"Oh, That's Good! No, That's Bad!"

There's a children's book by Margery Cuyler that Caiden and I absolutely love to read. It's called "That's Good, That's Bad!," and even though we've read it probably 50 times, we still laugh out loud every time we re-read it. A little boy goes to the zoo with his parents, and is given a huge red balloon, and then the adventures begin. On each page something either wonderful or terrifying happens to him, like being lifted into the sky and dropped onto the head of a hippo. At the conclusion of the first page are words: "Oh, that's good! No, that's bad!". Then something else happens, and the phrases are reversed, "Oh, that's bad! No, that's good!." Caiden loves to shout out the opposing phrase as I read. At the conclusion of the book, the little boy is dropped into his parents' arms, and the last phrase is, "Oh, that's good! No, that's great!"

Today I had an "Oh, that's good! No, that's bad!" kind of day. We started off with Caiden telling me he had thrown up in the trash can (Oh, that's bad!) but now felt much better (No, that's good!). Then Grayson woke up with a dry diaper and no vomit. Oh, that's good! An hour later, Caiden had thrown up again and was in bed, and Grayson had blessed me more of the Dreaded D. No, that's bad.

I got to take a nap this morning while the boys napped: Oh, that's good! But when I woke up it was apparent that I am not going to escape this episode of the stomach virus. Oh, that's bad! But it's a much milder form; oh, that's good!

And here's where my story takes a twist. I had several more oh that's good moments. My neighbor agreed to watch Caiden so we only had to take Gray with us to the doctor's office. We stopped by Sonic to get a Sprite with lime, and it seemed to settle my stomach. When I stepped on the scale, I had lost a half pound! (Oh, that's very good!) And at the ultrasound, my doctor assured me that yes, she's still very much a girl, and no, she's very much not breech. And she seems to have moved down quite a bit. Good, good, good!

But when he kept measuring, and measuring, and measuring, I could tell an Oh, that's bad! moment was coming. Nobody gets a perfect day, I guess. The short of it is that Sweet Baby #3 is not growing and seems to be measuring almost a month small. Now, ultrasounds can be off by as much as a pound, but even at that, she's still too small. So I've been scheduled to go in Sunday night and be induced. Bad, bad. I hate being induced and had really hoped to have that aha! moment and know I was in labor. I had hoped to be far enough along when I got to the hospital that going naturally would be easier than last time, when I was also induced (because Grayson was too large, isn't that ironic!). I had hoped to have a baby large enough that nursing wouldn't be difficult, and that the doctors would let me keep her for a long time, not worried about lungs or anything else.

But there are cliches for good reason; life does often throw curveballs. And if we can't adapt, then we get sucked under the stress, unable to see the blessings. Caiden is thrilled his little sister is coming so soon, and I'm thrilled that my parents happen to be arriving Sunday night and can watch the boys. (Of course, they were arriving not to come watch my children but to go on a mini-vacation, so I guess they're dodging the curveball, too!) My husband is thrilled to have notice that he needs to take off; his idea of preparing for the baby was to get my car detailed, the oil changed, and get the inspection. Men are funny that way, aren't they? But I can't complain; he and Caiden are currently at Target buying everything under the sun in case we can never leave our home again!

So tonight, as I get ready to go to bed (only two more full nights' sleep, *sigh), I'm going to remember that God has known this little girl's birthday since before time began. He loves her more than even I, and He will cradle her in His love as I sleep tonight. And because we've decided three children is right for our family barring any heavenly surprises, these are the last two days I'll ever be pregnant, which sounded great until about 5 hours ago. Now I'm realizing I'll never again feel somebody tiny moving around inside me, like a secret that only I get to know. I'll never again see a positive pregnancy stick and make plans to surprise my husband with the news. I'll never again spend months agonizing over the perfect name, the right nursery decor, or which homecoming outfit I want to put my new little one in. I'll never again crochet a blanket for my newborn. (Actually, now that I only have 48 hours, I better get busy on the one that I still haven't finished!)

So instead of worrying about all the unknowns, and fretting about what could go wrong, I'm going to enjoy this little one inside, knowing I'll get to hold my daughter for the very first time Monday, and that no matter what happens, at the end of the day, I'll be able to say, "Oh, that's great!"