This is the Good Stuff

Just as cows moo, dogs bark, and babies cry-- writers write. Except me, for the past two months. It isn't as if the past months have left me with nothing to write about- in fact, quite the opposite. I can confidently say that this period in time has been the fastest, most eventful, exciting, changing period of time in my life thus far. I've been doing a lot of mental note-taking. I've been trying to spend more time soaking in the moments and less time recounting them. But now, I'll write in the hopes that my words can even come close to enveloping all that was and is as of late.

I've learned and grown and changed. That's life though; we learn and grow and change in different ways and directions based on the choices we make and the lives that we opt to live. We grow where we're planted. I am thriving in my little ecosystem. Being a mom and being a wife are life decisions that I intentionally made and have been knowingly shaped by. I am challenged day in and day out to live selflessly and put others' needs above my own. It's not a unique calling on moms and wives, but it's certainly a practical application of Christian character. I have adopted new priorities. I have gained new friends that understand. I have lost some friends that don't. 

Will and I gladly admit to being "boring and old", and we are happier that way. I'd rather spend my days coaxing out gummy smiles and my nights singing silly songs than go through the expected motions of being 21 and young. There's a lot of heartbreak and mistakes that I'd just as soon skip over. All that glitters isn't gold, so to speak. On the contrary, I've never felt so much fulfillment and joy and love as I have watching our little one grow into all that is being 12 weeks old. 

It's scary and it's humbling. Someone once told me that becoming a parent is God's way of showing you all of the ugliness inside of yourself that needs to change. It's true. All my impatience and attitude and arrogance is displayed front and center in my state of being overtired, overwhelmed, and ill-equipped. I am reminded of the sides of myself that I don't like and who I do and I don't want to be for my husband and my son. It's scary that what I do has a greater impact than what I say. It's humbling that I have been given such a gift in raising a child, while I am yet young and dumb. Good thing God is gracious, and so is my little family. 

There's unmatched pride and joy in watching Nehemiah day by day. We are in constant awe of how quickly he is growing and learning and changing. Everyone tells us not to blink. For the first time, the cliche "they grow so fast" is being realized in my life. It's true. They do. He does. We cheer him on as he lifts his head and kicks and rolls over. We revel in his smiles and can't help but broadcast each of his new tricks to our friends and family. 

As my dad's simple but wise words often remind me, "This is the good stuff."

Dear Nehemiah

Dear Nehemiah,

The day you were born was a day that will stay in my mind forever vivid and forever blurry all at the same time.
You made your grand entrance on your own time; That's a character trait that I believe will transcend beyond your infant years. You will not be hurried. You will not be slowed down. You came the way and the time that you wanted to, bar all efforts of doctors and nurses and nature. You felt ready to come, and ready we all became, too. Your ambitious spirit was noted when you decided to come into the world four weeks earlier than expected. Your calm and patient side was also noted when Pitocin nor my walking blocks around the hospital grounds were going to hurry you out.
The day you were born was a day that held insurmountable joy and peace and fulfillment, all wrapped up in the tiny package that was you. I have never felt feelings like I did when I first heard your cry and held your tiny self; I didn't know it was possible to feel so much love at one time. I didn't know that a 5 pound, 15 ounce bundle of squirming and squeaking could so suddenly become my whole world. I have never felt as close and as in love with your daddy as I did the moment I held a complete synthesis of him and I, which was you. You were and you are perfect.
The day you were born was my first taste of God's unchanging and undeserved love that he has for us. It's cliche to say that there's no love that compares to the love you feel for your children; it's said often because it's true. You: in your quiet cooing, limp and tired dreaming sleep, have done nothing but simply exist to merit any love from anyone. And yet, existing is all that you've needed to do to capture the entirety of my heart. There's nothing that you could have done or could ever do to make me love you more, or love you less. It's an amazing love. It's Agape love. It must be something like the love our Heavenly Father feels for us.
The day you were born was a game-changing, life-altering, eye-opening, meaning-realizing pinpoint in time. You have instilled a new worth in me and in your daddy. Our lives are forever changed and forever better because of you.

I love you, and all that you are, and all that you mean,
more than words can say.
M

Nehemiah: 1 | Jaundice: 0

We had Nehemiah's first doctor's appointment yesterday [read, September 10]. While I had noted that my little half-white half-brown mini was looking slightly more yellow than a nice shade of beige, I didn't realize that I should have been more concerned than I was. Our appointment was to the point; doctor checked his height, weight, eyes, nose. Then came the talk about his lemon-esque skin tone. The doctor's concern was obvious just by his naked-eye observations. He ordered us to get a blood test to check his Bilirubin levels and confirm his suspicion that Miah's jaundice had increased exponentially. We were told to be expecting a call within a few hours with results and a game plan. While we waited, Nehemiah took his first trip to Club FM. (If you don't know what club FM is, you must not live in Astoria/Warrenton and fall within the 16-30 age group.)  Will and I ordered our favorite burgers from The Wet Dog for pick up. We called around town in search of a breast pump. After three hours of dilly-dallying and time-wasting, we got the call that said Miah would need to be admitted and be put in the "bilibed", a UV-lit bed that works to reduce his jaundice. I cried. Will worked swiftly and systematically; I can always count on him to be the one with a level head. Our burgers got soggy and lonely sitting at The Wet Dog waiting to be picked up. Woops.

