What We Learned

We were at Beverly Hospital until 4pm this afternoon. One of the nurse midwives met us there, and they put Lynn-nore up for the longest time in a room. She tried to sleep, watched TV, and ate lunch, all hooked up to a machine monitoring her contractions. All of it led to a series of ultrasounds which gave us a chance to watch Caleb shadowboxing, rolling over, scratching his head, and otherwise hanging out in "the lounge" (which is my word for the bottom-most part of Lynn-nore's uterus where he likes to hang around away from prying hands and the occasional knee-to-the-stomache of his big-sister.) The real purpose of these ultrasounds, well, hold on...

See, medical science can't yet really tell the difference between contractions which mean nothing and contractions which move things along. In our case, the latter sort would be, as the midwife said "bad." I won't go into the details of what they were looking for, but the ultrasounds would tell us which sort of contractions Lynn-nore was having.

Praise God, they turned out to be the kind that is okay. As a matter of fact, this was very worthwhile news, because now we know that these don't necessarily mean Lynn-nore has to go on bedrest, and they don't mean "head to the hospital for another IV drip." That only comes if there is something different about them. As it is, Lynn-nore and I have discussed ways of upping her rest quotient, but, on the whole, the news is good (and even useful.)