Seriously!

I am now the grandmother Mi-ma of two perfectly amazing, gorgeous grand daughters. Born last week on 11-22-11 was our beautiful palindrome, Fallon Elizabeth.

OMG! She is gorgeous and perfect…just like her big sister is.

Oh, and OMG…her mother is so amazing!! Seriously, I couldn’t be prouder of my darling daughter #1…and her darling husband. I couldn’t be more thankful for them either since they gave to us this perfect child.

It’s funny how when we are young mommies as our families grow we stress over whether or not we can love any child after that amazing first born as much aas that amazing first born. But then our family grows and we discover so does our heart. It’s amazing how much we can love eaach and every one of our children. As grandparents we know it is possible…definitely. Then the next grand baby comes along and …yes…my heart is ten times bigger…which means my heart is now as big as Utah…no, really,. My heart is now as big as Utah.

So let me tell you about the day she was born… or the day my heart grew even bigger and bigger.

Holly came over to the Big Top from her Monday visit with the midwife reporting that it appeared that Fallon, formerly known as the Coming Attraction 2.0, would likely be coming within the next day. Her midwife reported that she was 4 centimeters dilated and although not contracting regularly, it wouldn’t take much to get a labor party started. That night, before I went to bed, Holly shared that she was beginning to contract regularly 10 minutes apart…looks like it would be a long night.

I went to bed to get some sleep. Of course I woke up through the night anticipating that call of “Mo-om! It’s time!” That call came around 5:30 in the morning. So off we headed to the hospital, Ben, Holly and I, hopeful that the third time would be the charm.

Commence Occupy Labor and Delivery!

We claimed a room…

with a bed that just so happened seemed to be designed for a pregnant person.

Holly settled in and was monitored for the required hour, you know to show that she was indeed really in labor. Unlike last time, the contractions did not slow down or decrease in strength.

Holly handled them very well distracting her self with notifying those who needed to know that today would be the day.

Signing all the necessary admission paperwork made it really real. We were definitely occupying Labor and Delivery and definitely not leaving until there was a baby being born.

Holly had a saline lock put in place which was a compromise with the on call obstetrician who likes his patients to have an IV. He and the nursing staff had their IV access available IF needed and Holly was free to get up and do whatever felt comfortable to her. Apparently it was odd for a woman who was dilated 6 centimeters and in active labor to be roaming the halls of the hospital laughing and talking and every few minutes stopping to grip the rails along the hallway. At least that is what we concluded given the reaction of pretty much EVERYONE…L & D staff, housekeeping, visitors, random obstetricians walking by.

“She’s dilated to SIX and she is up and walking!!”

It is here where I smile proudly and declare my daughter is a laboring rock star who listens to her body and responds accordingly. She also has a kick-ass doula/mom who never left her side except to go potty…twice…and she has an amazing husband who just followed supporting his lovely bride anyway she wanted.

Things slowed down a little just in time for us to catch an old acquaintance of Holly’s, Hunter Moore,  on Anderson Cooper. Holly reported that he gained weight but he remains just as much of a douche-bag as he was when she first met him. By the end of the show, Holly’s contractions pretty much had stalled. She only felt cramping or pressure when she was standing or walking but she was feeling a little tired and frustrated that she hadn’t progressed past 6 centimeters. Her nurse suggested that since it was “slow” maybe she should just take advantage of the “quiet” and crawl into bed, turn off the lights, close her eyes and sleep or rest for an hour or until things picked up.

Yeah, she said “slow” and “quiet” in one sentence. I think she did it on purpose because nurses don’t say “slow” or “quiet” because of the results that come from it.

Soon enough, things got busy. Suddenly Holly’s contractions returned with a vengeance. She decided to get up and get in the shower where the contractions became even more frequent and stronger. There in the shower she said she really wanted to talk to the nurse about having something for pain. I called the nurse, who was of course very busy helping with a new admission just across the hall. She broke away and came over. Before considering anything for pain, she checks Holly. Guess who was 9+ centimeters with just a lip?

Soon enough Holly was starting to push and the nurse was yelling for the doctor who was just across the hall working on the new busy admission who was also his patient. With three great pushes, out came Fallon and yes she was an amazing, beautiful sight to behold.

