The church family honored us throughout the day yesterday in celebration of the last ten years. The evening included a potluck dinner and skits by the youth group. The night even had a theme: chocolate. My husband, pastor is always saying there WILL be chocolate in heaven because Revelation says there will be no tears there. That's of course, a loose interpretation but it did make the evening special.
The morning service included a guest choir and a few of the songs the pastor has said "Sing that one at my funeral."
Thanks to modern technology and Power Point, no appreciation/memorial service is complete without an embarrasing slideshow. This was no different. It is encouraging when people tell you that you look much younger now than you did ten years ago, but there's a good reason for that. I was nine months pregnant.
When our youngest child was seven, one of us thought it might be fun to have another baby. He agreed. What I didn't count on was moving 200 miles away toward the end of the eighth month. People started asking if I was having twins during my third month. (That is just as bad as asking someone when they're due when they're not...just don't ask, please.)
The picture that brought this to mind was of me sitting in front of the ocean backdrop for Vacation Bible School. We just moved a couple of days earlier and were in the middle of unpacking. I didn't look very happy. I was holding a child's inflatable inner tube in front of my stomach trying to disguise something...not sure what. I would love to share the picture but I can't seem to lift it out of the presentation. I'll keep trying
At nine months we drove 200 miles to my doctor to beg her to induce labor.
"Two more weeks," she stated.
"WHAT? Look at me! I look like I'm having triplets, my feet are swollen, we moved 200 miles away. People get induced now so they don't miss their manicure appointments and you're telling me two more weeks?"
"Yes," she said (maniacally) "its too soon. Two more weeks."
What I wanted to say was, "Look, lady. You get this baby out of here now or I will CUT YOU."
But I didn't. I cried. In the office.
"Go home. I'll see you in two weeks, unless you go on your own before that."
Hubby drove back to new home, new church. I stayed in town with my mom. I called him eight hours later and said, "Get back here. I'm in labor."
He rushed back, which was silly because the combined time of my last three labors was six weeks. And this one was no different. 164 hours of intense labor later I was admitted to the hospital. The doctor shook her head and prepared to deliver my little bundle. I gave birth to the world's largest preemie, weighing ten pounds, eight ounces. The doctor almost dropped him as she was prepared to deliver nothing more than six pounds.
"HA!" I mustered up enough energy to look that doctor in the eye and say, "I told you I was ready!"
My smallest baby was 9 lbs 1 oz. When they started hitting double digits we thought it was a good time to stop. We bundled up our toddler and headed back to Milledgeville and its hard to believe this is only home he's known, after ten years.