Baby Tootsie Must Be a Red Sox Fan

The girls and I flew into Boston last Friday evening for a much-anticipated vacation and visit with my sister and her husband and then my college friend Sarah, who invited us to her beach house in Maine this week.

We had a charmed weekend staying in a Harvard dorm with my sister, her husband, and their Golden Doodle puppy Kiri (they live as resident tutors at the university).  The girls did cartwheels in Harvard Yard, made signs in the college printing press, and practiced piano in the dining hall.  We ferried to Spectacle Island on Saturday for an afternoon of kite-flying, lawn games atop the island's drumlin, and knee-deep wading in the Atlantic.  On Sunday my sister and I began the day with a jog along the Charles River, and later we drive out for a memorable sunset swim at Walden Pond.

Sunday was the day, too, Husband had to put our dear cat down.  And so after our day of adventures and dinner on Harvard Square, I consoled emotional daughters and they piled into bed with me for exhausted snuggles.

It was just after midnight early Monday when I was awakened by an urgent need to use the bathroom.  The events that followed led me to believe my waters had broken, ten weeks shy of my due date in September.  I made a quick call to my father for confirmation, and the next to my sister for a ride to the hospital.  Uncle P came down to watch my unsuspecting, slumbering girls.

At the hospital the docs quickly affirmed that I'd had a premature rupture of membranes.  They followed this news closely with the revelation that I would remain in Boston in the hospital until our baby's birth, which could happen soon, or in weeks, depending upon whether or not I went into labor, suffered an infection, or they detected the baby was in distress.

I moved quickly into acceptance mode. Here I was; here I would stay.  My sister made flight reservations for Husband to fly out the next day.  I was moved to Labor and Delivery, where they pumped me with magnesium sulfate and steroids to help Baby Tootsie's (womb-named by our cousin Patch) brain development and lungs.  The first milestone was making it 48 hours with no labor to allow those treatments their full effect.  I spent two sleepless, solid-foodless days on L&D hoping for the best.

On Wednesday morning I graduated to my current habitat, the ante-partum ward, where other ladies-in-waiting are hoping to keep their babies inside growing bigger, stronger.  Each day the odds are better we'll make it to 34 weeks, when they'll deliver Baby Tootsie by c-section if she hasn't made her debut already.  We'll have a "moderately" preterm baby by then, who may or may not breathe on her own.  We're taking tours of the NICU, reading about what to expect, and talking to others who've experienced similar starts with their newborns.  The doctors and nurses here at Mass General are wise, attentive, kind, inspiring, honest, and reassuring.  We are in good hands.

Husband and the girls visit each morning via the T and then head out on Boston adventures:  the aquarium, Peabody Museum, Fanueil Hall.  My sister and brother-in-law are amazing supports and their home base as I sit relatively still in my room with an incredible view of the Charles and the active sailing community below.

We are making plans, tentative, for next week and beyond, anticipating that my return with baby to San Diego won't be until at least August 16--most likely after.  There's waiting, anticipation, hope, but mostly confidence that all will ultimately be well, and that blessings will emerge--some already have.

I'm the new principal of our high school, too, who's had to inform staff I won't be there to welcome them in August...not the start I'd hoped for.  But my faith and trust in our incredible school community buoys me, and we'll all be okay.

My verb for 2013 is accept.

I'll keep you posted on our progress.