A birthday I won't soon forget.

I received a special birthday gift this year. I woke up and attended Mass at the Gift of Grace with my precious family, followed by chick-fil-a. My perfect morning despite not feeling well. After some initial cramping, I called my doc and ran in for what I was sure would be a "go home and rest" order. Oh how I wish... From my padded cell at Piedmont hospital, I write, wrapping ahead around our new normal. I will keep the details brief, lest the nurse choose to use the order for a tranquilizer that I'm certain is on my chart. Our new normal includes not lifting Mary Kate, or making her milk, or getting her one of 240 snacks a day, or laying her in her bed, or getting to see her sleepy eyes in the morning, saying "hiiiii" in that little country voice. Our new normal says no walking, no going to the zoo, no park play dates or secret afternoon trips to Mcentyre's bakery for a "coooookie." It means no dinners on the patio of St.Angelos or eating out. It will mean hearing my girl fall, cry, and not be the one to pick her up. It means not embracing Ross in the kitchen while MK smiles at us and says "mama, dada mwah!"  I miss my family. I miss their voices, their kisses, watching them dance in the kitchen. I am aching.... It is day 2.5, hour 4 million of my hospital stay, but thanks to the revelation that it requires 2 ambien to shut this over-working brain off, I slept last night. I received a Facebook message from a mops mom who said she knew my birthday wasn't what I'd hoped. I stopped cold and all of a sudden realized the alternative. During that birthday Mass, I had looked down at this big ole bulge and over at MK sitting on her daddy's lap eating her clif bar and whispered thank you for all these lives. On this birthday, I did not know that the life of the littlest Ninness was in danger of way too early an entrance. But I found out, and for these few days at least, have gotten to keep little baby exactly where he or she is. This life is protected, saved. Is there a better gift? I have grieved and grieved over the what's and why's and how's. Admittedly, until now, my tears have been for my girl and my guy and myself. But my best friend's mom called last night and told me a story I did not know. While pregnant with Katrina, with two little girls under foot, she, too, was placed on strict bed rest. She obviously looks back now knowing it was worth every second, but admits how brutal it was. But the little girl that she gave up all her comforts for, even the comfort of being a wife and mother, that little girl became one of the dearest people in my world. God willing, this little baby inside of me will become someone's best friend and make brighter their life the way Kat has made mine. There is great, great purpose for this next Ninness and I am humbled, honored, and privileged with the task of protecting him or her for the next 3 months, no matter what it takes. Never have I up been more grateful for my husband's servant's heart and strong arms or for my daughter's love of a new face to engage. Never have I been more thankful for family who drop everything to come care for my baby and her bigger baby of a mother. Never have I been more aware of friends who pretend to comprehend me through hysterical sobs and who send words of love, to remind me that I won't be alone from the confines of my bed. While I write, this little trouble maker is kicking me, as if to remind me that there is a beautiful, prayed for, desperately wanted little life in there. I am sad that the last few days have had me so focused on the souls in my home, and admittedly on my own pain and fear. This will be a difficult journey, for everyone. The introvert in me does not look forward to permanent houseguests in my little abode, no matter my great love for them. I so fear endless hours alone with my thoughts, as this head is a scary, scary place. But greater than all that fear is a love for my baby and a desire to grow my family, and an deep, deep faith in the One who orchestrated it all.