Had I gotten my way, we would have gone back to the hospital where Nehemiah was born for treatment. However, his Pediatrician is in Astoria, and would have no patient privilege in Seaside. So this is me, trying not to count the strikes against this hospital. We were "greeted" by a woman overly adorned with distasteful piercings and an udder lack of bedside manor, and her partner Gloria Gum-chewer. Words like responsible, clean, friendly, organized, prompt, etcetera failed to come-to when grappling for words to describe the experience. Strike one. We were placed into a room that one of the nurses lovingly deemed as "the closet room". I think "jail-cell" would have been more accurate, though possibly not as quaint. The closet room certainly lived up to it's name in stature. It's decor, lack of color and a clock, and it's half-burnt florescent lighting lived up to my pet-name for the place. Strike two. I can't say I was displeased with the staff that took us on. The nurses were conveniently on shift change when we arrived, so while we liked our nurse whom we'll call "Sally", our time together was short lived. She was replaced by "Martha", a competent and friendly lactation consultant RN. I like her. But, as our stay turned into overnight, the inevitable happened again- shift change. My comfortable budding relationship with "Martha" was sadly severed and replaced by "Ruth". I only know this because I can read; she failed to introduced herself, so I was reduced to reading her name-tag as a form of introduction. Grumble. She woke me up to feed Nehemiah at 11:30pm, and handed him to me while my sleep-haze tried to ware off. About 10 minutes into our 20-minute restricted feeding session, I realized dear "Ruth" hadn't weighed Miah before handing him to me for our feeding. Thus, making all of the work we had been doing to keep track of his eating volumes null and void, in one fell swoop. Strike three. Then there was the lack of paper towels, extra pillows, functional call-light, and the fact that dear "Ruth" had to ask ME how many ounces Nehemiah had been eating via bottle. Say it with me "Ruth", Chaaaarrrt Nooootes. Chart notes: saving nurses like "Ruth" from looking like incompetent fools one page at a time. Perhaps my expectations were too high. Seeing as my entire 3-day stay at Providence went completely scathe-free, (well, sans the nurse that kept letting my highly anesthetized leg fall off the table mid-delivery) I guess I had hoped that our 24-hour (or less) jaunt at CMH would have fairly equal results. Wrong-O. So long as Nehemiah is getting that black light-meets-tanning bed blue light shining on him, I suppose the rest is just details. Still.

When we were admitted, his bilirubin level was at 19.7. 19.7 of what, I don't know. But that's what I was told. The doctor explained that high levels of bilirubin can ultimately cause brain damage, and that if Nehemiah's levels were to increase to 21 or so, we would be shipped to Portland. At that point, the appeal of going to a highly reputable and award winning facility was pretty good. But, I suppose not at the expense of Nehemiah's health. We prayed. We waited. We napped. We prayed. We waited. At 8 pm, they re-tested his blood. By 9 pm the results were in. His level had dropped to 16! Our little man was shocking and awing left and right. The nurses said that his results were promising, and if progress continued, he would be in good shape shortly. After a long, grueling first night of our new breast feed-bottle feed-pump cycle, 6 am came earlier than usual. The nurses came to haul him off to the nursery to take some blood for his next blood test. I invited myself. They poked his foot and he took it like a champ, naturally. At 8:30 am, we were woke and greeted by the doctor himself. He was pleased to report that Nehemiah's bilirubin level had taken a dramatic, unexpected and rapid plunge to 13. At that moment, I am positive I loved the number 13 more than even Taylor Swift loves 13. The doctors good news just kept coming when he said that Nehemiah's CBC levels were within normal range, and that if his progress continued, we would be welcome to go home this evening. Sayonara, bilibed and closet room. You won't be missed.

I am so proud of my little man. I am so blessed by a faithful and healing God that loves us and hears us when we cry. I am even a little thankful for the closet room and bilibed for providing a healing refuge for Nehemiah. I am excited to go home and make up for lots of cuddling lost to the bilibed that will ensue immediately upon our homecoming.

The First Page of His Story

I went into labor on Labor Day.

1 PM: It was September 3rd and it was warm; I had decided to take my overzealous dog on an afternoon stroll. Our neighborhood stroll became a long walk, ending in a visit to stinky beach in Alderbrook. I kept taking mental notes of how my Braxton Hicks seemed to dislike my high-paced sauntering. They seemed to let up as I rested. Either that, or I was completely distracted with how much fun Liam was having gallivanting in the river and chasing all things winged. I thought about how things would change when the baby came. I took another mental note to just soak in the sunshiney quiet afternoon, just me and my dog.

2:30 PM:  Liam finally got tired out. William was filling in at the foster home in Alderbrook that day, so we just walked the half-mile to his work to visit. Cue Braxton Hicks. I started counting the time between each contraction, since I hadn't remembered feeling them so regularly. 7 minutes apart on the dot. By the time I got to the house, I had had about 5 contractions equally regular. I decided to sit and see if things would calm down again like they had before, but without success. William prompted me to  call L&D at Providence to see what they would have me do. Lucky for me, it was my personal OB that was the doctor on call. She advised that while I was on the boarder of being symptomatic of early labor, it may also dissipate with more rest. We decided the best plan was for me to rest, shower, and continue counting my contractions. She told me to call had things continued or progressed.

4 PM: Despite my attempts to stop my contractions with showering, water-drinking and laying in bed, they kept coming. 7 minutes, 8 minutes, 6 minutes apart. Though consistent and annoying, they weren't painful. I was thankful for that. William got home from work and asked me what I wanted to do. We decided to just be cautious and head in to Seaside to get checked out. If nothing else, their checking me will put my mind at ease knowing that everything was normal, baby was fine, and we were still right on schedule. We stopped to get gas and we stopped to get a McDonald's cheeseburger, my recent craving of choice. (Gross, I know.)

5 PM: We got to the hospital and got checked in. We were welcomed warmly by the nursing staff who ushered us to a cozy yet spacious room. To my pleasant surprise, The nurse who had given us a hospital tour just a few weeks earlier, Marty, was on duty. Though we had only met once before, she greeted me with a hug and a big smile like we had known each other for a long time. I appreciated that. They took my vitals and hooked my belly up to two monitors- one for baby's heartbeat, one for contractions. This was the first time I got nervous and excited about labor, feeling like it was finally, actually happening. Will's feelings seemed mutual.

6 PM: The doctor came. She didn't seem too concerned when she saw my contraction chart- she said it was likely a bout of false labor. But for safe measure, she told us she would check my cervix and see if there were any changes. I was dilated to a 2 already and was 80% effaced. She seemed very surprised by my progression. We were too. The doctor let us know she would be coming back in a few hours to check me again. She said it was not uncommon for people to stay at a 2 for long periods of time, so she wasn't concerned yet.