It is an emotionally overwhelming thing witnessing the birth of a baby for your very first time and it showed on the faces of Ben, his grandfather and his mother.

All was indeed well so Holly could just relax a little and become acquainted with the person she knew so intimately living and growing inside her now on the outside.

She looked so much like Hazel except OMG where did she get all that HAIR??!!

The expressions on the faces of Ben, his mother and his grandfather when Fallon took her first breath were indeed breath-taking but soon came yet another moment like that…when Hazel met her baby sister for the very first time.

Truly a breath-taking moment.

Welcome to the world and to our family circus, Fallon Elizabeth, born 11-22-11 at 5:42 P.M.

In a word, “NO!”

If Holly were to tell you herself it might be something like, “No, damn it! Does it LOOK like I had the baby yet?!” She would likely be stabbing you in the face with daggers shooting from her eyes as she says it too. But who could blame her, really?  She has been dealing with strong, painful contractions every 3 to 9 minutes apart since LAST Sunday. The results of this labor is she is now 3 centimeters dilated and 100% effaced but at 38 weeks and 4 days, her midwife and the hospital where she is delivering will not consider induction as they are following the ACOG and AAP recommendations of no elective inductions or c-sections before 39 weeks. So she must labor on still.

I know, I know….you or your Aunt Martha or a friend of friend knows someone who was induced at 35, 36, 37, 38 weeks and everything was JUST FINE. I delivered three of my babies at 37 weeks, 36 weeks and 38 weeks and everything was just fine for them too…well except for the one who had hyperbilirubinemia and although treated at home with a bili-blanket did have to have daily lab draws for a week…oh and the one who had temperature instability issues for the first day of life and feeding difficulty issues for the first week which led to her mommy having bilateral mastitis that was so painful I couldn’t even pick up the 7+ pound baby for several days…yeah, except for those everything was just fine! Holly delivered Hazel at 38 weeks and her baby girl was 8lbs 4oz of awesome, wonderful-ness. Most cases, yes, everything is just fine. Still the times are a-changing. In the maternal-child field of practice we are learning so much more about the consequences of allowing late preterm or near term babies to be induced and delivered and so most practitioners are re-thinking this and following the recommended guidelines because it is a good practice and many insurance companies will not pay them if they don’t. It’s all good.

Still it doesn’t help Holly and her laboring for a little over a week now.

I know everyone wants to help…encourage…share…OVER-share all because they care but really, trust me, it ain’t helping. Sure she smiles and thanks you but then she turns to me and vents all kinds of crazy end-of-pregnancy hormones on me about the unsolicited advice, support, stories, remedies that are offered to her. So as a public service to everyone…and so she’ll stop dousing me with that evil, raging hormone rage that is triggered by all of the well-meaning encouragement, support, advice and stories I want to pass on a guide for everyone who is sharing the same air space with a 9+ months pregnant woman who has been contracting every 3-9 minutes for the last ten days:

1. Don’t ask her if she has tried:

• castor oil
• blue cohosh or black cohosh
• raspberry leaf tea
• spicy food
• the labor-inducing salad…soup…pizza…mocktail served at some local restaurant
• walking
• having sex
• bouncing on a stability ball
• dancing
• anything else that has “worked for” you…your cousin’s friend of a friend…Aunt Martha…the lady down the street…whomever!

2. Don’t lecture the poor, exhausted woman that the baby will come when the baby is ready.

3. Don’t remind her that it isn’t even her due date yet…especially when she has been laboring for the last ten days and the Estimated Date of Delivery is not for another ten days. Would you like to be contracting every 3-9 minutes for another ten days? I know I wouldn’t.

4. Bring over a meal…lunch…dinner so she can maybe try to rest more in between those contractions.

5. Offer to go for a walk with her or take her rambunctious 3 year old for a walk to the playground so she can get a break from her exhausted, crabby, laboring mommy.

6. Give her a nice foot massage and pedicure and don’t judge her if her legs aren’t shaved.

7. Bring over a fun movie and some light snacks and share a good laugh with her while she bounces on that stability ball of hers.

8. Keep your laboring war stories…your kid’s teacher’s friend…the lady who works behind the counter at the local drugstore…your Aunt Martha’s to yourself. You can share them AFTER she has the baby.

