33 Weeks and Home

33 weeks today.

The day I switched over to 32 weeks, I woke up in the hospital pretty happy.

Not happy to be in the hospital, necessarily, and not thrilled to still have five weeks of bed rest to go, but happy in a content sort of way. The charge nurse came in to check on me that morning and said I looked like I was doing better.

"I think I've just come to terms with being in the hospital," I said.

Two hours later, I was discharged.

It was the last thing I expected—my doctor had told me a few days prior that if I wanted to go home, the funnel would have to be gone. I asked what the odds of that were and she said, "Let's just say you should pray for a miracle."

So I started praying for a miracle that very day, and some dear family members included me in a family fast that Sunday—that morning I turned 32 weeks. My ultrasound (which was scheduled for Monday but was happily rescheduled for Sunday) showed that the funneling was completely gone and my cervix had grown eight millimeters. I was home before the fast even closed.

Since then I've been too busy to blog—too busy taking in Lyla's sweet face, eating food from my own fridge, sleeping in my own bed, watching Lyla play on the floor beside me with her own toys. Not once this week have I had blood drawn, my blood pressure taken, or my contractions monitored. Ryan and my mom are my only nurses.


In a way it feels like I busted out of prison. Not to be melodramatic or anything.

I have another ultrasound at my doctor's office tomorrow (not the hospital, yay!) and I'm just dreading the heck out of it. When I went in for my last one, I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. But now that I've been home for a while I really really don't want to go back. Like, not at all.

I am curious to see if my body is still a good place for Nora to grow and thrive, and if it's not, I'm glad the hospital is there. But I'm still praying for miracles.