I wanted to scratch off my skin.

I also wanted a decent night’s sleep.

When I went to my doc last Friday, I asked her if there was something I could do about the itching. She gave me a low-dose Benadryl prescription and ordered some blood work. “Just to rule out a liver disorder,” she said.

Being the hypochondriac I am, you’d think the words “liver disorder” would have freaked me out. They didn’t. Well, okay, they did, for about five seconds. But then I remembered that I’ve sailed through 32 weeks of this pregnancy with no complications, despite my most active imagining of the worst, so I told myself this would be more of the same.

It wasn’t. My blood test came back positive. I have a rather rare condition called cholestasis of pregnancy. My liver is unable to effectively process all the pregnancy hormones in my body, so it’s releasing bile acid into my blood. The acid is lodging in my skin (hence the itching). The real concern, though, is that it will cross over into the babies’ placentas and lodge there, causing stress on their little bodies.

As I read about cholestasis, I got totally freaked out. Understandably, I think. Stillbirth is one of the possible outcomes of this condition. And fetal distress. And hemorrhaging. And preterm labor, for which I’m already at higher risk, simply because I’m carrying twins.

My first thought was, let’s do a C-section and get them out of there. But at 32 weeks gestation, the dangers of prematurity are a much higher risk to the babies than the danger posed by my cholestasis. So they’re staying put…for now.

However, since fetal distress can occur very quickly with this condition, I’m being monitored super closely. I have twice weekly non-stress tests in addition to a weekly appointment with the doctor.

And I have to sit down several times a day and do kick counts – literally counting how many times the babies move in 15 minutes – to make sure they’re behaving normally. If they’re not, it’s to the hospital I go.

On top of all this, I got a call yesterday morning from the nurse at the OB clinic. On Tuesday, I’d had to undergo the indignity of collecting all my pee for 24 hours and storing it in an orange jug in the refrigerator. (Doug thought this was so disgusting, he shivered every time he opened the fridge and saw that jug. For some reason, it didn’t really phase me, and I’m usually the germ phobe.) The doc wanted to make sure I didn’t have elevated levels of protein in my urine, an early sign of pregnancy-induced hypertension (PIH).

I have very low blood pressure and none of the risk factors for PIH, so I was (once more) unworried by this test – until the nurse called and said the urine analysis came back with elevated protein levels and the doc wanted to see me stat. (I begin to think that if I’m not worried, I should be. This is a horrible realization for a hypochondriac. It reinforces my tendency to assume the worst.)

I called Doug and started to cry. I haven’t slept well in nearly two weeks (the itching continues, despite two prescriptions and a topical drug), and I’d already been through an emotional zeitgeist this week, and I’d been at the hospital 5 of the past 7 days, and I was really scared. PIH is nothing to mess with.

After dropping my kids off with a friend, I traipsed back to the hospital for the sixth day out of seven and had another non-stress test (which the babies passed with flying colors) and my blood pressure taken every ten minutes for an hour and a half. The doc came in, asked me some questions, looked at my blood pressure readings, and said we should keep an eye on my protein levels (which means I have to repeat that awful 24-hour urine collection) and monitor my blood pressure at each of my non-stress tests, but for now it appears I don’t have PIH. Hallelujah!

***

In the midst of the yo-yo of emotions that Doug and I have been through this week, we have much to be thankful for, and since it’s the first Friday of the month, I thought I’d share some of those things:

991. Friends who watch my children while I’m at the hospital: Cindy had them for seven hours on Tuesday, God bless her.

992. Both babies are head down, so we’ll be able to attempt a vaginal birth and won’t have to have a breech extraction.

993. Princess parking right in front of the hospital when I was at the end of my rope on Wednesday.

994. Cool weather. (I’m probably the only person in Seattle rejoicing that this was the rainiest June on record.)

995. My friend Susan cleaned my house while she watched my kids on Wednesday.

996. My friend Amy came over and made dinner that night.

997. My friend Karen watched my kids yesterday afternoon on two hours notice when I found out I needed to schlep back up to the hospital again.

998. A fabulous homemade lasagne delivered to our door yesterday – the day this week when I most needed it.

999. I don’t have PIH.

1000. The babies are healthy and big for their gestational age, especially for twins.

In spite of that impending reality and the incredible discomfort that is pregnancy, I have much to be grateful for. And since it’s the first Friday of the month, here’s a smattering of what I’ve noticed in the past weeks:

802. Doug walked down to Honore this morning and brought back pain au chocolate; a yummy, flaky apple-turnover-type thing; and a rhubarb galette that is just dreamy.