8:30 PM: I had dilated to a 3. 90% effaced. Doctor said she wasn't comfortable sending me home, and that we'd  be staying overnight. This was the moment I knew that we wouldn't be leaving the hospital without a baby. William and I tried to get as much sleep as possible. I don't know if he succeeded; I certainly didn't. The anticipation of what tomorrow would bring was too overwhelming to sleep.

7:00 AM: Dr. Greco came, and I had progressed to a 4. She said the words, "We are going to commit you to having this baby today." William and I looked at each other and smiled, both knowing what the other was thinking. As she was leaving the room, she said, "You both are going to be mommy and daddy at some point today!" They felt weird coming out of her mouth for some reason, even though I knew it to be true. I got on the phone and got ahold of our photographer Caroline, who happened to be in town for just one more day before leaving for a big trip. She came to the hospital within a few hours. Good timing, God.

1 PM: They started my antibiotic IV. We waited. And waited. I was still dilating. My contractions were consistent, but still staying 7 minutes apart. The doctor broke my water not long after to bring my contractions closer together. Nehemiah had already decided that he wanted to do things his own way, I suppose.

5 PM: I got an epidural. The anesthesiologist had said that complications were very rare, and that it shouldn't hurt at all. That was right before he "twinged" my nerve on my right side, twice. It hurt. Lucky me. I cried (probably the hormones) and Will held me like a good husband should. After the medicine started working, I felt much better. My right side was significantly more numb than my left, though.

6 PM: They started pitocin. I got nervous, excited, scared, everything. Indescribable.

8 PM: With a room-full of family and friends and at 8 cm dilated (to my knowledge), my body suddenly knew it was go time. I cleared the room. The doctor checked me. Yep, we were at a 10 and ready to go. William, the doctor, three nurses, Caroline and myself all went to work doing our jobs in the quiet and dim of Room 202. I kept looking across the room at my whiteboard that had the verse Isaiah 26:3 written on it, "You will keep her in perfect peace, whose mind is steadfast, because she trusts in You." He did keep me in perfect peace.

9:01 PM: The first moment I heard my baby's voice. I heard William start crying. I heard the doctor say the famous and anticipated words, "It's a boy". I heard William say that we had a son. Everything else because a blur. I held my child on my chest for the first of uncountable times. I held his head and his hands and cried. William held us. We cried. We laughed. We counted his fingers and toes and admired his perfection. William looked at me and said, "Nehemiah."
Our family became three.

Chilly Feet

I've been told it's normal, every new parent feels it to some degree at one point or another during their pregnancy. Even so, it still feels like somehow I am shaming my maternal duties by admitting that I might have the smallest case of.. GASP, cold feet. Don't get me wrong. There's nothing I would rather be doing at this place in my life than growing my family and laying roots. 

It's like buyers remorse. Well, that sounds bad. You spend hours at your computer lusting after this beautiful pair of boots. (Go with me here.) You work hard and save your pennies until at last, the inconceivable, glorious boots are yours for the taking. You buy them. You collect them from the mailbox all wide-eyed and excited! You put them on. They're awesome. And then you stare in the mirror at your stately new footwear and realize you bank account is empty, you spent loads of extra hours working to save up, and what do you have to show for it? Boots. Are they great boots? Sure. But alas, you're second guessing yourself about what was once CLEARLY the right decision. 

William and I want this child, prayed for this child, and are now being blessed to be having this child in a little over a month. We are so happy and excited! But I can't help but to sometimes think to myself, won't this change everything? What is life going to look like after a baby? Are Will and I going to be the same? Are our friends going to treat us differently? What things are we going to have to say "no" to now, in the name of being responsible parents? I'd be lying if I say it had never crossed my mind, and that I wasn't a little scared.
 It isn't just about how our lives are going to change. It's also, even more-so, the fact that we are forever responsible for a new life. We are solely liable for sustaining it's life, providing it with necessary comforts, and teaching it how to grow to live and thrive in our world. That is big. The mistakes and successes we make will forever shape the baby that will come to be an adult. We are forming it into who it will be. The choices we make now will forever change and shape and dent and impress upon the life that is coming to be. We have 18 years to do the best we can to teach them- and then, that's it. They either are thanking us for what we've done or cursing us for what we haven't. Maybe both. But either way, being a parent is going to be the single most challenging, scary, humbling, teaching, rewarding, exciting, frustrating, life-changing title that I will ever have. I pray that we will be able to raise him or her up in the love and admonition of the Lord. I pray that we will pass our good traits, and try to avoid the ones that aren't. I hope that s/he will be gracious on us when we fail. Which will happen, a lot. I am striving to be really, really awesome parents.

I want to figure that those fears of inadequacy, change, and responsibility will pale in comparison to the rush of pride and excitement and overwhelming love that we feel when we first see our little one. My feet and I are warming up to the idea that everything will change. Nothing will be as it was; I have a hunch it's going to be much, much better.

Hiatus

I apologize for my terribly-too-long hiatus from blogging. Our lives seriously went into over-drive the past few weeks- so much happening! But praise the Lord, we are in our house and are finally settling down. A little. Here' s a brief preview of what the past few weeks have involved:

- moving out of our apartment. Really, this bullet should be like, worthy of 5 bullets. It was quite the ordeal to pack, move, and clean at 8+ months pregnant. Cue husband.

-Finishing the remodeling in our house that we've just moved into. This is also worthy of a significant amount of bullet points. This process included hours upon hours of hard labor by my husband, brother, and cousin, Will cutting off a significant chunk of thumb via table saw, countless trips to Home Depot, haggling with a stingy saleslady over our hardwood, paint, paint and more paint, repaint, sheet-rocking and re-sheet-rocking, fixing our slopey floor, installing doors, knobs, tiling, carpet, light fixtures, and so on and so on. I can't take any credit for this bullet- however, I can claim at least 1/2 of the anxiety that came from it's ever wavering finish date. 

