I had the good old check-up today. The child is still in there, it has been confirmed. I gained seven pounds (count them, seven) in two weeks. I don't actually have what they consider gestational diabetes, and yet I have to go to the diabetic clinic tomorrow. Which I call discrimination. Either give me the credit or don't, dangit! I also have to have an ultrasound on my gallbladder tomorrow, which I don't want to do. It makes me uncomfortable when people look at my guts, like maybe they will judge me and accuse my guts of not doing their very best under the circumstances. I just love my guts, and don't want anyone to say hurtful things about them. Also, in honor of the dietary change that will surely come into my life tomorrow, I have eaten a good portion of the big Symphony chocolate bar at my house today. Is this wise? I don't know. But it's very Marie. And I never claimed to be wise. I have; however, claimed to be desperate on many an occasion.
The good news in all this other wonderment is that Miss Olivia wanted to go with me to the doctor today. So I took her, 'cause I'm just rad like that. After singing "Everybody Wants To Be A Cat" to the whole waiting room and vowing to hide from and not talk to the doctor, we went to our little room. There, on the counter, was a plastic replica of the female uterus (calm down, boys, it's the actual word). Livi asked me "What is that?" My mind went blank as to how to answer, so I went with the always effective "I don't know." To which she responded: "I know what it is! It's a potato."
She also told me at the end of the appointment that I was very brave, and that she was sorry they didn't have a sucker for me. What a nice girl.
I am reading, on the recommendation of my mother, the book 'Remembering Isaac: The Wise and Joyful Potter of Niederbipp.' And let me tell you people, it has been a good read. Yesterday I read a story about how our lives can be like a lump of clay. You can take an identical ball of clay and form it into many different things: a pot, a bowl, a plate, a vase, a mug, etc. Just like our lives could take a number of different courses but you have to hope you are lucky enough to find the one best suited for you. That story caused my thinker to think. Now hold that thought.
Yesterday the scourge came upon our household. Poor K.J. had literally thrown up the whole night before (and took the liberty of throwing up in all three beds in our house) and then was sick all day, sleeping and worn out and just yucky. Then in the afternoon Livi got sick herself and threw up three times that night (happily, she'd just walk up to the toilet to yack). It was pretty darn bad, I felt so terrible for both of them. At 2:30 this morning I woke up to Olivia standing next to my bed, staring at the bright light of my clock. I asked if she was okay, and she said yes and asked if she could get in. I lifted her up and she snuggled into my side, our arms wrapped tight around each other. I looked down at her and her eyes were bright and she was wearing her little froggy smile. She said so softly "I love you, Mommy." My heart just turned to putty. I said to her "I love you so much, Sweetheart." She smiled and it was so tender. And then she farted on my hand, and I laughed and laughed, to which she replied "That wasn't my tummy, Mommy." It was really very cute. I felt happy inside. My mind was still going as she started to snore softly beside me, and suddenly I thought about that story from the book, about how as a piece of clay I could have and almost did become many different pieces of pottery. Instead, somehow I got formed into the life that fits me best.
It felt amazing. I felt so thankful to a Father in Heaven who guided my steps so carefully at many precarious times to get me to where I am now: maybe a bowl with lots of room to share, where growing up I always thought I'd be a vase. Laying there with my husband, two sick kids, and my ridiculously pregnant body, I realized: there is really no other place I would rather be. And I have the potter to thank for pointing it out to me.