806. It’s Friday: library day.

809. Friends who are willing to do dirty work—like put up insulation and help you sort (and toss) your junk.

812. Barbecue chicken pizza.

813. My church.

824. A quiet house: Doug and Jack are biking, and Jane is napping.

825. Birdsong.

826. Good food to eat.

827. A dear husband who prepares the good food to eat.

833. The kids and I finished reading Rapunzel’s Revenge—again. I love how much they love it.

837. The way my daughter runs, her little legs pumping, her feet slapping the ground, makes me happy.

851. Little girl hugs.

858. Lilac blossoms.

865. Lark Rise to Candleford, which I’ve just discovered and have fallen for. But then, I’m always a sucker for character-driven period pieces.

869. I am not having triplets.

870. Or quads.

877. Last night, Jack asked, “What’s junk food?” Reminds me of the time, a year and a half ago now, when he asked, “What’s McDonald’s?”

893. Picking up a dear friend at the airport last night. After five years, she’s home to stay.

910. My children’s faces.

915. The new Seattle Public Library iPhone app.

And, as always, I have much to be grateful for … even in a month full of wild surprises and some seriously bad days. Here’s a smattering of things from the list in my journal:

647. Jane came in and cuddled with me in bed this morning. “Mama,” she said, “I want to hold your hand.” And she slipped her soft little hand into mine.

648. I have hands she can hold.

652. I got my braces off yesterday! And my teeth look beautiful, if I do say so myself.

656. An encouraging email from a writer friend.

672. Reading Charlotte’s Web to my kids.

678. Tulips are blooming everywhere. Jane cries, “Tulip!” every time she sees one when we go walking in the neighborhood. I love her exuberance.

683. Rhubarb-apple crisp.

686. Laughing with the kids over the story of Pa and the “bear” that was really a stump in Little House in the Big Woods.

691. The delicious scent of lilac blossoms.

694. Listening to Jack and Jane play: right now the Little Mermaid is fighting Darth Vader. Awesome.

706. The words on the reader board outside St. Luke’s as I drove home from the gym: “God is good.”

710. Jack and I had a great morning of school: I was patient; he was focused.

712. A sweet moment with Jane at bedtime: she sat on my legs with her hands on my belly and felt the babies kick, her face lighting up with each movement.

713. A gossamer thin crescent moon hangs in the western sky, Venus just above it, shining pure and bright.

721. Jane’s drawing of Doug: he looks like a paramecium. Rock on.

739. Doug and Jack made delicious oatmeal raisin cookies for me, simply because I wanted them. Am I lucky or what?

742. Sleep.

743. Sleep.

744. Sleep.

751. My children’s laughter is the most wonderful sound in the whole world.

766. The sun is shining.

769. Jack, on his way out of his room this morning: “I love you, Jane.” My heart is melting.

770. No consequences.

555. I found $1.05 in change in my purse and car yesterday – just enough to pay for parking during my midwife appointment!

560. Sunshine.

563. A safe, uneventful flight from Seattle to LA. And an equally uneventful drive from LA to Bakersfield.

564. Being home with my parents.

565. And my sister.

576. God’s promises to us through the prophet Isaiah: so many words of reassurance, comfort, consolation; and through it all, the constant reminder that God was with the people – and is with us now.

588. I played three games of Shanghai Rummy with my fam on this trip – and I won all three…which makes me the new reigning Queen. Woot!

589. Watching the BBC Pride and Prejudice with my parents. My mother’s expressive face heightened my enjoyment of the movie, and my dad’s identification with Mr. Darcy opened up new insights into both their characters.

592. Safe travel to Troncones (Mexico) and our gorgeous room overlooking the ocean.

597. Home.

603. Ink for my pen. I ran out in Mexico.

613. My dishwasher. We had to handwash dishes at my parents’ house, and I’m so grateful I don’t have to do that here at home!

626. A trip to the library for new books to read.

642. The cup of tears Jesus drank for me, my children, everyone I love – because He loves them (and me) far more than I ever could.

424. A family walk to Sunset Park – sans jackets!

431. Jack picked a bouquet of camellias, hellebore, and rosemary and brought it to me.

442. Rereading The Shape of Mercy. Mick Silva at WaterBrook Press gave me my copy, and he managed to get Susan Meissner to sign it. The inscription reads: “Kimberlee – Live to love – Susan Meissner.” And yes, she spelled my name right and everything.

459. Sunshine.

460. Sunshine.

461. Sunshine.

473. An opportunity to write a guest post for Christine Sine’s Lenten series on her blog.

474. Writing brings me back to myself, back to the person I want to be, back to the faith I so easily abandon as I live my day-to-day life. Stories – the ones I read that resonate with me, but especially the ones I write – remind me who I am, who I want to be, what I believe, what I want to believe. I am so grateful for words.

481. The beautiful and encouraging article my friend Cathee sent me about artists whose genius only appears after sustained time and effort.

484. Read The Penderwicks on Gardam Street yesterday. It’s as delightful as the first book. A treat to read. And Jane Austen in-jokes for those of us in the know!

