August 25, 2012 – Dayspring Disciples

Since my second pregnancy I have needed to wear compression stockings during pregnancy. They are miserable. I inherited my grandfather’s and father’s terrible leg veins and the excess blood volume of pregnancy taxes my vessels considerably. As a matter of fact, before I had Marie and during my pregnancy with Marie I was worked up for DVTs. That was even WITH the stockings. Then in 2009 I had my right saphenous vein ablated. That means they burnt shut the big, long vein in my right leg – you know the vein that they would have taken out to use in a coronary bypass in the future if I needed one.

Have I lost you? (I am cracking up.)

The point is when I am pregnant I get to wear these wonderful stockings. They are tight. REALLY tight. When they come out of the package they look like they might fit a 7-year-old. And I get to pack my 5’9” frame into them. It’s not unlike making sausage, I believe.

The kids have made some keen assessments, such as:“Mom, those are so thick I can’t even see your real legs through them.”
”Wow, Mom. Those must be getting dirty by now; you’ve worn them three days.”
and my favorite,
“Poor Mom. Daddy gets to go to work but you have to stay home and wear tight stockings and teach us school.”

But, I will confess, I just put the stockings on Monday. At 13 weeks, 6 days. Back when I was expecting Tabitha (before the corrective surgery on my right leg) I was wearing them at 6 weeks pregnant. And… I probably should have put them on a few weeks back, but I opted to wait until they started to ache and pop out a bit.

Are you sorry you opened this entry, yet?

You won’t catch me whining and complaining about being pregnant. I am still just in such awe that we do have a baby growing. But you might find me a little more irritable, and I apologize. The way I explain it is, certain things in life irritate us, but we do a good job of holding it together, until enough irritants pile up and say, we hit an 8/10 in the bugging-you department and then you wig out a little. Well, wearing these stockings means I already start out around a 3/10 in stimulation. So as, where it normally might take a ringing phone, a whining 2-year-old, bickering siblings and spilled milk to make me go nuts… when I have the stockings on, it might only take the phone and the bickering to do me in.

One last illustration… the night Nigel was born was a very somber night. Our joy at meeting our son was tempered greatly by the marked prematurity and his critical condition. The only bright spot my midwife could offer to make me smile was, “At least you are done with the stockings.” And she was right. I was amazingly relieved.