-Baby shower #3. This was the "big one", you could say. It was the shower that had been set in motion months and months ago, and the one that had been anticipated for a while. Even though I knew it was coming up, it still managed to seem to sneak up so fast. Who knew baby showers could be so exhausting? It was so beautiful and so much fun. More on that later. Pictures to come.

-Being pregnant. Doesn't this deserve a bullet all it's own? Yes. It does. 

___

I am happy to finally have settled just enough to take some time to breathe and write, two things that are both necessary for, well, living, and my sanity. I'm planning on taking this next month with a large amount of resting, ice-cream eating, decorating, organizing, napping, and thinking. All which seem to be conducive to keeping up on my blogging. But if I don't, I am going to thoroughly milk the excuse, "I'm pregnant, I do what I want" :) Hey, I only have 4 more weeks to play that card. I'm going to use it all I can. 

Artsy Fartsy

So, this thing called nesting: let me tell you- it's real. It is this weird, uncontrollable, incessant need to clean and organize and decorate. For most, this is great! Finally, a desire to put down the Oreos, turn off A Baby Story and get something done. For me, it's torture. Why? Well, because we are in the middle of moving into our somewhat-finished home. By somewhat finished, I mean most of our rooms have four walls, paint, and flooring. Not all. More on that later.

To curb this innate cleaning/organizing/decorating obsession until a more appropriate time, I decided to channel it into some artsy-fartsy crafting for the nursery. I found a set of wall hangings that I love on the internet, but they naturally were upwards of $15 each (not counting shipping!). So I decided to try my hand at making them myself. I hope that's not illegal.

I started with some scrapbook paper, a glass of sparkling cider, and an episode of Bones.

My finished product! I kind of love them. 

I apologize for the poor iPhone-quality pictures. Oh well. I planned on putting bible verses on them, but turned out to not have room. I think I'll make a fourth piece that has only words on it. We'll see.

Dear Baby

Hi there, little one.
I often wonder how you're doing in there. What do you think about? What do you dream about? Do certain things make you happy, and some things make you upset? I wonder if you cry or laugh or practice your baby talk. I know you got the hiccups day before yesterday, and MeeMaw got to feel it! You made us both laugh watching (and feeling) my belly move to the rhythm of your hiccups.

We're 31 weeks and six days along now. Can you believe it? In just two short months, you'll be here with us. Only eight weeks and one day until your due date. Where did the time go? It seems like it wasn't so long ago I was sitting on our couch holding the test that told us you were in there, smiling ear to ear. Now I sit on the couch and hold my belly and feel you move, smiling ear to ear. Funny how much has changed.

We had a doctor appointment this morning. You heart was going 140 beats per minute! The doctor said that you're head is down, getting ready. While you're getting ready in there for your big day, we're doing what we can out here to get things in order, too. Daddy and I (almost) have your name picked out. Well, if you're a girl, you don't have a middle name yet. But you will. We sat on the computer last night and picked out things for your nursery. You're going to love it! We love it already. We spent most of the day yesterday at our new home painting and cleaning and preparing for us to move in. We can't wait.

I read that you're 17-19 inches long and around four pounds. It's not hard for me to believe; your limbs often find themselves wedged in my ribcage or under my sternum. Your favorite way to sit is with your little baby bum shoved into the right side of my ribs, and your feet find their way anywhere from my belly button to what feels like my throat. It must be getting pretty crammed in there. My uterus is already practicing how to get you to come out  when the time is right. I don't like that part very much! Between your kicks, my working uterus, and my growing size, sleep is hard to come by these days. It makes me even more anxious for you to get here. (Which probably won't help the sleep, but at least we'll be sleepless together!)

As you're sitting or thinking or playing or swimming in there, I hope you feel how much you are loved already. You are our favorite conversation topic. We pray for you constantly and are counting down the days until we get to see you. We're almost there! You bless us more than you can ever imagine, and you aren't even born yet.

Love, M

30 Weeks 4 Days

I am completely and utterly amazed that as I sit here to write this, there is a very real possibility that Baby K could be making it's arrival in less than 10 weeks time. Where did the time go? There's only a mere three days left in July. According to my What To Expect pregnancy tracker on my iPhone (yes, they make those), the count is down to nine weeks, three days. NINE WEEKS. That is single digits. That means stuff is about to get real, really soon. The thought crossed my mind this morning that if I were to follow in my mom's footsteps, my first baby would be more than five weeks ahead of schedule. That would put us at just one month from D-day. (Not that a premature baby is either likely nor reasonable to ponder, but still.)

I feel like the days are dwindling by before I even get the chance to acknowledge them. The pressure is on. We're just a couple months to go with so much to accomplish. As some of you know, we've been "in the midst" of moving for several months now. In reality, this looks like my hardworking husband doing all he can to get our house finished and ready to be lived in before the baby comes, while I panic and complain about how long everything is taking. I feel an innate need to organize and clean and prepare before the baby comes, which has proven difficult since moving must first occur in order for me to do that. I am both excited and relieved to say that yesterday Will and I put our paint samples on walls (yes, we have walls now!), and we should be getting them all painted and pretty by the weekend. That just leaves flooring, electrical inspection, and final inspection standing in the way between us and our new home. In just three days time, we will be putting in our 30 days notice and I will be happily spending my days packing our things.

I understand that there isn't a whole lot that one can do to actually "be prepared" for the birth of a newborn. I mean, all one really needs are the body parts necessary to give birth and feed a newborn, right? While this might true, it certainly doesn't feel like enough anymore. Will and I had an encounter with Babies 'R' Us and left feeling like we were ill-equipped to be parents. There were so many life altering decisions to make; bunnies or elephants? Or monkeys? Or sheep? Glass bottles or plastic? I mean, are we going for the natural-organic esque, or cool and chic? I won't even tell you how long it took me to pick a stroller... and I'm still not sold 100%.