490. Cherry trees in bloom

499. Tea with toast.

500. Toast with Nutella.

509. Tim Dearborn’s sermon on Sunday was exactly what I needed to hear.

515. Jack composed his first rhyme last night. This morning he asked if I would write it down for him so he could copy it. Of course I could. And did. Here it is:

Ships
by Jack Ireton

Ships come. Ships go.
Some are big. Some are small.
Some meet others
that are tall.

My writer mama’s heart beats fast and proud.

517. Chocolate.

531. Dave (my editor at IVP) liked the guest post I wrote.

546. I think I know how to fix my novel. I haven’t been working on it on paper, but I’ve been working on it in my head, and this morning, it finally coalesced.

Here are a few things I noticed that made my heart glad:

65. Raindrops on the window and dripping from the branches of the fig tree.

69. Christmas Day in the Morning by Pearl S. Buck, illustrated by Mark Buehner–such a lovely story, so beautifully illustrated.

72. Once more, my morning cup of tea–which Doug faithfully makes day after day.

83. The evergreens marching along the ridge in the distance.

104. Mighty-O donuts.

118. My kids are still sleeping, so I have time to journal.

139. Kleenex.

140. No day lasts forever. They always, mercifully, end.

166. Insomnia. It means I’m up and writing at 5:02.

177. The Seattle Public Library.

200. The way both my kids mispronounce “breakfast.” Jack: breckfixt. Jane: beckfitst.

226. The Divine Hours by Phyllis Tickle

249. I finished writing my week of meditations on the lectionary for the 2011 Disciplines.

263. The shiny gloss of the knobs on my bedposts.

285. Bacon with breakfast.

313. Stewed prunes don’t taste as disgusting as they look.

335. Reading Winnie-the-Pooh to the kids–the real ones by A.A. Milne, not the dumbed-down Disney version.

353. I felt well yesterday.

364. Bread hot from the oven. Mmmmm.

389. Cherry blossoms.

411. Jane held my hand the entire time I was reading her “Beauty and the Beast” (from Berlie Doherty’s Fairy Tales collection).

421. It’s been a tough, even heartbreaking, week, for reasons I don’t feel at liberty to disclose, but even in the midst of dark and difficult times, God is near. We just have to keep our eyes, and our hearts, open, so we can see when and where and how He cares for us.

As we move into a new month, may each of us see the abundance of gifts and blessings that are our lives.

I’ve always been a glass-half-empty kind of girl, prone to melodrama, self-pity, and anxiety. (Does that sound melodramatic? she wondered anxiously…)

Sometime in the past few years, though, something shifted. My daughter has taken over the role of drama queen, for one thing. And though I still struggle with anxiety and have to battle self-pity something fierce some days, on the whole my vision of my life is that it is a huge gift, and it is filled with all manner of smaller gifts, the daily graces and mercies that I spent over 30 years completely missing.

Somehow, my eyes have been opened, and I have begun to see all these gifts, large and small, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

My friend Susan Forshey wrote a blog post recently in which she announced her intention to join Ann Voscamp’s Gratitude Community and create a list of one thousand things she’s grateful for.

Well, I’m never one to let Susan outdo me (uh, except she’s a dissertation away from a PhD, and I don’t even have a master’s degree, but other than that…). So I’m joining the fray, er, fun.

On the first Friday of each month, I’ll post part of my own list for that month (don’t worry; I’ll limit myself to no more than 20 items, most of which will be reading or writing related, so y’all won’t have to slog through pages of Kimberlee’s Private Minutiae) until I work my way up to 1000 things. And since today is the first Friday of the month, here are a few of the gifts I’ve noticed in the past days:

5. Sunshine on these shortest darkest days of the year

6. Beautifully illustrated books to read aloud to the kids

8. The beautiful words of Tennyson’s “The Lady of Shalott”

13. The way Jane says “tajamas” instead of “pajamas”

17. My husband has a good job that pays well enough for me to stay home with the kids and fiddle around with words.

20. A built-in dishwasher!

23. Moleskine journals

24. My fountain pen

25. My Macbook

31. A heated house

32. Indoor plumbing

34. The art and poetry of Lilias Trotter

36. Psalm 139, especially verse 18: “When I wake up, I am present with Thee.”

46. A great conversation with my sister: she made me laugh so hard I couldn’t talk.

48. A cup of hot tea with honey

51. Books I’m excited to read are on hold at the library.

57. Watching Jane’s face as I told her my versions of “The Three Little Pigs,” “St. George and the Dragon,” and “Sleeping Beauty” – she was mesmerized, and I felt like a rock star.

59. The beautiful writing in The House Above the Trees by Ethel Cook Eliot

If you’d like to start your own list, I’d love your company. Just pick up a pen and paper (or if you’re a techie, open Evernote or a blank Word doc) and start writing – I’m numbering my list, so I know when I get to a thousand, but that’s optional – and please let me know! I’d love to hear what you notice and are grateful for.

Here’s to a glad new year. May we see it unfold with eyes wide open.