Diary of a Pregnant Girl: Son-Day?

If you live anywhere near Iowa, you must have questioned the weather this past week. What season and month are we in, anyway? On Tuesday, it was a scorcher topping over 90 degrees and breaking the previous heat record in the Des Moines area. By Thursday, cooler weather moved in and so did severe storms. Being married to a weatherman means crazy weather = crazy schedule. And it is no secret; I am not a fan of severe weather. There I was, 9 months pregnant, biting off every fingernail on my overly chubby/swollen hands. Kenny worked two days overtime and it was enough to drive me into labor. Or so I was wishing.

Ready for a side story? Good.

Being from the Tornado Alley of Oklahoma, I have always been *interested* (insanely scared) of severe weather. It is what sent me heading to college to become a meteorologist. I thought by learning how and why these natural phenomenons happened, I could be more at ease and I may be able to help other people too. What I wasn’t told was obtaining a degree in Meteorology was HARD. Once my college advisor asked me, just how are you in mathematics – I almost dropped dead laughing. It was then I changed my focus. However, I never did lose the passion for weather. It actually drove me into taking one of my first Graphic Design/Marketing jobs at a private sector meteorological consulting company. Coincidently, this would be the place I would meet my husband. He was supposed to be my knight in shining armor during bad weather. Little did I realize, he would actually have to be working big events, not allowing him to be at home holding my hand or driving me down dirt roads to run me far away from tornadoes. There is a light at the end of the tunnel, though. I do receive a little advance warning of stuff coming my way. Love my texts that read…take shelter now.

Back to this week. By the weekend, the temperatures cooled to the 50s and 60s. Spitty rain was falling, making it the perfect setting to stay inside. I was being lazy and so was Hutch. Kenny surprised me on Saturday night by coming home a little early. We celebrated by making a list of things we needed to get done on Sunday.

Waking up on Sunday morning, I realized that Ethan was still in quiet mode. I laid there for a few minutes to feel a flutter and then popped up to make us all a big breakfast. We ate and I sat down to count the kicks. Nada. About 35 minutes later, I had a little baggy of fruit chews to try and get him hopped up on sugar. I sat down and waited. Nothing. I asked Kenny to grab me the best pop in the world, a diesel Dr. Pepper (caffeine and all) as I was determined to get this kid bouncing off of uterine walls. Not a peep. I called the doctor.

It was 10:50 when we started to check in at downtown Mercy. After a long hour, he only gave us one kick. Finally, after a couple fruit juices and a large glass of ice water, we had movement. And there is nothing more comforting than hearing this...








I will let you know the doc wasn’t about to just let me go home. She wanted to make sure that once the juice wore off, he was still awake. She ordered an ultrasound. Being almost 39 full weeks, you can’t see his chubby cheeks because he is so squished in there. You have to have a trained eye to even know what you are looking at. We did see his ear, his foot and most importantly that he was hiccupping, breathing, swallowing and moving. It was magical. With a perfect score, we were allowed to go home. It was scary non-the-less but gave me another blessing to add to the count. After 5 hours we headed home.

Kenny was late for work, and I was so exhausted I needed a nap. When I awoke the weather had transformed. The cruddy day it started off to be was transformed into warmth and sunshine – just as my attitude livened when I heard the sound of my child’s heartbeat.


Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers as we are down to our last 8 days. We can't wait to hold our little miracle.