9. When you call, text, Facebook, communicate with her don’t make your first question be something along the lines, “Have you had the baby yet?”… “Has your water broke?”…”Have you lost your mucous plug?”… Do ask her how she is feeling…Tell her you are thinking about her.

10. Most of all, tread lightly, be sensitive, imagine how you would feel if you were contracting every 3-9 minutes for the last ten days…or try to remember how you DID feel if you did back in the day…or how Aunt Martha felt back in the day.

This is a public service message brought to you by the mother of the prodromal laboring, pregnancy hormone-raging woman who has indeed been contracting every 3-9 minutes for the last ten days.

You are welcome!

One would be wrong.

The goings on lately under the Big Top with the teenagers honestly makes me long for the good ol’ days…the days when I had two in diapers and one working on that potty training thing. The days where I would often find myself covered in snot and baby puke. The days where I regarded a late night trip to Safeway as a spa day. I know my darling husband wonders why I would be gone so long. I was meandering up and down every single aisle enjoying the peace and quiet and the dry clothes that I was wearing.

True story.

Right now I am missing those days…big time! I would take them all over the snark, the eye rolls and all the really over-the-top crazy shit that has been going on lately. It was so much easier then because there were hugs and kisses…albeit really slimy, snotty kisses. There was the sweet, almost angelic looks on their faces in their slumber when I would stand over their beds staring at them. Those were the times that I reminded myself how blessed I was that they were mine…even if they were driving me to an early grave.

Oh my beautiful angels! How fortunate you are that the good Lord made you so damn cute! I’m going to now stare at your picture for a very long time and try to tune out the slammed doors, the comments on Facebook that you are in a prison and the deafening silence that is the Big Top right now.

And I just might pour myself a glass (or two) of wine!

I just want to offer my thanks to God that I am soooo lucky to be blessed with a wonderful husband who provides so well for our family that I don’t have to work and allow strangers raise my precious babies and that I can be home to care for my husband and precious babies where I belong.

Everyone in our circle nodded their heads in affirmation and a few whispered “amen”.

Oh yeah.

Holly grew as did our family and through the years it seems that I never have quite fit in with the playgroup mommies, the La Leche League mommies, the playground mommies, the room mommies, the yard duty mommies, the PTA moms, the soccer moms, the cheer moms and so on. I certainly never was the only mom who worked part time or full time outside the home…well, except for that particular Bible study group. But it seemed that my parenting style never quite measured up. I didn’t hover enough. I hovered too much. I didn’t enjoy sorting and stapling worksheets for teachers. My snacks were store bought. I wasn’t sitting at every single practice or rehearsal for whatever activity the kids were involved with because I was either working or juggling another kid’s activity across town. I looked like I literally rolled out of bed when I picked up my kids from school…because working 7 PM to 7 AM I DID just roll out of bed. The reasons were so many. I just never quite measured up to the perceived ideal of other mothers.

I was judged.

Here’s where I confess that I was just as judge-y of what I perceived as bad parenting. In my workplace I have certainly seen many examples, on the surface, of bad parenting and sometimes I would make assumptions…then I would get the rest of the story and often feel ashamed of myself. I am (in the eyes of others) a bad mother just as much as I assumed last week that mother who allowed her snotty nosed kid to run amuck, try to go through my purse and slime me with his snot is a bad mother. In someone else eyes we parents are bad parents. There is no getting around it.

In the interwebs lately there seems to be this kerfluffle over others who blog referring to themselves as “bad mothers”. “Bad mother bloggers” are  the new black. But then again, maybe it isn’t so cool to be a “bad mother” blogger. Truth be told, some of my favorite bloggers out there are bloggers who got their start writing about their “bad” parenting. I have been known to write about my own adventures as a bad mama. I like these writers and I enjoy writing about my own misadventures because I like the reality of it all because being a parent is not pretty. There is always poop, snot, vomit, brattiness and exhaustion involved. It’s mixed right in there with the love, the pride and the hugs and kisses. I gladly point out my failings as a mother before anyone else can because I now know that other people’s opinions of my mothering skills don’t matter at all.

Not.

At.

All.

