|Clearly a bad picture, but my last during normal pregnancy. Roughly 27 weeks along.|
Earlier that week, my doctor had cautioned me to take it easy, no more house projects until I was at least 36 weeks along. With a history of preterm labor and our first son's preterm birth at 35 weeks (followed by full-term girls) it was best to be cautious. I obeyed grudgingly, getting a kick out of teaching Mark how to paint walls and occasionally grabbing the paintbrush for a bit of cutting-in when no one was looking. We had moved into our forever-home five months prior and had been putting our personal touches on it ever since.
Saturday, May 2nd ended with an idyllic evening. We got a late start on our first backyard fire but the temperature was perfect, the stars brilliant, the s'mores delicious and I enjoyed a sip or two of Mark's beer. Looking up from the fire to the deck lit with twinkly lights, I imagined a Spring and Summer filled with evening fires, the kiddos running around the yard playing flashlight tag. It was bliss and I was soaking it all in.
|I don't have a picture of that evening, but this is the morning equivalent of that night.|
Laying in bed Sunday morning I drifted into consciousness, opening my eyes to see the pale light of dawn filtering through the Thomas the Tank sheet that covered our window. A trickle... Surely it was nothing. A gush. My stomach dropped, my heart sank and as I reached out in alarm to shove Mark awake, a deluge. Denial screamed at me to simply go back to sleep. It was both alarming and amusing to realize how childish my mind was as it tried to process what was happening.
Continue with PART II