One day last summer, I woke up to a belly that looked like I should be fully dilated
and crushing Sam's hand while calling him names that involved
sexual positions with farm animals.
The usual natural birth scenario.
However, I was 50 and NOT pregnant.
I spent the next 6 days in the hospital having every test in the book run.
I have micro camera footage of organs I didn't know I had.
They ruled out the really scary things, like pancreatic cancer.
They drew liter after liter of fluid from my abdomen.
It seems I'd turned wine into beer.
Through all of the fun, Sam camped at the hospital, sleeping in a recliner and holding my hand.
Hold the roses. I know what love is.
When life bakes you a cake, get over it and rise to the occasion.
I still had a house under construction, a mother in a wheelchair, 3 children starting college,
and a special needs son that needed his mother to run rough shod over anyone
in his way.
Never underestimate the bad ass powers of a woman.
I got the blog back on track, sorta.
I'm posting regularly, but since my family won't let me on ladders, let alone up on the roof,
things are...rehab light.
Thom moves like lightening if I say "Ow!" from the other end of the house.
I need naps pretty frequently.
My legs and feet swell into hamhocks.
I never seem to comment on my favorite bloggy buds either.
And yet, you guys are still there for me.
You have no idea how much that's meant.
It's been a lifesaver to read your encouragement.
Thank you for visiting, the private emails, the compliments.
I did lose a ton of weight in the process.
Hauling less of me around has helped.
Bottom line: I'm recovering.
I was told I'd be in the hospital monthly.
I haven't been since October.
I'm taking it easy, but not as easy, and baby, take this to the bank...
my big girl panties are ON.
And you can't keep a bad redhead down.
Hey, Guys, am I allowed to drywall yet?