This is no time to panic!

Actually, two weeks away from the big day, give or take, is the perfect time to panic. This is the time one remembers there is only one way out of the pregnancy, and that is through the valley of the shadow of death. I awoke at 3:30 this morning (to visit the bathroom, of course), but I couldn't get back to sleep for the sense of impending doom. I remember all too well all the sensations of labor and delivery, and spent an hour and a half arguing with myself about whether I could do it again without the epidural. Scratch that, I know I can do it again. The question is, do I want to do it again.

Noah's was the only delivery where I decided that an epidural was the way to go--Macon was an emergency C-section, and the other four were natural, no-drug deliveries. (Since Noah learned this, he tells everyone that I took drugs when I was pregnant with him. That usually raises a few eyebrows.) I didn't particularly like the epidural; it made me feel weepy and needy. I did not mind placidly watching basketball, however, as I waited for transition to be over. That part was okay.

What I want to avoid are those last overpowering waves of transition labor and the leg shaking, back-aching, get-that-kid-out pushing phase. One of my labors, after the baby had finally slipped out into someone's waiting hands, I lay back on the pillow and closed my eyes, and stayed there. Some short while later, another well-meaning someone was ready to give me the baby, and I was so exhausted, I didn't particularly want to hold it! Once I opened my eyes, adrenaline and maternal instinct took over, and I was all about the tiny person I had just delivered. But those few minutes of just let me die are what kept me awake last night, dreading it all.

Three teenagers and a baby

By the end of the week, we will have three teenagers. I like teenagers--they are a lot of fun. But I don't like some of the baggage they carry around, like tons of homework, late nights of completing said homework, crazy running around schedules, and the occasional tendency to turn a simple conversation into a major confrontation. I have friends and family members who homeschool, and I sometimes daydream about my children getting a full night's sleep, rather than staying up into the wee hours and then getting up in the wee hours for seminary. But it just doesn't seem right for our family. Someone would have to instruct them, and that someone would rather not.

In about a month, I will have three teenagers and a new baby, plus three other wonderful smaller people. This will be a new challenge for sure, but one I am at last looking forward to, rather than wondering with trepidation if it can be done. Actually, I still wonder that, but it will be done, whether it is possible or no.

Baby is growing well, the pregnancy has been textbook perfect; we are praying that it will continue this way. A friend of mine, who also was pregnant at forty-something asked me at church the other day how I was doing. "Fine," I said. "Just fine." She laughed. "How are you really?" she persisted, "Because having Ellen just about killed me!" I have thought about that every day of this pregnancy with a chuckle--it does feel much harder to be pregnant older, and with so many other people, teenage or not, demanding one's full motherly attention. But something Matt said in the temple last week kind of turned it all around for me--pregnancy is without a doubt a form of consecration. Mom gives it all up--comfort, healthy veins, time, sometimes more--for something more important, and something critical to the great plan of happiness.