Though it's not officially fall, the promise of a new season is definitely in the air. Time to put away the shorts and sandals, and welcome back those beloved sweaters and boots. The air is so crisp, and the mornings so refreshing. I love living in a city where I get to experience every season, but I often feel robbed of the fall & spring. They never seem long enough. Before you know it the sweltering heat of the summer or the bitter cold of the winter hit you square in the face. Even still, I look forward to every season.
Autumn is different now, though. This time last year (tomorrow, to be exact), I was admitted to the hospital for pre-term labor. I was taken to triage and put on three monitors. One for me and one for each baby. Turns out, I was contracting every 60 seconds and I really didn't feel it. I guess you could say shit was getting serious. I was still really naive about it all though. Even when they put me on magnesium sulfate to stop the contractions (which makes you feel like you're on fire, by the way). And even when they shot me up with steroids to help develop A&R's lungs. I had no frieking idea what we were getting into.
I spent the previous week on bed rest at home, with strict instructions to get up only to shower once a day and to use the bathroom. The day the Dr. ordered bed rest, I was so terribly sad. I was scared for my babies, of course. But I was also upset that I would miss out on the fall. Because apparently, all of a sudden, it was my favorite season. I was told to expect to be in bed until I delivered the boys. Which I was convinced would be around Christmas. So I would sit in bed, and I would often cry. How stupid of me.
I think back to that time frequently and wish I could smack some sense into myself. I know I don't have any magical powers or anything, but sometimes I feel like I wished for the kids to be born so early just so I could get out of bed. Deep down I know that you can't wish anything to fruition, but I often search for someone to blame for all of this and it's easier to just blame yourself.
Exactly one week from today A&R will turn ONE. A whole year old. I keep waiting for myself to break down as I relive the memories from last year. And it hasn't happened yet. I still have 7 whole days for a melt down, but maybe it will never come. I've been trying really hard to just enjoy my babies and be outside with them relishing in this season that forever sealed their destiny. And maybe this approach will work. After all we are here. We finally made it.