I am guessing this is normal to go through these worries. I'll go out on a limb here and say all expecting mommas go through days of anxiety, worry, unsure-ity, and just plain being scared. One would almost be foolish not to go through these feelings. After all, bringing a life into this world is kind of a big deal. All breast pump/crib sheets/ nursery color palate worries aside, the real fear comes down to being a mother. How will I know what to do? Will I be good at it? Will I screw them up enough that they'll need years of therapy to recover? Probably. Only kidding. Luckily, I am not the first woman on Earth to do this thing called have a baby. I am fortunate to be surrounded by many women whom I can seek support and guidance from when I am having a hard time. I am mostly fortunate that my mom is just 7.1 miles away (don't judge me for knowing that) away when I need her.
Which will be often, I imagine.

Oh Hey, Braxton Hicks

I hate you. Each and every one of you irritating little squeezes that start from my belly button and radiate around my uterus. I hate you in the morning, I hate you when I am at work, I hate you after I eat or when I have to pee, and I especially hate you when I am trying to sleep. You are annoying and uncomfortable and occasionally painful. I know we will be getting even more closely acquainted as the weeks press on. Trust me, I am not looking forward to our bonding.

There has been plenty of aspects of pregnancy that have been less than enjoyable. I wasn't too fond of the vomiting part, the joint-pain part(s), or the mood swings part. Although, I'll almost be willing to say out loud that my least favorite part has been the my-uterus-is-practicing-for-labor-and-therefore-wrenching-itself-into-a-rock-hard-pain-in-my-abdomen part. I read that some women are more sensitive to them than others, and therefore feel them earlier on, more frequently, or stronger than others. I guess I am one of those lucky gals that get to experience them through the entirety of my third trimester. Joy.

Well that was a lot of belly-aching. (Pun intended. Insert courtesy laugh here.)

Montana

A week ago, we were making our 670-mile way back home from a (much too short) hiatus to visit family in Montana. My dad, step-mom, and three (not so) little brothers are there, along with all of my dad's side of the family. I figured it would be a fun surprise for everyone to get to see me with Buddha belly, and to make one last trip before baby comes. Here's a summary of the highlights to our 4-day vaca:

• 14 hours in the car (each way.)
• The smell of St. Regis, the first pit-stop in MT
• Huckleberry milkshakes
• Mosquito ambush
• The look on my dad's face when he saw my belly
• The look on my dad's face when he felt baby kick
• Top Ramen, a la my little brother Bo
• Hug from Riley, who is now grazing 6 feet
• Watching Connor and Bo try to get from the ground to their feet without using their knees or arms
• Tamarack's
• Pepsi at the Lake
• Fearing the boat would blow up
• Watching Connor do a flip off of the intertube 
• The rope breaking
• The baby shower/family get-together
• "Yard games"
• Doughnuts for breakfast
• Going to the barn with Mary, and Grace riding with us on the mule
• Huckleberry fritters
• Throwing up in the Harvest Foods bathroom
• Passing a Semi-truck on a bridge, go me!

We had such a good time and were really happy to be able to see our family before the baby made it's big premiere. It made it worth the drive just getting to see my brothers interact with their little "niecephew" as they say. Hopefully it won't be too long until we see them again; they should be making their way our direction here in a few months to meet baby K :) We are so thankful to everyone who blessed us with gifts and advice and love while we were there. We love you all so much and miss you already!

Indian Shower

This week William and I were blessed to have his mom throw us our first baby shower! As many of you know, William's family is Indian.. So naturally, it wouldn't be a party without some Indian flare. This came in the form of me wearing a sari, flowers, and gold, holding plates of fruit and eating too many sweets. I'll explain in a bit.
There were lots of ladies (and even some brave men) who joined us from Will's parent's church. We played a few games, my favorite of which was a game whose objective was to guess which traits the mommy-to-be (that'd be me!) would wish for the baby to inherit from whom. There was a list of 25 traits, including eyes, laugh, work ethic, enthusiasm, etc. I went down my list and selected which parent would contribute the best of each. Then everyone else had to guess what I had put on my list! It was really funny. Not surprisingly, Will ended up guessing closest to mine. He only missed three! He thought the baby should inherit his hands instead of mine. Psh. Have you seen my hands? I have GREAT hands. (joking. kind of.)
We were also showered with way more gifts than we would have ever expected. Everyone was so generous and thoughtful. The baby was blessed with lots of things s/he will need, and some fun things too. One of the gifts that stood out the most was a handmade quilted baby blanket made for us by our friend Cheryl. We were in awe! She designed a pattern of Noah's Ark and made everything by hand. Our baby is so blessed to have so many people who love it already!
So back to the Indian-ness. Will's family from Canada was able to come down to the shower as well, which was really great. In case you didn't know, Indian ladies like to dress up- and saris are the dress of choice. For those who don't know, a sari is literally a 15-foot piece of cloth (in this case, silk) that is wrapped around you in an extremely ornate and confusing way. Props to everyone who can tie their own sari- it must be an innate skill, because I certainly haven't grasped it yet. Tying a sari on me requires at least 5 hands. I also wore lots of pretty gold that my mother-in-law lent to me, and topped it off with some flowers in my hair. It's was like playing dress up for adults. Sweet! There were a few Indian traditions that we incorporated, one being everyone feeding me Indian sweets and fruit. I heard that this tradition originated because in India, sweets and fruit are not as readily acessable as they are here. So when a woman is pregnant, they want to make sure that she is getting the food and nutrients she needs, and they bring her lots of fruit. And everyone likes cookies and candy... so they bring some of those too. I wasn't complaining.
A big thank you to all of the people that came out and celebrated with us and helped build our supplies arsenal for baby K. We had so much fun, and our baby is so blessed to have all of you!

playing "Mr. and Mrs. Wright"

My and my mom-in-law

:) 

The whole fam

27 Weeks

This morning came a little too early, and knowing I would be getting shot in the arm with a needle and then made to drink sugar syrup wasn't making it any better. The only saving grace was knowing I would get to hear baby's heartbeat and possibly [read: successfully] talk the husband into taking me to Bagels By The Sea.

