How Henry Happened - part I

Tuesday.

I awoke to the familiar soft pats and voice of Wyatt, asking hopefully if it was morning time, yet. I craned around my encasement of pillows to locate the digital clock in the window on the other side of the room.

After 7. So it was morning time.

Dang.

Hadn't we just climbed into bed? We had been up with Wyatt multiple times throughout the night - though in my current state it was near impossible for me to heave myself from bed without the help of a crane, so Bill did all of the physical getting up. This was appreciated by me on many levels. Any time I had to get out of bed in the middle of the night, my limbs were stiff and unresponsive, so I stumbled along like a B-movie zombie, usually colliding with a wall or two in an effort to just get out of the room (let alone escort a 3 year old back to bed)! My bladder would also wait until I was out of bed to declare a national emergency, making it difficult once again to escort a 3 year old patiently and lovingly back to bed. But the real kicker is that any time I had to remove myself from my cocoon of pillows, i would have to destroy my pillow feng shui and would have to re-build again when I returned to bed. It was a difficult and delicate process to arrange my pillow fortress in a manner just right - giving me back, knee and belly support without feeling restrictive or smothering. So even though Bill was just as tired as I was, he still pulled all-night Wyatt duty.

So in an effort to let him sleep in, I hauled the kids upstairs to their morning oatmeal. I watched blearily as my kids oscillated between cheerful breakfast jabber and the bleak orneriness that can only be explained at our house as 'the breakfast-time blues'.

I took the opportunity to stuff my face full of toast and look at my Grand List of Things To Do Before Squish Arrives.

I took great relish in marking off the few things we were able to accomplish the night before. I made a mental game plan for attacking the next few things on the list, and got to work.

Or - the plan was to get to work. After breakfast and putting Daphne down for a nap - I was overcome with exhaustion and fell asleep on the couch watching Veggie Tales with Wyatt. This is where Bill found me an hour later.

I had my good friend Guilt to help spur me on, but I had a very difficult time getting started. I knew we were down to the wire. I felt the desperation and the keen desire to get those items crossed of my list so that I could greet my Little Third with a peaceful and prepared mind. I made noble efforts - but sad ones. I sorted all the laundry - but found the idea of hauling it up two flights of stairs to the washing machine to be overwhelming.  Ridiculous!

I expressed my concern to Bill - how oh how was I ever to get everything necessary done to prepare for the arrival of our little Third? This is a concern that had been expressed by me at least once daily to my poor ever-patient husband. It was nothing new. But there must have been a slightly more real tinge in my voice about the concern this time, because Bill offered to take over so I could take it easy. He would just finish this one assignment for his class that night, and then would be at my mercy; running the errands I was too physically spent to run, hauling laundry upstairs, taking over with the kids, etc.

And so, as Bill was finishing up his class assignment and I was pulling the second child out of the bath, the contractions started.