What matters most and is ultimately the proof of mad, bad mama skills is my children…my children who themselves have said to my face…to other people…that I am a great mom! Okay, fine, I admit it. Only two of my children have put it out there that I am a great mom. Two are teenagers still who can sometimes be mortified because I am their mom and resent that they do have chores and a curfew and the youngest is just beyond irritated that I want him to eat his dinner. But the ultimate proof is watching my own child as a mother. There are some things she does differently than me but in her I see my mommy reflection and I know that I have, thus far, done a pretty good job at this mommy-gig.

Seriously? I’d like to meet this college student. Where does he attend college? Fairyland University? This is not reality. Reality is that people ARE working their asses off. People are BEGGING for the opportunity to work their asses off. People are unemployed and underemployed not for weeks or months but for YEARS! People are lining up by the hundreds in lines that wrap around blocks for the opportunity to be hired for only a dozen or so minimum wage jobs. People are selling their cars, their wedding rings and emptying out their life savings just to pay for food, housing and utilities. People are losing their homes. People are out of milk and bread with literally only a dime to their name and no promise of income coming anytime soon. The problem isn’t that people aren’t willing to work hard – this country is full of great, smart, energetic people. The problem comes when the deck is so stacked against them that, no matter HOW smart, frugal and hard-working they are, they get kicked down to the point they can’t get up again. That is reality. That is the reality for so many people in this country. That is my reality.

Watching her enjoy this fun game, this app on this handheld computer device, I wonder if she will ever come to realize just how much her world…her Mi-ma’s world has opened up and changed all because one man dared to “think different” and wanted “to put a ding in the universe.” There is so much that we have now, that we use everyday without so much as a second thought all because of the genius of this man:

• the PC as we know it: I am a Windows kind of girl but were it not for Jobs I would not be navigating it all so well without its pull-down menus, mouse and icons
• fonts: all his time auditing calligraphy classes after he dropped out of college perhaps inspired him and, if it did, I am so glad. How boring would my word processing and writing programs be with just 1 or 2 boring fonts. A girl can get very bored with just Arial and Comic Sans in her life.
• Pixar: they had me (and my circus act) at Toy Story but from there we have been taken to infinity…and beyond!
• iPods: from turntables and records to 8 track tapes to dozens and dozens of cassettes under the seats of my old car to CDs gathering dust in my closet (along with old vinyls) I now can store and carry up to 40,000 songs that easily fits in my jeans pocket. In the beginning it might have seemed to be that the end was near but soon we all came to realize just how freakin’ awesome the iPod is.
• iTunes: Napster was fun, Limewire drove me insane when my kids loaded it onto our PC but after I got my very first iPod over six years ago, how I purchased music, then videos, then movies changed forever.
• iPhones: I admit it, I still have my crackberry. I have liked it a lot for sometime now but especially after acquiring my iPad, I am thinking that when I can I am ready to take a bite again out of the Apple. After all, even my Dad now carries an iPhone.
• iPads: after seeing just some of the magic potential that can come from this tablet that fits so easily in my hands, I soon came to realize just a blink of the magic I hold in my hands now thanks to my Dad…Thanks Dad! How far I have come to the ginormous, lumbering 286 PC that we first had years and years and years ago…and yet I haven’t even begun to realize the potential I hold in my hands now.

It’s amazing how much has been developed, changed and evolved in the world of computers and technology just in my adult life and it all has been influenced by or a direct result of the genius of one man. No one has not been touched or influenced by it either…not even my 3 year old grandchild. Truly he is the Thomas Alva Edison of our age.

During his commencement address to the 2005 graduates of Stanford, Jobs advised the grads to seek out work that they loved to do. “Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it.“ This is a truth that I wholly believe, embrace and try to teach my own circus clowns…God help me, I know the potential of it coming to back to bite me on the butt is high still I stand behind it. I found my passion years ago and I see at least one of my clowns beginning to the potential to realize hers. There is no promises of riches or accolades but the satisfaction at the end of the day is there. I do hope for great success for all of my children and for my grandchildren…someone has to take care of me in the style I wish to be accustomed to someday. But at the end of the day, I want my children to know the joy, the satisfaction in doing what they love and doing it very well. That, my darlings, is where we start to make a ding in the universe…perhaps not as big as a ding as Steve Jobs but then again one never knows the impact even the smallest ding in the universe might have. If it brings joy or sparks the imagination of even one child like this sweet grand-girl of mine then they are off to a great start.

