being too concerned. The family spent a casual Saturday together. We celebrated Jeremy's birthday. Kimmie bought him a new shirt. I bought him a MANLY GRILLING COOKBOOK. A manly one.

Sunday continued with more of the relaxed feeling, and a couple stabs of pain to the abdomen in the morning to keep me aware. We emptied and scrubbed Liberty's kiddie pool, then re-filled it. I sat in it and enjoyed the sparkly water and relaxing blue coolness while Kimmie and Liberty ran and splashed. Jeremy stood on the back deck and watched from a careful distance after Kimmie "accidentally" splashed him.

That afternoon, we explored some dirt roads that we had never traveled before. We examined peaceful looking farmhouses and pastures waving with wildflowers. The wind pushed our hair back from our faces and off of our necks. The sun kissed our cheeks. In the evening, we walked around our neighborhood. Liberty collected pretty-looking rocks from the sides of the road. She ran in ovals around us as we strolled. She laughed in sheer joy, a delighted sound bubbling from her lips. We laughed with her.

Back at home with Liberty in bed, I made brownies for Jeremy to take to work. We tasted them to be sure they were not poisoned. I ignored my sugar tester. Then we watched "The Bridge to Terabithia" which Kimmie had borrowed from the library.

I closed my eyes in sleep on a soft bed and a newly laundered summer bedspread courtesy of my husband who dug it out of storage and washed it prior to putting it on our bed.

All good things must come to an end, but this good thing -- this mini-vacation -- has given me enough happiness and relaxation to help me face the next month or so.

James 1:17 - "Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows."

PS> Only 31 days until the baby comes!

I don't know what's wrong with me. I feel tired and worn out, discouraged. I am ready to stop being pregnant. I'm tired of feeling sick; I'm tired of being slow. I'm getting impatient to meet my baby, but I'm also dreading adding another little responsibility to my crowded days.

I just want to yell loudly at somebody and then cry like the world has ended.

Or better yet, I would like to go on vacation to a beautiful deserted island where I can laze around in a hammock all day and sip icy lemonade from a pretty glass. An island where I can have servants (so much for the deserted part) who bring me delicious food, and I don't have to worry about the sugar or the carbs involved. Where I can read books and write stories all day or all night until my brain is finally relaxed. Where I can find some peace and quiet without running after a tantrum-throwing two year old, or arguing with a teenager who already knows everything there can possibly be to know in this world. I don't want to move or think or talk until I'm all sorted out inside.

There is no reason for these strange feelings that I can tell. Other than hormones, I guess.

Nasty little hormones!

For his Father's Day feast, Jeremy requested roast, green bean casserole and corn on the cob. I popped the roast into the crock pot early in the day, and just before supper time, I began creating the green bean casserole. Kimmie sat at the dining room table to shuck the corn, and Liberty crept closely up to Kimmie, fascinated by the shucking process. After a short time, Kimmie lifted Liberty into a nearby chair and handed her an ear of corn to shuck. She showed her how to pull the leaves away from the cob, and Liberty delightedly went to work. She finally finished her first ear of corn at the same time that Kimmie finished all the rest of the ears.

From time to time, I glanced up from my casserole making just to drink in the picture of my two pioneer girls shucking corn side by side at the dining room table, the afternoon sun lighting their happy faces through the nearby patio doors. A peaceful and happy scene that still makes my heart smile in memory.

Once the shucking was finished, Liberty attempted to eat her newly naked corn. Kimmie quickly guided it from her lips and interested her in the tiny silky threads still entwined in the kernels. While Liberty pulled the threads, I handed Kimmie the cleaver and asked her to divide each corn cob in half. Now, Kimmie has a healthy fear of knives, especially one as cool-looking as the cleaver. So with her thumb and pointer finger she gingerly held the end of a cob, and with her other hand, she gently tapped the cleaver onto the corn.

Nothing happened.

She tried again.

Still no results.

I smiled and told her, "You've got to be the boss of it!" Then I took a cob and showed her the violent action required to chop that thing in half.

She took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll try it, " she whispered with grim determination. She gingerly held the corn again and told Liberty to watch out. She raised that cleaver high over her head, until even I was scared that it would come down in the wrong place. She chopped quickly down, and the corn separated and flew in two directions, spinning to the opposite ends of the table. Random kernels flew up in the aftermath, bathing Kimmie, Liberty and the wall behind them. Liberty's first shocked expression dissolved into giggles of glee, and Kimmie grinned broadly.

She grabbed another corn cob and repeated the process. This time, Liberty almost fell off her chair from laughing so hard. Kimmie and I joined her. The laughter was so contagious! This process was repeated for each ear of corn, and the three of us were almost helpless with mirth by the time all the ears were divided.

I plopped all of the corn cobs into a pan of boiling water, and watched as Kimmie cleaned up the table, the wall, Liberty and herself. And I wished for a video camera to capture this memory forever.

I feel like a lab rat that has been poked and prodded and sleep deprived and food deprived so that scientists can learn what NOT to do to a lab rat.

