Dear Ava,

Dear Ava,

It's been a week and a day since I've been home on bed rest, trying to slow the progress of these early contractions so you'll be born late enough to minimize your chances of fighting lung problems on top of anything else you might be facing.  Our little bun needs to be good and DONE.  

So since our release from the hospital last Thursday, my whole world has been my bedroom window for the past eight days.  Not that I'm ungrateful for the view that I have from our bed.  It's pleasant to wake up to a world of frosted pastureland and ice-blue sky and watch the squirrels pitch themselves recklessly from branch to branch.  The neighbors' horses pass by the window, too, and graze as slowly as statues while I lose all track of time watching them.  And then there's all the reading, games and company (both human and canine) that's kept me pleasantly diverted from focusing on how numb my butt is.  Not to mention plenty of time to simply sit in peace and allow life to unfold slowly around me.  I don't require constant stimulation.

* Side note: this should've been posted a few days ago... but the bedrest confinement as of late has been almost more than I can handle and I failed to post this in a timely manner.  Her adoring husband, Jason*

I could complain about how easy it is to become bored, but if I was, it would be no one's fault but my own.  Bed rest has been an exercise in mindfully choosing my activities in a limited capacity and taking pleasure in simply having someone to talk to or an enormous well-behaved dog to snuggle with while I listen to the classical radio station.  Or just to practice turning my worries into opportunities to pray.

Psalm 4:4 - "Stand in awe, and sin not: commune with your own heart upon your bed, and be still.  Selah."

And then there's you, little squiggleworm.  You're a never ending source of entertainment.  That is, if you can call huffing and readjusting through contractions entertainment.  You poor thing... I can only know how it feels to me when you're plastered to the underside of my ribs like a frat kid Saran wrapped to a wall.  It can't feel like a vacation to have a foot jammed underneath my ribs or your behind stuck out and frozen in midair for all to behold.  (And on that note, none of us will EVER forget the ultrasound appointment where you looked like you stood straight up out of my belly and greeted the tech and her trainee, who gasped, "Are they SUPPOSED to do that?!")

But for all that you may struggle with when you're born, the energy behind these defiant moves are a comfort to me; they assure me of how strong and well-formed you already are.  I keep your most recent ultrasound pictures in an album on my bedside table so I can remind myself everyday of how perfect you already are, and how much you've already thrilled us by being exactly who you are before you could do anything to further inspire our love.

When I show our visitors these pictures, I tell them that I'm so grateful that you seem to look so much more like your daddy than me, because I would rather see the person I love more than I'd want to see a reflection of myself.  Not to mention that he's kinda the looks of the two of us. I'm.... grateful for my skill with cosmetics.

I had better wrap up this iScribble so daddy can carry this pad from our tech-droughted house and download this letter to your blog at work.  Honey Boo Boo Dog says hello, by the way.  I wish you could know how devoted to you she already is.  She stays right with me no matter how immobile I am, and sometimes she slides up next to me and gently places her enormous head right on you like she knows there's two of us to protect.  I think she DOES know.  

So daddy will leave me in her care for a short time while he situates things at the office, and you and I and Honey will remain here all tucked up and warm while watching the morning sun move across the quilt.  It's quiet time, for now.