Yesterday was my first midwifery appointment, so I pawned my daughter off on my unsuspecting (and infinitely patient) sister.

Sometimes people comment on this blog about how patient I seem, which just goes to show that blogs are really a miniscule snapshot of reality.  My family scoffs at this description of me.  Among the Schlothan clan, the name “Sarah” is synonymous with “IMPATIENCE PERSONIFIED” (also: “ridiculously opinionated” and “really bad at remembering punchlines”) and my sister’s name is synonymous with “saint.”

So I basically cobbled together a spare change of clothes and slingshot my kid at my saint of a sister and then I climbed in the car and drove to the birth center, where I proceeded to spend an hour and a half talking about my medical history and how NO, REALLY, I don’t drink.

It’s that fuzzy feeling in my throat, you know?  I hate that feeling.  I didn’t even drink at my wedding because I wasn’t about to have that fuzzy feeling in my throat ruining a big day.  No, siree!  I toasted the day with apple juice.

In fact, if you LIKE drinking then I highly suggest you go out of your way to make friends with someone like me who does not.  Hello!  DESIGNATED DRIVER!  Why do you think my husband married me?!

It occurs to me now that my name may also be synonymous with BORING AS HELL.  But I digress.

So yesterday, I woke up and I nursed Charlotte and I worried about the baby.  I prepared breakfast and I worried about the baby.  I gave Charlotte a bath and I worried about the baby.  I showered and dressed and I worried about the baby.  We brushed our teeth and I worried about the baby.

I swept the living room and I worried about the baby.  We had a picnic snack and I worried about the baby.  I drove to the birth center and I worried about the baby.  I talked about my medical history and I worried about the baby.  I peed in a cup and I worried about the baby.

And then FINALLY, I was instructed to lay back on a bed and unzip my pants and that long-awaited moment came when a magic wand covered with jelly the temperature of ice in Siberia was placed on my belly and…WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH.  Suddenly it was all worth it: the morning sickness, the weeks of fear, the months of waiting, the grief following our miscarriage, the incessant worry, everything.

Laying there, listening to the thunder of my child’s heartbeat, was perfect.  Absolutely perfect.

We found out that we were expecting the first weekend of March.  I bought a pregnancy test on the way to a five-year-old’s birthday party and took the test in the bathroom while Charlotte and Donald made quality bounce-house memories together.

As it turned out, peeing on a stick was wholly unnecessary because four days later I woke up and smelled OXYGEN and began to heave.  I tore off the covers, bolted out of bed, and weighed my options.  The bathrooms had not yet been cleaned that week and because I am a prissy fool consumed by first-world luxury, I patently refuse to vomit into a toilet that has seen fecal matter more recently than it’s seen a sponge…so without really thinking about it, I ran outside.

I ran into the backyard, kneeled over a tomato plant, and just retched.  I was amazed that there could still be food in my stomach after a night of sleep.  Over and over my stomach clenched and any time something came up, I couldn’t help but be amazed at that fact.

When I was finished, I sat back on my legs and cried.  My neighbor called at me through the fence to see if I was okay and I said yes, just ate something that didn’t agree with me, sorry he had to see that.  And THAT made me cry harder because here I am throwing up all over myself and my half-dead tomato plant with bedhead and sweatpants and my neighbor is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and tending a perfectly manicured garden.

Then, suddenly, there was a squawk as one of the chickens realized with glee that she had just stumbled upon a jackpot.  A vomit-licious jackpot.  Within seconds, our chickens had flocked to scene of the grossness from every corner of the yard and gobbled down every shred of proof that I’d ever been ill.

For the record, I’m not sure I will ever be able to look at another egg quite the same.

Okay, there is ONE last thing that I want to do before moving on to pregnancy stuff…I kind of, sort of want to tell you about a little girl named Jordin and the charity fundraiser that is being organized in her name.

You can read more about Jordin and what I am about to tell you by clicking through to the Jordin’s Journey website.  Jordin’s Journey also has a Facebook page which you can find by clicking here.  If you have time, I encourage you to look at both.  And if you have an extra cent or two lying about, please consider looking at the donation page.  Donations are pooled together to purchase an SES machine for the local children’s hospital.

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Donald and I first met Jordin and her family at a Halloween party hosted by mutual friends.  Jordin is the youngest of three incredible children and she was feeling ill that evening.  She clung to her mother for most of the night, sipping water and cuddling.  “Jordin has sickle cell anemia,” her mother told me.  “It’s hard on her.”

I had heard of sickle cell anemia, of course, and I think most people have – but to me it was a very abstract disease.  Throughout the night, I just kept asking questions.  How is sickle cell managed?  Is she always in pain or ill?  What are the gravest dangers?  Were her other children carriers?  Are carriers ever symptomatic?

It was another year before I saw Jordin and her mother again (at another Halloween party OF COURSE) and by then I had done my research.  I learned about sickle cell anemia and so when her mother talked about a recent hospital stay, a lot more of the conversation made sense to me.  The whole ride home, Donald and I talked about how incredibly attentive her parents are to her needs.  Their children are lucky to have such strong advocates on their side.

