Watching the clock

Normally, I'm not a clock watcher. In fact, I make it my business to be extremely non time conscious. Watching the clock makes me nervous. It makes me bouncy-And we all know I'm bouncy enough already.

My habit of not paying attention to the time drove Chris nuts. When we were dating I'd text him and say "I'll be there in 15 minutes" which really meant "I'll be there in 30 minutes. but don't hold your breath" :)

However, Motherhood has truly turned me into a time watching nut.

At 6:30pm on March 14th my doctor called to tell us we were having the baby early. I watched the minutes tick by on the long hand of the hospital clock until 7:11pm when I was wheeled into the hallway. At 7:52pm Benny was born. I couldn't see the clock, and they wouldn't let me bring in my blackberry (The nerve!) but Chris assures me it was 7:52pm.

Once I was released from the hospital I started obsessively watching the time.

"8am, pump for 20 minutes. Pump again at 10am. It takes 45 minutes to get up to Baptist East. Leave the house at 10:15am. Get there at 11am. Scrub up and be ready for Ben's feeding and diaper changing starting at 11:30am. Leave the NICU by 2:25 for shift change at 2:30. When did I pump last? Did I eat lunch? What time should I tell Momma to drive me home to cook dinner?"

I had no CLUE to expect such clock watching. But once Benny got home it only got worse.

The first week I am pretty sure I spent entirely sitting/sleeping on the loveseat with the baby watching the big brown clock Chris's parents got us that we hung across the room.

"Feed and change Benny's diaper every four hours. Pump every two hours. Repeat. When is he supposed to sleep? When do I sleep? Is it ok if I take a shower every other day?Do I stink? If Chris gets home at 5:15 what time do I need to make the bed and clean the kitchen?"

I have these really funny memories of Momma ordering all us Flanagan kids at 4:30pm every day "Ok! Let's clean up before Daddy gets home!!" And now it makes total sense. My Momma was a clock watcher too.

The clock watching has gotten much better now that I let Benny sleep and wake up when he's hungry during the day and at night. Sometimes he sleeps 5-6 hours. It's amazing. We are blessed to have a precious healthy baby, all clock watching aside.

RUN. Don't walk.

Everyone tells you when you're pregnant. to SLEEP. And enjoy that sleep. Because you will NEVER sleep again. Now, I thought all of this was a bit radical. How could a 5 pound bundle of snuggles and cuteness be sole reason for my lack of sleep for the rest of my life? As well as my sweet husbands?

My answer came loud and clear the first night our little spitfire named Ben came home from the NICU.

Holy Cow. I realized that night in the midst of falling asleep feeding him, and crying at the 100th time he spit his pacifier out, that this kid is the culmination of all my misbehaving and then some. He's retribution for all the heck I put my poor parents through my freshmen year, and Chris's punishment for dating too many women in his 20's (Haha. Sorry. Couldn't resist)

Finally at 5am, I swaddled the baby in his miracle blanket *THANK YOU Aunt Julie!!!!* and He fell right asleep. Chris took one look at me, and ran like a speeding bullet to his recliner to sleep for an hour before he left for work and I sat in our bed wide eyed and wondering if I could spell Merrifield correctly at that point.

So my new thoughts on sleeping are as follows....

RUN. Don't walk to bed. And sleep while you can.

And the great news is, I hear it only gets wilder from here!

Scars and Stupidity

While sitting out on the porch yesterday with my Momma and baby Ben, I was reflecting back on my *slightly* younger days and the scars on my body that were brought about by my own stupidity. My Momma seems to think they are reminders of my rebellious ways...I still go with stupidity.

The scar on my tummy is from my naval ring I got at 18 with my ex boyfriend. It seemed like a good idea until Momma saw it 24 hrs later. I think she threw a loaf of bread at me.

The scar on my left thigh is from my jumping onto a file cabinet freshman year. Don't ask....

When it comes to my scar from my c-section due to having a baby.... the root of that might be rebellious ways ;)

I should have known Sunday, March 14th wasn't go to be an ordinary day when I found myself sitting in labor and delivery at Baptist Desoto with Momma due to reeeeeally high blood pressure, answering medical history questions, again....

"Do ya do drugs? Smoke? drink?" my nurse drawled as she typed my answers into a computer next to my bed. "No...no...I wish" I replied. Everything seemed pretty okay until she asked that question every girl over eighteen dreads while sitting next to Momma-Aside from "Are you sexually active?" The cat's outta the bag on that one already.

"Do you have any tattoos?"

*Dead Silence*

It took Momma about 5 seconds to realize I hadn't answered. "Mary Kathryn Flanagan Merrifield!".

and that's when I knew things were only going to get crazier...

Sure enough, by 6:30pm that Sunday night my doctor decided we were going in for an emergency c-section to get little Benny out. At 7:52pm James Bennett Merrifield was born. Almost Exactly 21 years from the day James Bennett Flanagan jr was born, and three days from the 5th anniversary of his death- His namesake-Baby Ben was brought into this world kicking and screaming.

The decisions I made that led up to Baby Ben's life may sometime have seemed not very wise, but the Lord makes beauty from the ashes of our lives- and the child of my (perhaps) rebellious ways is the reason for my most important scar-And a picture of Christ perfect grace and healing.