Talking to your children about the recent death of Steve Jobs? My friend, Amy, has a beautifully written bedtime fable that is a lovely, lovely way to share with them the life of the man who made a big ding in our universe.

I want to put a ding in the universe.
~Steve Jobs

Two seasons ago on Glee, Quinn Fabray so easily births a baby girl and walks away with the baby safe in the arms of her adoptive mom with nary a tear or emotional outburst of grief and the collective world freaks out because that is not real…or at least the reality of those who have birthed a baby and placed the child for adoption.

But it is just a television show…with singing and dancing.

The next season the character Quinn returns to her perfect head cheerleader life and Puck goes back to being a thug with a heart of gold with no mention of what they both went through the school year before and again there is freaking out because again that is not how it happens.

Still it is a television comedy/drama with even more singing and dancing.

Parenthood opens this season with Julia and her husband struggling with secondary infertility and their decision to adopt. Julia’s character, being the control freak who scarcely breathes that she is, tries to micro-manage even this part of their family life because that is how her character has been for the last two seasons of the television show. She even blurts out to Zoey, the single and pregnant coffee cart girl in her office, that she wants to adopt her baby and again the world practically bursts a vessel.

Still it is just a television show.

Zoey, Latte Girl, explains to Julia that she doesn’t want to place her baby with someone she knows. She wants a closed adoption. Again, the world freaks and declares that this is not real. No one does closed adoptions and walks away like a Juno. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Um…it’s a televison drama…it’s not reality.

Then back to Glee, Shelby returns. First she must meet with Rachel to reach out to her and make amends for walking away after placing her with Rachel’s Dads years ago and rejecting Rachel reaching out to her two seasons ago.

Oh no…

Shelby is also seeking to have Quinn and Puck be a part of Beth’s life as her biological parents saying she doesn’t want them to have the same regrets that she has.

Yup, there is freaking out all over the place.

Still I keep shaking my head muttering this is a television show.

But in spite of how I feel I have to confess that this week’s episode of Glee did kind of touch on a nightmare of mine that I had for a few years. The first three years or so of Daniel’s life I dreamt that his bio parents returned wanting him back…demanding him back. Of course in my dream I am the one freaking out. The dream never resolved because I would always wake up as I was screaming at them that they didn’t deserve him.

I know. Bad adoptive mom! Shame on me!

But our family’s adoption experience doesn’t so neatly fit into a one hour weekly television drama series. Nor does it even remotely reflect your typical adoption experience…open or closed or otherwise. Social workers involved in our case back in the day told us they had never, ever had a case like ours. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not all bad. It’s all for good. After all, how fortunate we are to have Daniel in our lives? How lucky our family is to be completed by this remarkable child? I will never understand the thinking that brought his bio parents to the decision that they made. Still I am forever grateful for their choice. Anytime Daniel and I talk about the fact that he is adopted I always touch on the truth of how blessed we are that he is our son. He tells me that the reason why he had to be born 16 weeks early was so he could meet his mommy…yes, me.

See? I’m the lucky one!

As I watch the television dramas unfolding on Tuesday night I’m reminded of the fact that no adoption experience is the same…certainly never, ever like what is depicted in a television show…just as no parenting or family experience is the same. But then again, whose to say that some of these writers are NOT writing from their own experiences…from their own perspectives? I mean, if no adoption experience is the same as yours or yours or mine whose to say what they are writing doesn’t reflect their truths?

Hmmm…..

Nevertheless,  while people in the world around me are screaming to reject these shows because they don’t get adoption right, I imagine that I will continue to watch and see how the stories do play out because I kind of like these television comedies and dramas.

That’s entertainment.

Right?

But it also initially disturbed me because of a theory circulating a few years back that redheads were doomed to soon be extinct. But then , thankfully, common sense prevailed.

Yes, we gingers are rare.

We do kind of stand out in the crowd and not just because of our fiery crown. Thomas Jefferson, Gen. George Custer, Winston Churchill, Elizabeth I, Vincent Van Gogh, Charles Darwin, Shaun White, Prince Harry, Conan O’Brien, Emma Stone, Julianne Moore, Susan Sarandon, Christina Hendricks and Nicole Kidman are just a few who come to mind.

True, the red hair is considered to be a recessive trait floating around in the gene pool but then I look at my own family.