Well the RhoGAM shot was just as enjoyable as I had imagined, especially since my regular medical assistant was out of the office. Nothing like getting poked in the humerus by a chipper stranger to start your day. The (always) awesome part of the visit was getting to hear baby's perfectly strong and perfectly loud heartbeat. Is it weird that I always find myself feeling somehow proud of my baby for having such a great sounding heartbeat? Like, "Yeah, my baby got a perfect APGAR score based on it's four chambers alone." So weird. Moving on. It was also pretty exciting when my doctor told us that it's time to start working out the details with labor and delivery, because we're nearing the end. We discussed pain management, circumcision, breastfeeding, all the fun stuff. Looks like Will and I have a lot of things to work out here in the next three months.

To round out our appointment, we were ushered off to the lab for me to get acquainted with the notorious beverage so quaintly named, "Glucose Drink: Lemon Lime". Well, the experience didn't last long, I managed to throw it up about 13 seconds after downing the last drop. The nurse said we would stop the test and she would consult with my doctor. 10 points for pregnancy nausea. For once, I'll take the puking over the alternative, which in this case would have been a blood draw. They'll probably make me do it again soon. Oh well. For now, I'm celebrating my small victory of avoiding two needle-pokes in one day. Go me.

My Little One

I've loved you from the very start,
You stole my breath, embraced my heart.
Our life together has just begun,
You're part of me, my little one.
As mother with child, each day I knew
My mind would be filled with thoughts of you.

I'm daydreaming of the things we'll share,
Like late-night bottles and teddy bears.
Like first steps and skinned knees,
bedtime stories and ABC's.

I'm thinking of things you'll want to know,
like how birds fly and how flowers grow.
I've thought of lessons I'll need to share,
Like standing tall and playing fair.

Before I've seen your precious face,
I've prayed your life be touched with grace.
I thank the Father up above,
and promise you unending love.

Each night I'll lay you down to sleep,
I'll gently kiss your head and cheek.
I'll count your little fingers and toes,
I'll memorize your eyes and nose.
I will linger at your nursery door,
Awed each day that I love you more.

With misty eyes I'll dim the light,
And whisper "I love you" every night.
As mother and child our journey's begun,
my heart's yours forever, little one.
I've loved you from the very start,
You stole my breath, embraced my heart.

-Author Unknown

99 More Days

I am one day shy of being completed with 26 weeks of pregnancy. Woohoo! That is a lot of weeks.

This week also brings my second trimester to a close, making me that much closer to jeans without stretchy waist bands, putting on my own socks, and sleeping without 3-hour pee-break intermissions. Oh yes, and that much closer to meeting my little blessing :)

This morning I bought myself a $10 left hand ring to be a place keeper for my real one, seeing as my fingers are little swollen sausages these days and my slightly-more-than-$10 ring is no longer an option. I don't like my hand looking naked and I don't like to look single. As if my watermelon belly wasn't evidence enough.

July marks the start of bi-monthly OB appointments. This is both annoying and great. Annoying because I have to make my way to seaside and pee in a cup twice as often. Great, because it is one more milestone indicating that I am inching my way to the finish line. My next appointment is next week. I am getting my blood glucose testing and my RhoGAM shot in one day. Lucky me. I hear great things about this orange-flavored sugar beverage. (sarcasm implied.)

As for the baby, things seem to be going really well in there. My little 14-inch, two pound eggplant-sized baby is making it's presence known more and more every day. I have noticed that s/he is most active first thing in the morning and right when I am settling down at night. My favorite part of the day as of late is laying in bed early in the morning and just watching my belly jump around. Yesterday it was grooving it up during worship at church, so naturally, I'm pretty sure it's a musician. Will and I have been singing and playing guitar quite often, so if it doesn't come out a singing Chris Tomlin, I'll be surprised. Well since that's all I have for now, here's a picture of my volleyball-sized belly:

 And here's a picture of Liam's volleyball sized head.

The F Word

Fat.

Repeat after me, I am not fat, I am growing a baby.
...Nope, still feel fat. 


We live in a word that is centralized around beauty and vanity. Since we are young girls, we play with dolls that are inhumanly thin, busty, and have perfect facial structure. Our media floods us with the idea that thin is the only beautiful, and that we should do pursue this image at any cost. When we see each other, it's not uncommon to greet with, "You look nice", which propitiates the idea that what we are on the outside is what gets us attention, success, and favor in life. Many of us shaking and moving women like to think that we are too educated and mindful to fall into such traps, and that we love our bodies just the way we are. Welp, I was one of those girls, until the body in the mirror was suddenly looking less and less like the body I had chalked up in my mind. 


I've gotten criticized for feeling this way about my looks since being pregnant. People have said, "You're PREGNANT. Don't be stupid. You aren't fat, you look great." I think to myself, oh, suddenly since we're growing a child, we're supposed to embrace our smurf-shaped waist line, jiggly arms and newly titled thunder thighs? Rationally, yes. I know in my head that growing a baby is a beautiful thing and that the changes to my body are a large part of the process. That said, it's not as easy as it seems to forsake all that we have learned about beauty for the nine-month grace period of pregnancy.

My doctor told me that I should expect to gain 25-30 pounds over the duration of the pregnancy. She said that 5-10 of those pounds should be expected within the first trimester, and then a pound a week after that. At no other time in your life are you told that you should expect to gain a pound a week and be totally kosher with the idea. I kept crossing my fingers that I would be one of those miracle women that gain exactly 7 pounds 10 ounces that come right out when that baby is born, and look like a million bucks as soon as they leave the hospital. Alas, the doctor was not wrong. At 25 weeks, I have raked in an extra 14.8 pounds (yes, those .2 pounds count, you rounder-uppers). Bless my husband's heart, he is constantly being prodded to remind me that my arms look SO SKINNY in this shirt, my booty looks perfect in these jeans, and I hardly even look pregnant from the back. Until I start walking, that is. Thanks honey.

