Forever with His Edith

In Boxes

I finished this chapter just for one of my readers that personally messaged me. She motivated me to finish this after I've been working on it for a couple of weeks. It's not as long as I'd like and I'm not in love with the ending, but it's something. I might add to it one day. My procrastination levels while trying to study for school have met new highs.

3 months later

I laid awake in bed, knowing I should be sleeping as much as I possibly could but unable to turn my brain off. My bed was more full than most people would prefer, but there was one body missing that made me feel bereft and incomplete. I was on my side, my arm asleep and my hip burning at its inability to move, but I wasn't moving from my spot, not even a muscle. My daughter was nestled against my back, her head resting on my hip, her footy-pajama'd-foot sporadically kicked over my shoulder. Simba was predictably next to Lydia as if he'd be anywhere else, on his back with his chubby belly facing up. In the bassinette hooked to the side of our mattress was my perfect baby boy.

Nathaniel Ray was just over two months old and was an extremely easy baby, but his entrance into the world was anything but. For five weeks after the arrival of Adam and the twins, I was plagued with nightmares and unable to go a day without having a panic attack. I tried everything I could to make myself calm, but nothing I did would work. I was a wreck and terrified in my own home, petrified that Adam and the twins knew where we lived. Three weeks after that terrible day, at a checkup with my doctor, we discovered that my blood pressure had skyrocketed and I was told that I would need to be put on bed rest if I wanted my baby boy to be healthy. I was informed I could not work, could not lift any items heavier than five pounds, was to rest most of the day, and that my baby or I may not survive if I did not decrease my stress levels and blood pressure.

I was horrified. I felt overwhelming dread and guilt at the thought that, because I was unable to control my anxiety and fear, I was jeopardizing the life of my baby inside me. I didn't understand how I would be able to maintain bed rest with a toddler just over two, a husband that worked most hours of the day, and so many tasks that had not been taken care of for our new addition, but that very day I told my boss that I wouldn't be able to work and Momma decided to move in until the baby came.

Noah worked harder than he ever had before. To keep me in bed or resting, he took over morning and nights at our house after working long days at work. He was up whenever Lydia woke up, took care of bath time, bedtime, cooking, cleaning, and prepared the nursery for Baby Boy. He never complained and always took time to play with or cuddle our daughter. Noah rubbed my back and my feet before bed, he made me dinner and brought it to me on a platter every night, and he rarely left my side if he could help it. He even set up an overly expensive security system to help me feel safer. He was beside himself with worry, knowing that with my history and the complications of high blood pressure on most of the body's organs, he might lose one or both of us. Momma took over when Noah wasn't there but Lydia didn't understand why I couldn't always play with her like I always had. She cried every time that I told her I wouldn't be able to carry her or hold her unless I was at least sitting down. That, added onto my inability to shake that Adam may show up at any moment, made relaxing almost impossible.

Two weeks later, after a particularly bad morning of a clingy toddler demanding for me to hold her and throwing a fit so bad that Noah had to come home from work, the contractions worsened to an almost unbearable level, three weeks before Baby Boy's due date. I was terrified that my baby might not make it and tried my hardest to keep my stress levels down, to no avail. I rested in a dark room, with soothing music and lavender in our diffuser, breathing deeply with a cool cloth over my eyes, like I'd done many times before. However, when Noah took my blood pressure using our manual machine, my levels were dangerously high. Dr. Dawson had scheduled us a C-section in two weeks, not willing to risk either of our lives with a vaginal birth, but he decided I would need to come in immediately.