Not the greatest Valentines Day ever (but not the worst either)

So as most of you know, I've been dealing with this undiagnosed stomach pain (apparently unrelated to the baby) since October, and as of late it has been getting worse. I still have "okay" days where the pain is tolerable and I can go along my merry way, but 4-5 days a week the pain is there and wrecks havoc - eliminating any normalcy in my life.

Some days are much worse than others. The pain is usually worse at night, so I know its going to be a bad day when the pain is there from the moment I wake up. The Monday before Valentine’s Day was one of those days.

It had been a rough weekend, but I had stayed home, and rested-up as I had a busy week ahead of me at work. When I woke up on Monday I went straight to work, attempting to take my mind off the pain. By the time 9am rolled around I was to the point in my copping mechanisms where the coping becomes very audible - in other words - I'm moaning out loud to try to deal. I let my partner John know that I would have to excuse myself from the conference calls we had scheduled that day as my moaning and groaning would probably be rather disruptive. He insisted I go see the doctor (again) and take the rest of the day off.

I tried to divert the pain by staying busy, but it won out, and by 11am I called the doctor to make an appointment, letting them know it was a BAD day. They told me to come in as soon as I could, so I put on some comfy clothes, waited for Brice to get home from picking Ryder up from school, and we headed to the doctors’ office.

I was at the end of my rope as I walked up to the office only to find that they were all "out to lunch" for the next hour. Nope, I couldn’t wait. I called the office hotline from my cell, said I was standing outside, and that I didn't think I could wait an hour. Luckily the hospital is next door. They said to head over there, and that the doctor would be there shortly. Brice drove me the 2-blocks it is to get there (doubt I could have walked), and when we pulled up to the door I asked them to just leave me there - - the last thing I wanted was a bunch of hullaballo dragging the kids into the waiting room, etc... so I stumbled into the hospital on my own.

I must have looked pretty bad, because at least 3 ladies with wheelchairs rolled immediately to my assistance, asking if I was in labor. I said no, I didn't think so (6-more weeks to go!) but that I WAS in a lot of pain. They got me checked in really quickly (again, I must have looked scary 'cause everything moved really quickly and I was in the bed in the labor and delivery unit before I knew it).

The pain had taken a lot out of me, and as it wore me down it had brought on a series of contractions that felt like a knife stabbing into an open wound (about every 3 minutes)... They hooked me up to the fetal monitor and Beckham was a moving and his heart was beating away like a champ. No problems there. The problem was the other line on the monitor - - the one that said I was having big 'ol gnarly contractions 3 minutes apart on an ongoing basis. Not good for someone who has 6-weeks more to go! They gave me a shot to get the contractions to stop (which was equally as bad a feeling as the contractions, but at least reduced the chances that Beckham would be born too early) and after a bit the contractions slowed down. But H-E-L-L-O, they still hadn't given me anything for the pain! Their priority was making sure Beckham was safe and was staying inside for awhile longer, so as soon as that was under control, they turned their efforts to fixing the pain that brought me there in the first place. AHhhhhhhhh. A bit of Percocete did the trick (although it made me itch like crazy, which later they were able to anticipate and counteract with some Benedryll.)

It took 3 shots of the "contraction stopper" to get things where they were manageable, and pain killers every couple of hours so I could get some rest. The next day, things were still sketchy, so they kept me there on the monitor and on the meds under observation.

The next day was Valentine's Day, and the hospital was the last place I wanted to be on Valentine's Day. Brice was such a God-send (when hasn't he been through this all - The man is a Saint!) and he took care of wrapping up the Valentine’s gifts we had for the kids, and he set them out for them so that they were waiting for the boys when they woke up. He brought the kids to visit me every night I was in the hospital, and they called my Valentine’s Day morning to wish me a happy happy before they set off for school.

The docs decided I could go home, if I took it easy and rested-up - - so mid day on Valentine’s Day, I was released. I really wanted to surprise Landin and show up at his Valentine’s Day party at school, so we headed over there.

He was surprised all right, but not as surprised as I was to see what he was wearing. If you know me at all, you know how important it is to me that my kids are well-dressed and presentable (actually more than presentable, I like them to be ultra-coordinated). So on Valentine's Day I was expecting that Landin would be wearing something nice, a bit dressier than normal, and of course RED. No, he was not. He was wearing a pair of blue cords, which would have been fine, had they been his - - but they were Ryder's...meaning they were 4-5 inches too short. Couple the high-water pants with boat shoes and no socks (it's snowing outside mind you), and a ratty long sleeve t-shirt (also navy blue) and that pretty much sums up Landin's outfit. He looked ridiculous, and of course, I was crushed. I had come to the party with the hopes of taking a few photos of him and his new girlfriend Jennifer, whom he never stops talking about. But while Jennifer was dressed as you would expect, in a lovely red and pink dress, Landin was not in his photo ready duds. I still took the picture, but insisted he put his snow jacket on, and only took the picture from the waist up. When I asked Landin why he was wearing Ryder's pants, he replied that they were the only pants he could find. The first thing I did when I got home was a load of laundry - every pair of Landin's pants I could find - so that the next morning he had a dozen pairs to choose from, all with appropriate hem lines. Welcome home!

Since I was in the hospital for the first part of the week, and had spent the previous weekend in bed, I hadn't had the chance to get or make Brice anything special for Valentine’s Day. And since he was stuck taking care of me and the kids and playing Mom and Dad for the whole family, Brice didn't have a chance either. He regave me a box of chocolates he had bought me for Christmas that I hadn't opened yet (they were already wrapped in red paper, so all he had to do was cross out the "from Santa" and replace it with a "from cupid"). It was cute, and made me laugh… I felt loved, and that was the point.

I managed to make Brice a construction paper card with a crayon drawing, but that was the extent of my gift giving for the holiday. I was lucky that I had purchased the kids gifts several weeks before when I found red t-shirts in all the kids’ sizes that said "It's My Brother's Fault" and I bought one for each boy. I guess the real Valentine's Day present was that I was home with my boys, and Beckham was still safe inside my belly, growing stronger everyday. And really, who could ask for more than that (Oh, and I guess pants that fit, we all need those too).

A couple days after Valentine's Day, some friends of ours offered to watch the kids so Brice and I could enjoy a nice romantic dinner out, just the two of us. We took them up on the offer and enjoyed a lovely dinner at a local restaurant right on the beach in town. It more than made up for the "untraditional" Valentine’s Day we had this year. I hope all of your Valentine's Days were much more traditionally romantic and enjoyable! Happy belated Valentine's Day!