Yes...I fell. I'm a klutz and have ALWAYS been one. Pregnancy is no exception to THAT note. So the story goes...
I was walking into school yesterday, carrying my $12.00 bag of gas station goodies (yes...what?!? Apparently, preggo cravings were in full swing) and my Ale-8 slush, and listening to my radio show on my phone (I love the 7:00 update and that happens to be right when I'm walking in to school) so I wasn't really exactly paying attention. I had on boots and was struttin' along (clearly) when my feet started to slip out from under me. Feeling myself going down, down, down, I tried to save it with some clever feet shifts and acrobatic shuffling. No such luck. I ended up doing said shuffle about 20+ feet in sort of a running/chaotic shuffle slide, never getting a grasp on my stance. I assure it that it is every bit as elegant as you are picturing. Much to my dismay, our behavior interventionist was hanging out in the hall, witnessing this entire failed charade...
Well, I ended up coming to a halt... on my stomach. Eek. No lie, it was 100% feet to face with some added acceleration. I did not know what to think first. To be honest, the hole in my cup and the finger plugging some of the rush of my Ale-8 slush leaking sweet sticky goodness onto my scarf was a brief distraction before complete shooting pain in my knee broke me out of my damaged pride haze. My bad knee. Yes, the one I've had four surgeries on. THEN, it dawned on me that I happen to be laying on my stomach. My pregnant stomach. I was okay though, I promise! It didn't occur where I landed at first because I really was fine! It was just an extended trip that wasn't the most delightful vacay. A couple of other people heard the shuffling and inevitable cluttering of sounds and witnessed the end fall, so they were worried. It was most definitely a hard and pretty nasty tumble, but I really wasn't too worried about my little man.
Only problem is, is one, where I did land and even a fall not on my stomach can be dangerous for a pregnant woman...more so with one about to enter the 3rd trimester or weeks beyond. Others seemed to really think I should get checked out. Again, I was sure my little fighter was just fine, but I then started freaking out because he wasn't kicking much...but come to think of it, he wasn't kicking as much as usual yesterday morning at all, like he usually does. My head was spinning. I called my OB's office and the woman fielding the calls before the office opened page the on-call doctor. He called and we discussed things and he thought that I should come in to check things out. I really assumed he'd assure me that everything was fine. No such luck. I waited until 9 when the office opened, assuming again they'd have me go in in the afternoon and it'd be no big deal. No such luck again. They wanted me to come in immediately, so luckily, I have fabulous teammates who didn't hesitate about shuffling my kiddos into their rooms and covering my classes and I began my journey over to Central Baptist.
I didn't have to wait long once there, as they called me back almost instantly...big relief because I had started to get incredibly worried. Jack still was not moving. The doctor came in and felt around and he still wasn't moving. So, given the nature of my fall, she thought it'd be best to hook me up to the fetal monitor. When the nurses first came in to wrap the bands around my belly, they still weren't finding too much going on. Panic set in. Finally though...she placed the last piece of the monitor on my stomach and BAM! Jack kicked so hard, he kicked it right off. Apparently, my boy was having quite the snooze in there and she woke him up. It was like he was saying, "get off me, punk!". Like mother, like son. Both nurses then had a bit of a struggle getting things situated because Jack was not making it easy on them...he was awake and he was going to let them know it. He was showing off...little stinker. Maybe it was a 'high-5' saying, "HELLO!" Who knows, but both called him mischievous and ornery. Like FATHER, like son.
Next, I laid there for 45+ minutes listening (and feeling) my sweet boy's rhythmic pulse and shuffled movements on the fetal monitor. I've never felt such relief! I still continued to lay there and pray. I prayed for the health of my son. I prayed in gratitude for every punch, kick, jab, and movement. I prayed for every mother's muffled footsteps I hear outside the door. I prayed...it was just a time of peace for me.
We weren't exactly out of the dark yet, though...she was still monitoring ME as well to make sure I was not contracting or showing signs of early labor. Thankfully, nothing on the monitor showed signs of said distress and she was impressed by all of little man's movements. She did say she would rather me to take the rest of the day off to continue to rest, but knew that I didn't plan on being gone long and hadn't gotten a substitute. I had one last test and that was a blood test to ensure the placenta had not detached from my uterus in the dangerous jarring that can occur in a fall. She did allow me to go on back to school, instead of being admitted, because she was confident all was well and they'd call if they saw something abnormal.
I never heard from the office and all is well and wonderful in the land of pregnancy. We are so relieved! It is not that I was too worried at first or wanted any bit of the events that transpired with me having to leave my job and head to an emergency appointment, but it is nice to know that Brad and I have one tough little cookie in there! He has withstood some random issues inside there and it has got me thinking about what he will go through once in the outside world. So far, he has taken a swift (and powerful, I might add) punch from a 7-year old...and now, quite a nasty tumble. B says he may be a boxer since he can take a punch AND take a dive. Bahaha...I don't know about that, but I am excited to see what a strong person he could turn out to be. I can admit, however, that I'm already experiencing "mother worry", and the incident yesterday just threw me further into that anxiety. I feel as though I can protect him when he's still inside me, but what about when he's not? What's going to happen then? I find myself taking comfort in knowing that he's a tough guy and will go through many things in his life that will allow him to grow stronger and stronger with experience. I can't stand the thought of something happening to him and want to shelter him from all things negative, but am I really helping him by not allowing him to grow through experience and go through things for himself? I do not believe that I would be, so I will do what mothers have done through the test of time: smile and bear it and be an example of strength and poise through whatever life's situations might be, using his two incidents as the driving fuel behind that idea. I know it is all up to God and I am grateful for every moment of motherhood and the life of my family and my son. All things are possible through Him.
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