The week leading up to V3's birth...

So this is more leading up to V3's birth. I found out that we were expecting V3 on Halloween last year...I can hardly believe that it's almost been a year! Where has the time gone. Anyway, this past Easter Sunday, I got a call from my mom that she was on the way to the hospital with my grandparents, something was going on with my grandpa. He had been pretty sick on and off since 2010. I was worried, but not overly so. Later that night, I was sound asleep when the sound of my phone (ringer was turned off, it was just vibrating on the nightstand) woke me up. Not wanting to wake up V1 or V2, I went into my bathroom and closed the door. It was my mom using that tone of voice that only dogs can here. She was telling me that my grandpa was diagnosed with lymphoma. (I should add that this took about 5 minutes of "breath mom I can't understand you" before I could get it out of her.) I went back to bed, told PapaV what was going on and said "I am going to sound really selfish and wrong, but I just know that he's going to pass away right at the time this baby is born and I won't be able to be there! This sucks!!!! I need to be with my family!!" In my mind, over and over again, I kept saying "this is going to happen on July 7th" Fast forward to July...this baby had decided to take up permanent residence in my body. I was convinced V3 was NEVER coming out. (V1 was almost 6 weeks early, V2 was a week early) Things were getting much worse for my grandpa and I couldn't go home to be with him and say goodbye. It was tearing me apart. I didn't want Memorial Day weekend to be the last time I saw my grandpa. It was July 7th, I was HUGELY pregnant. PapaV had just gotten V2 out of the bath and was dressing him. V1 was freshly out of the shower and getting ready for bed. My phone rang, it was my mom. She said that she only had a couple of minutes, but that they had just gotten my grandpa home from the rehab facility. He wanted to do hospice at home instead of at the facility. She suddenly said, I have to go, they need me inside. No more than 7 minutes later she called (that same voice as Easter) was on the line. "He's gone! What am I going to do? My dad is gone!!" (I haven't mentioned this yet in a blog, but I kind of have experience with losing a dad to cancer...that's another day) Mom asked me to call my brother and let him know. As soon as I hung up the phone, I collapsed on the floor in a big, fat pregnant sobbing mess. Scared the kids. Freaked out the husband. I had missed my chance to say goodbye. I was going to miss the funeral. I was letting the whole family down. I wasn't allowed to travel. Again, I was 7 days away from my due date. The funeral was held on Friday, July 10th. It was a very nice service. At least that's what I was told. My brother came home from Florida for it. I missed it. I have no closure. I feel like crap. The next morning, I got up, still numb. PapaV said that he needed to mow the lawn. At this point, I was over being pregnant and I needed a distraction. The kids were in the house watching a movie, roaming in and out of the garage to ride bikes or play with chalk in the driveway. I decided to use the weedeater and help with the lawn. I felt better than I had in weeks (maybe months). After we finished up, we took the kids for lunch. I was feeling kind of yucky, but couldn't put my finger on what was going on. We took the kids to the park and ran a couple of errands. Around 5 I was feeling like I was getting sick, I couldn't concentrate on anything and just needed to be away from everything, so I went to take a warm bath and then take a nap. I was miserable. I thought for sure I had the flu or something. Around 7:30 or so, PapaV said he needed to feed the kids and would get me something too. Around 8 he called me down to eat. I refused at first and he demanded that I come eat something. He knew that something was up and I wasn't sick. I made it about 3 bites into my dinner, having to get up and leave the table between every bite. The third time I got up, he said I needed to page my midwife. I didn't want to, it was just another false alarm. I did finally after a lot of convincing. When she called me back, I had a wave of nausea as soon as I answered the phone. She told me to get to the hospital immediately. PapaV called his mom (she lives around the corner from us and had house guests for the weekend...oops) She didn't answer. So he took off on him bike to find her. Ten minutes later, she arrives and he takes me to the hospital (35 minutes away). We get to the hospital, he drops me off while he goes to park the car. The guy at the front desk wanted to see my ID. I, of course, didn't bring my purse. He said I couldn't enter the hospital to see a patient without ID. I said "how about if I just give birth to the patient right here!" He immediately looked at me and said "Oh crap are you in labor!?" I finally get to where I need to go, my midwife isn't there yet. So they get my changed and are hooking up the monitors when she finally arrives a little after 10pm. (I got to the hospital at 9:40) She checks me, says I am 8, almost 9cm. I asked "so this means I have to stay?" 45 minutes later I have a new baby girl! She was born without any assistance from my midwife...she was still putting gloves and her gown on. So the day after my grandfather's funeral, I gave birth to my second daughter (third child). I will likely share more personal stories about my life as they come into my head. I just had my grandpa on my mind a lot this evening and needed to share this one week.