That said, I have only met Jordin and her family a few times, always at our mutual friends’ home.  I don’t know what Jordin’s favorite color is or what she wants to be when she grows up, but when I recently discovered (through the same mutual friends) that her family is trying to raise money to purchase a machine for the local children’s hospital…I knew immediately that I wanted to help.

What is the point of having a blog, after all, if you cannot – or do not – ever use it to help someone else?

The machine that Jordin’s family wants to purchase for the children’s hospital is called a Sebia Electrophoresis System and it is used to scan blood.  Proximity is pretty key.  The closest SES machine to my location is currently situated in northern California, which means that families of children with rare blood disorders (including sickle cell, anemia, and hemoglobin diseases) in southern California are forced to wait a week or longer to receive test results that can significantly affect the well-being of their child.  While they spend a week waiting for a diagnosis, their child waits in limbo.

The SES machine ordinarily costs $58,000 but the company that manufactures it has agreed to sell the machine for $30,000.  And that is what Jordin’s Journey is all about: educating the public about the need to place an SES machine in southern California so that more families can see their children diagnosed and treated in reasonable frames of time…and raising $30,000 to do just that.  As of the moment that this post is going live, Jordin’s family has worked hard to raise $6,345.  That’s about 1/5 of the total moneys needed.

I know that nobody likes to be preached at and begged for money when they come to a happy-go-lucky parent blog, but I am asking you: please humor me, just this once.  If you have a little extra wiggle room in your budget, PLEASE consider donating to Jordin’s Journey to help make this machine a reality in southern California.  And if you don’t, you can still help.  You can post a link to Jordin’s Journey on your Facebook page or Twitter stream.  If you live in southern California, you can plan to attend the Jordin’s Journey black-tie event at the TGIF’s at The Block in Orange on April 20th.  If you have a blog, you can write about Jordin’s Journey or allow me to write a guest-post about it (in which case, I’ll link to it and beg people to click through, I promise).  If you have a business with an Internet shop – a photography business or an Etsy shop, for example – you can agree to pledge a percentage of your profits to Jordin’s Journey over a specified period of time.

Over the next few weeks, I will be making a point to feature blogs and businesses that help spread the word or pledge profits to this cause.  I already have a few lined up, but not many.  If you want to participate, PLEASE send an e-mail to so that I can include you.

And in advance: THANK YOU.  Thank you to each and every one of you who reads this for taking the time out of your day and thank you to anyone who has the inclination to help in whatever way they can.  Thank you.

Before I begin waxing on and on about pregnancy (because you know I will) (and also, because I have the single most disgusting morning sickness story and crap like that just can’t be contained), I wanted to take a moment to share a fun little conversation with Charlotte from a few days ago…and to say thank you.

    -  What do you want to be when you grow up?
    -  A big sister.
    -  A big sister, huh?  Are you going to be a big sister to the baby in my belly?
    -  The baby is not in your belly, Momma!  THAT IS SO SILLY!  It is in your uterus.
    -  Okay.  Do you want the baby in my uterus to be a boy or a girl?
    -  It should be a baby brother, yes.  (pauses, thinks)  Momma?
    -  Yes, darling?
    -  Is the baby not in your uterus?
    -  Yes, the baby is in my uterus.
    -  Did Daddy’s sperm not make the baby?
    -  Yes, Daddy’s sperm helped make the baby.
    -  Are Daddy’s sperm not living with the baby in your uterus?
    -  Hmmm.  Well.  Daddy’s sperm fertilized my egg and the sperm and the egg together turned into the baby.  Sort of like how caterpillars turn into butterflies.  You don’t see the egg or the sperm individually again after that; the single cell just slowly grew and transformed into the baby.
    -  Oh.  Okay.  And it should be a baby brother.  And I will name him George.

THANK YOU to each and every one of you who smiled or cried or commented or e-mailed or sent warm wishes or gave us a thumbs up or prayed or…well, just thank you.  It means so much to our family.  This baby is already so lucky to be so welcomed and loved by so many people.

On that note, Lauren (who has the most adorable daughter Violet OH MY GOODNESS) at With Two Cats is putting up a casual q/a with me at some point in the day; I’m not sure when.  The part where I mentioned the community forged by blog readers?  I mean every word of that.  If you ever doubt whether or not blogs create a community capable of great things, go to a post that announces something important: a birth or a death, a pregnancy or a miscarriage, a birthday or an engagement, a wedding or a divorce, a success or a failure.  I guarantee that it it is in these posts that the comments tell you that this world is composed of good-hearted people.  People who care, people who are worth listening to, people who share ideas and thoughts, people who can change the landscape of a blogger’s life, and people who will help you out without ever having met you face to face.

Again and always: thank you.

After many long months of trying
Our house will be filled with much crying
    Whether girl or a boy
    We are both filled with joy
And here is some proof we’re not lying:

We hit ten weeks yesterday.  Our first appointment with our midwife is next Monday.  We are due at the end of October or early November.  Please keep your fingers crossed!