I'm trying to if not embrace, then at least accept and respect this new body of mine. I mean, hey, I might  not look like Hiedi Klum, but I am growing a child in my uterus. That is something I can love my body for.

Belly Buttons and Other News

I have been trying to make a conscious effort to write in my blog more regularly than I have previously. Accent on the word trying, because I have been about as successful at that as I am fighting my pregnancy-induced narcolepsy. I have lots of really great excuses for my lack of time management, actually. You know what they say about excuses. My sister kept reminding me that she "hopes I am writing all of that down, or you're going to forget it". However well I think I am going to retain all of these precious (or sometimes not so much) details, my pregnancy brain has certainly shown itself a force to be reckoned with- therefore, I won't doubt it's ability to forget even the biggest of pregnant milestones. Hence, the trying to write more things down. The problem is, I have a lot of things that seem to small for a blog post all to themselves, so, my apologies in advance for a display of scattered word vomit, also known as a peek into my brain.

I always feel like I am somehow failing as a semi-mom because of my lack of questions/concerns/need for extra insight whenever we talk to the OB/GYN, so I was really excited when this appointment, I came equipped with a big concern. Go me. My (albeit, slightly weird) question was of all things, about my belly button. Of all the parts on the body to be in pain- my belly button? And it's been as terrible as it sounds. My doctor explained to me that I most likely have an umbilical hernia that was distressed due to the pregnancy. Oh, so my guts are just pushing their way through the cracks in my abdominal wall? Sweet. NBD.

In other news, the baby's kicks have been on rapid-fire mode. I felt pretty prepared that the kicks would inevitably increase in strength, but now I am a little frightened that I have an insomniac fetus. I was feeling kicks at 1-3 minute intervals for HOURS this afternoon. HOURS! Don't get me wrong, queen bee (I know there's one reading this and reveling in my pain) - I love the feeling! I just would really love it if I were about to catch some z's between it's kick-boxer training sessions.

Well, that's all I have for now. Stay tuned for more of an inevitably scrambled bunch of things I forgot that need to be noted.

Too Churchy, Too Young, Too Pregnant

I got my first "you're too young to be a momma" comment when I was 13 weeks pregnant. My parade got showered on just three days after going public with our big news. At just 20 years old, I knew these statements would be inevitable; I didn't know that I would be so bad at letting them roll off my back. Those words stung and stuck with me for a few days before I was able to let it go. I am still not entirely positive of the intent of a comment like that, but I certainly know how it's perceived as the recipient. I have always been sensitive and care too much about what people think. I still remember where I was, who I was with, and what I was wearing the first time I was told I was too young to get married. I guess I am a people pleaser with her heart on her sleeves, even when it comes to my personal life. 

I usually try not to get in to things like this in this forum, but I felt it was relevant and needed to be talked about. Plus, where there is one person saying it out loud, I'm sure there's 10 more who are thinking it inside. 

I was struck by a comment the other day that I read. Someone said to another something to the effect of, "When did this get super religious and get married and pregnant fad happen?" I wasn't aware that there was such a fad, but I suppose, by default, I would be fall into it. This struck me for several reasons. One: I don't know that anyone gets into any of those things because it's a popular thing to do. I mean, being a bible-thumping Jesus freak isn't exactly pop-culture's idea of "trendy". In fact, I'd say the opposite. You're automatically the minority if you don't drink, smoke, party, swear, have sex before marriage, or spend your weekends "making up for the week's worth of work". Not to say any of those things are exclusive to non-Christians, but that is how the situation is perceived. Anyway. Moving on. I also don't know anyone that gets married or has children to be cool. I mean, you're stuck with these kids and spouses for quite a while. I would hope that the people getting into these committed relationships are doing them because, I don't know, they love each other, want to spend their lives together and build a family together. But that could just be me. Perhaps there really is a Christian/marriage/pregnancy pact that I don't know about.

My other reason that the comment struck me is simply this: Who cares? If you're not the one with the ring or the pregnant belly, why does it matter what others do with theirs? I have come to the conclusion that it is just in our human nature to analyze and judge the world around us. It is how we learn what we like, don't like, choose to emulate, and choose to dissociate with. I understand. We are curious people. We like to know what others are doing with their lives, and track our successes against theirs. But do we have to do it in such a critical way?

So, for those who wonder, I would like to address a few things.

• I am young. I know. I also know that to most, my age means that my marriage will surely fail, my dreams will be left in the dust, and I will fail as a parent. I know that it is a scary concept to most that someone at my age could possibly know what they want in life so soon. To you, I say you're right. I don't know what the world has in store for me. All I know is that whatever that may be, I would rather face it with my husband by my side than by myself. To me, getting married so young simply means I get that much more of my life spent with the one that makes me happy, makes me the best version of me, and supports me in all that I do.
• I am a Christian not to be "churchy" or religious, but because I love Jesus and what He has done for me. No one really needs God until they need God. It's easy to think, "I can pay my bills, put food on the table. My life is pretty good. I don't need God." You're right. But there may be a day in your life when you have nothing left to turn to but Him. For me, that happened young in life.  I was born with a chronic illness and cheated death more than once. My childhood was spent more in hospitals than out of them. And when I was home, there were years of my life spent in poverty and situations of abuse. I needed God. I still need Him. That is why I am a Christian.
• I write about things I think about. I often fill my status updates with things about my husband, my dog, my pregnancy, my home, my family, and my Jesus. I don't write about them to proclaim anything, but just because those things often consume my thoughts. If I am stuck in traffic and mad about it, I write about that. If I am tired and grouchy and in pain, you'll know. But if I am happy and thankful for something to do with my husband, baby, family, or God, you'll probably read about that too. 

It was 5 years ago this summer that I met William. I knew I would marry him. There were people back then voicing their opinions on my boyfriend choice. We proved them wrong. It was two years ago next month that William asked me to marry him. I said yes. People disapproved. We got married anyway. It was a year and a half ago that we said "I do". Many thought I was too young. To their surprise, we are happy, strong, and yes, young. I am 23 weeks pregnant now, and I suppose there are those who disagree with that decision as well. We will mess up. But we will be the best parents we can be, despite our lack of years under our belts. You will see. :)

22 Weeks

Stretch marks?

