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baby boy bedhead

It's been a long week.  Like those extra long hotdogs that hang out either side of the bun.  The normal ratio of week to weekend is off.  Too much of either throws me off.

Without going into too much gory detail (although that's the detail that our dill girls seem to enjoy the most), by Wednesday I had convinced myself that I needed a D&C.  I tried to get into my regular obgyn but they couldn't squeeze me in, and that's when we wonder what good is having a doctor that you can't even see, especially for emergencies.

So Ryan, this baby boy dill, and I headed to the hospital to spend some quality (and quantity) time with the good folk of the emergency room.  After a bit of invasiveness, it was concluded that I didn't need a D&C and that I had a hormonal imbalance, remedied by a couple week's worth of little white pills.  

I felt relieved and grateful to finally know what was wrong and to get on the recovery boat.  The scenery is much more enjoyable than the uncertain boat.

I feel much more myself.  I even cleaned the kitchen.  How I like it cleaned.  Then, tonight, our kids' teachers brought us dinner.  Olive: I don't know if I should say this, but dinner was better than what you guys make.  It certainly was, because it not only brought culinary satisfaction (homemade chicken pot pie, egg bread, and raisin oatmeal cookies) but it was given with love and prayers.  I think they got concerned when we sent Azure to school without lunch or the plan to buy.

A big adjustment, this time around.  I think we've decided on a first name and getting close on the middle name.  It's just a good thing we don't have to choose a last name.