In spite of my darling husband’s olive tone complexion and the dark brown hair that he once had, ginger, strawberry blonde and blonde prevailed. Quoting the words of the doctor who delivered these babies, “Go figure! You must have some powerful DNA!”

I do.

It is some pretty powerful stuff. Hazel’s Baby-Daddy was very surprised to realize that.

The very first time he held Hazel and beheld her strawberry-blonde fuzzy head he questioned how could she be so fair if her father had black hair and dark brown eyes. It’s a mystery, I agreed with him. Then I asked him if he ever really took a good look at Bill, Holly and the rest of this circus. Realization slowly came across his face.  Of course two years later he still needed a paternity test to verify the fact that yes he was the Baby-Daddy but the ginger DNA somehow beat out his and helped to create a most delightful, blue-eyed, strawberry-blonde hair child.

What’s not to love about her?

So in spite of Cryos’ decision to turn away ginger donors, we redheads will continue to prevail and thrive. We might represent 1-2% of the world’s human population but we are a a strong lot.

Ginger Power Forever!

Um yeah, sure.

Like that one time when we were driving for the first time late at night in a really sketchy part of St. Louis?

Thank you, but no thank you.

Headed to the venue where his high school reunion was being held this weekend, I was surprised to see him activate his navigation app. He lived and worked and played in San Jose for four decades, why would he need Marge, the Traffic Bitch I wonder?

Just in case, he tells me.

We hadn’t driven 500 feet when he was already ignoring Marge’s directions.

“Recalculating route.“

Have you ever noticed that you can almost hear that annoyed, heavy sigh in the voice of the GPS navigator? Just keep on ignoring her directions. You’ll hear it…loud and clear.

We continue on his route, the better route, ignoring Marge all the way. As we find ourselves definitely in Morgan Hill, rather than San Jose, I wonder out loud if perhaps we should have made one of the right or left hand turns or legal U-turns that Marge was telling him to do. My darling husband shrugs a little. He then says out loud that maybe he should have turned on that street a few miles back…maybe.

He makes a U-turn and off we go.

“Recalculating route.“

He then follows Marge’s turn by turn directions that take us right to the front door of the Coyote Creek Golf and Country Club.

See?

We weren’t lost. We were just exploring.

Marge, the Traffic Bitch, and I both were rolling our eyes.

Dear Healthcare Provider,

Thank you in advance for the excellent health care that I believe that you shall be giving me while I am in this hospital.

I have to warn you in advance that my mother is a registered nurse. She has been a registered nurse for like almost forever, or at least as long as I have been alive and although you might not see it she is wearing her nurse’s hat along with her worried mom hat. Regardless of why I am here in your hospital seeking medical attention, she is watching you and your colleagues like a hawk. She will notice when you do and do not wash your hands…like when you come in to start my IV or when you drop something on the floor and stop to pick it up. She will jump in and ask questions that she believes that you should be asking or in order to get you to convey information that she believes you should be passing on to me.

She means well.

She really does.

It’s just that she is first my mom. And then she is a nurse, a nurse with over 21 years of experience in an intensive care setting. She is worried because I am here under your care. Just wash your hands all the time…all the time…and treat me like you would treat your own child in the hospital and we all should be fine.

Sincerely,

Your patient.

You’d think I would be better at this being the mom of a child in the hospital. I mean I have had more than my fair share of experience what with Daniel’s 132 day NICU stay or his multiple surgeries or with Zoë trauma, PICU stay and subsequent reconstructive surgery or nearly losing Jodie to meningococcal meningitis or even Holly’s last pregnancy, labor and delivery of Hazel. You’d think I would be a little more relaxed when my daughter only 28 weeks pregnant landed in the hospital last night with pre-term labor symptoms and complaints of chest and upper-gastric pain. Unfortunately I was not. Not at all. I won’t apologize for my behavior. But I think from now on all of my children will carry this letter of warning to be given to their health care providers in the event that they are hospitalized. I think at the very least colleagues (and recalling the nurse who started Holly’s IV last night I’m using that term loosely) of mine who might be treating my children deserve fair warning.

Meanwhile Holly is now doing fine. A little bit of IV fluids and meds for the nausea and pain seemed to do the trick because today she is home and still 28 week pregnant. Thank goodness.