Oh, Canada

We went to Canada last weekend. Sam’s cousin Tim married his Canadian fiancé Megan at Calabogie Peaks Resort near Ottawa (one word to describe Tim: raucous. One word to describe Megan: short. and lovely. Here, I'll prove it...)

Lookit that crazy ginger and his beautiful bride.

We stayed an extra day to explore our neighboring country, where the air is fresh and cold, the Smarties not as tasty as my memory suggests, and the people absurdly wholesome.

Nope, no blistering wind in our faces in this picture.

Nope, no blistering sun in our eyes in this one.

Julian stayed with my Mom and Dad and apparently was a champ until we got home because he has since rewarded our absence with a new sort of full blown tantrum and screaming CAKE CAKE CAKE at the dinner table before peeing in his high chair. I think he is processing the emotions of us being gone for four days. I missed him quite a lot. I was looking forward to spending all day yesterday with him since I was off work, but I woke at 4am with that recognizable pain in my stomach, the pain that gets relieved only by losing one’s stomach contents. I fought it but was sick all day thanks to some tainted food from the day before I think. Sam took Julian to work in the morning where they met with contractors and rode the golf cart, then my Mom picked him up for the rest of the day. I did what one does when food poisoned, plus praying my heart out that little girl would be alright.

Julian at Mom and Dad's for the weekend. Um, yeah.

That’s the second time I’ve really feared for her safety. The first time was before our 20 week ultrasound. I hadn’t felt many kicks at all at that point, and I knew they could be felt as early as 16 weeks (or earlier) and that I should recognize them from last time. I hadn’t felt hardly a peep. So as I laid down on the ultrasound table, I prayed and prayed that I would at least get to meet little one ex utero, if only for a moment. I remember having the same desperate hope for Julian and knowing even as I prayed it that the first meeting wouldn’t be enough, I would bargain for more and more time, and the more time that passed the harder it would be if I ever had to lose him.

No sooner did the sonographer turn the machine on, and the baby started pummeling, twisting, kicking and squirming like life depended on it. I was speechless. The sonographer was annoyed. She couldn’t get any decent photos because the baby kept somersaulting. Finally she caught some passing glances of between the legs. ‘No boy parts – you have a little girl.’ I was in disbelief. A girl! Moving and well! She found her thumb briefly for a profile shot before returning to her gymnastics. ‘That’s all I can get with how she’s moving,’ the sonographer said. I was weak with gratitude. Our daughter was still alive.

Then with the food poisoning, I lay delirious and ill on the couch, cursing myself for whatever I ate that made me so ill and that might hurt my child. I prayed for a kick, any sign that she was ok. I got one. And through the day I kept getting them. She has kept strong. I am better now and pray that there is no delayed affect from whatever bad thing I ate.

A family in our church has recently lost a son in a hiking accident. I do not know how the parents cope with this loss. I would see no way through it. I expect there is no way through it until you are forced to go into the pit of despair and wait for rescue.

For now I remain in gratitude for a kicking baby and for a toddler who peed in his high chair. I am humbled by what God has entrusted to me thus far, and though I want to grasp it as mine, I know it is (they are) His.