My lovely little daughter, Liberty, who is not yet two has been sleeping just fine in her big girl bed for over a month now. But this week, she decided the big girl bed is not for her. She gave it a fair shot, and that bed just doesn't work out. Instead, she prefers to throw her body violently against the closed bedroom door while screaming as though a vital organ were dangling from her abdomen. Because, you know, it is so much more pleasant to spend your nights and evenings practicing to be in a horror movie than it is to loll lazily against fresh-smelling sheets while a gentle fan-created breeze blows over you.

Since Monday, I have tried everything imaginable to get her to go back to bed, to stay in bed, to fall asleep, to just be quiet, but NOTHING works. On Wednesday, I slept a total of three hours, and on Thursday, I had glimpses of sleep in ten minute stretches at a time until 5:30 in the morning when Jeremy took over. I do now know what he did, but after all the screaming I had endured over the past four nights, the silence from her room was eerie enough to prevent me from sleeping. There is nothing more frustrating than NOT sleeping at 5:30 in the morning when you haven't gotten any sleep to speak of during the previous four nights.

On top of my sleep deprivation, the new gestational diabetes diet is wreaking havoc on my normally sweet and wonderful personality. (See my halo?) Who knew that carbs were in so many foods? Who knew that carb withdrawal could create homicidal tendencies in a person? Who knew that carb withdrawal + sleep deprivation could create a mental imbalance that prevents the curbing of those homicidal tendencies?

Huh. They say you learn something new everyday. I'm just getting my quota of knowledge, I guess.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/25107608?GT1=43001

Our friends were told yesterday to evacuate their house due to flooding, so our church has a group there all day today moving all of their things into various storage places around town. Many families have volunteered spots where our friends can keep their things for the next three months. I'm so thankful to belong to a church like this where people immediately drop their own plans to get involved in the lives of each other.

I tried to imagine three months of living in various homes that weren't my own. That could provide lots of partying fun! And lots of stress. I'm hoping to help them make it fun!

Our next door neighbors dragged their brand new basement carpeting out into the backyard a couple days ago to help it dry out. Ironically, that carpeting has now been rained on many, many times and is even wetter now than it was when they brought it out to dry. Kelly said, "Oh well, it's not coming back in until it's dry."

Yeah, that's going to be out there a while.

Our sump-pump has been running non-stop, and I toured the perimeter of our home yesterday afternoon. We have about eight inches of standing water up against our foundation. I wonder how long our dry basement will last?

Road closures all over town are forcing businesses to close, and I'm waiting for our little creek to overflow. We only have one road to get to and from our house. I hope I'm home (with plenty of food and the entire family) when the creek crosses the road. Woo-hoo! Bring on the party!

You've probably heard all about our flooding on the news. It has rained for three weeks straight. During the day, it is beautiful, hot, sunny, swimming weather, but at night Mr. Hyde comes out to rain on our parade. Only, he doesn't just rain, he violently throws hail and fierce winds and torrential downpours at us. One morning, the radio informed me that we had received two inches of rain in ten minutes' time. Two nights ago, our (heavy) grill and deck chair were pushed into our pool.

Last night, I heard our house blowing apart bit by bit, and I got up to investigate. After turning the outside light on, I watched beautiful hailstones slam into our patio doors. I checked on Liberty, sure that the concert-level decibels would wake her up. She slept blissfully unaware, her arms thrown up over her head, and her tousled blond curls and little red cheeks healthfully shining in the semi-darkness. I checked Kimmie's room, only to find an empty bed. I quietly called her name as I searched the house. I saved the basement for last, fully expecting to find her anxiously watching the TV screen for tornado warnings, but when I reached the basement, she was not in sight.

"Kimmie?" I called quietly, for the first time beginning to wonder what might have happened to her. No answer. "Kimmie?" I repeated, louder this time, and I turned to go back up the stairs. A scraping noise to my right whirled my body quickly around. Kimmie's form loomed out of the darkness setting my heart pounding.

She smiled sheepishly at me while I recovered.

She had been hiding from the storm behind some storage boxes in the basement. I coaxed her into returning to her bedroom, and she reluctantly climbed the stairs with me. Before going back to bed, she and I sat at the patio doors and watched the ice fall from the sky. The light on the porch shone through each hailstone as it passed, casting quick shimmers of color into our eyes. The beauty-lover in Kimmie awoke, and she was able to go back to bed feeling better about the storm.

Until thirty minutes later when she pounded on my door, waking me up to ask about the "strange orange figure in the sky."

Lately I've been struggling for coherency. Which is why I've been posting surveys and memes instead of really writing. My thoughts are so jumbled. I don't even know what they're jumbled about.

I'm even struggling to put complete sentences together now. I re-read what I've written, and I wonder, does that sound right?

I guess it's the baby, but this is really getting ridiculous.

Only 45 days till I get to meet my little brain-eater!

By the way, I have the most awesome husband in the world, in case you didn't already know that. He helped me get all the baby clothes sorted and put in place yesterday. He helped me pack the hospital bag yesterday.

And most importantly, he rubbed my back last night! Mmmmmm! He loves me! :-)