Luckily I haven't found any of these little gems on my stomach yet. However, that one on my hip that I told you about a while ago is still rocking it's nice shade of purple, and I have recently inherited an army of them all over my chest. Welp, one's body certainly does experience quite an undertaking during pregnancy, so I guess it was only a matter of time.

Maternity clothes?

Can't get enough of them! I look ridiculous in 90% of my pre-pregnancy shirts, and I don't even think about squeezing into my old jeans. No one wants to see that. My favorite attire is currently some leggings, a big shirt, a belt, and some boots. I can look like I'm trying to look good while secretly just wanting an excuse to wear spandex. Lots of spandex.

Baby movement?

This is my favorite thing. Every week I can feel the movements getting stronger and stronger. It cracks me up when I can look at my stomach and see the baby is deciding to cram into one side of my uterus, morphing my stomach into a weird shape. I read that the baby is starting to establish sleep/wake cycle and that I should be able to distinguish that soon. Right now it's most active at around 9pm-11pm. I'm still in the phase where I actually enjoy it, however I hear the "stop-kicking-me-in-the-ribs-and-bladder" phase is fast approaching.

Cravings?

Is milk a legitimate craving? Because if it is, then I'm all over that one.

Dreams?

Every night is like a new adventure for me. I never know if my sleeping self is going to be featured in a violent action movie, a really random romantic encounter, a monster situation, etcetera. My dreams are always vivid and always weird. They never disappoint. 

Last night's was about strip poker and pumpkin pie filling. No joke.

Weird habits?

Nothing too out of my normal amount of weird. Right now, I just feel this incessant need to organize and prepare everything in my home. People have told me this phenomenon is called "Nesting". I call it "Paranoia". 

Emotional? 

My poor husband. Here's the thing about pregnancy emotions: they are very real. Although we might acknowledge (inwardly, of course) that the crime doesn't warrant our reaction, WE CAN'T HELP IT. We really feel THAT mad about the stupidest of offenses. The other day I got mad at Will because he didn't know if the hamburger meat had been in the fridge or if it were left out. I got so mad that I threw the entire container of hamburger meat into the trash and was slamming around the kitchen. And then I'm mad that I through away dinner and I need to go to the store and get some more. And then I'm in the bedroom on the floor, BAWLING. So dramatic. Sorry, honey. Only 18 more weeks.

20 Weeks

Dear baby,

We're half way there.
You have been growing in my belly now for 20 weeks. 20 long, hard, exciting, tiresome, emotional, beautiful weeks. While I've been here taking naps and eating too many sweets (I'm sure you appreciate), you've been hard at work becoming a breathing, kicking (YES, I can feel those), swallowing, dreaming little human.
I've been told you're about 10 inches long from head to heel. 10-12 ounces. Your arms and legs are now the proportions that they will be when you're born. Your ears and eyes are in the right place. You taste and swallow amniotic fluid, and your digestive system is preparing for it's big job of keeping you healthy when you're here. You make faces. You get hiccups. You have unique facial features, hair, fingerprints, and tooth buds. You know my voice, daddy's voice, and can recognize familiar sounds (I'm thinking Liam's barking, dad's guitar and the theme song of Bones).
I feel you every day dancing and kicking and doing somersaults in there. I can feel it when you turn from back to front and when you shift from one side to another. Your kicks and punches are getting stronger and make me laugh sometimes. Your dad, uncle Joe, Meemaw, aunt Jessi, and Great-Grandma have all felt you move, too. I like to think it's our little special secret when you kick and punch, and no one feels it but me.
When I start to feel sad about how big my tummy has gotten, I just remember that it means I am that much closer to holding you with my arms and not my belly! You consume our thoughts, conversations, and our prayers. You are already so loved, considered, admired. You make me proud and happy and anxious and nervous all at the same time. Excited doesn't even begin to explain how we feel about meeting you in just 20 more weeks.
We're half way there.

Love,
M

Wives Tales, Theories and Folklore

According to some interesting ideas, I can predict the gender of my baby without and medical intervention at all! Thank goodness, because I was thinking some people were going to start an uproar about Will and I's decision to keep it a surprise until birth. Here's a few of my favorite myths I've encountered thus far:
_____

If you have heartburn, your baby will be born with hair. Or, it's a girl

I actually would really like to hear the logistics behind this one. I mean, let's think about this for one second. Is your uterus even REMOTELY connected to your esophagus? Is there even a relative proximity between my throat and my placenta? If there were, I would probably be concerned about much more than heartburn. The truth is, heartburn comes down to a few simple physiological explanations. 1. Any lady that's been pregnant can attest to the fact that as our pregnancy progresses, our muscles, tendons and ligaments loosen- a lot. While it makes sense for our ligaments in the pelvic girdle to loosen later in pregnancy, it kind of makes for an uncomfortable time up until then (think sore back, knees, etc). This is the same phenomenon that is a main cause of heartburn. The valve between our stomach and esophagus, called a pyloric sphincter, is significantly looser than it was prior to pregnancy. This causes the acid from our stomachs to reflux into our esophagus, causing heartburn. 2. This one is a little more obvious. As the uterus grows to accommodate it's ever-growing tenant, it puts pressure on the stomach, thus pushing stomach acid up against the pyloric sphincter and into our esophagus. I know, you liked the explanation of hair much better.

If you've followed my blog for any amount of time, you'll know that I've been getting heartburn since about 12 weeks. Apparently it's going to be a hairy girl. 

Carrying low? Boy. Carrying high? Girl

Again, the logic is just not there. What is the rationalization behind this theory? If baby girls and baby boys are both born at the same 7.63 pound average weight, why would the gender change the position of the fetal growth? The only factors that truly effect the way a woman carries are muscle tone and body type. If a woman has strong abdominal muscles, she will tend to carry higher until late in pregnancy when the baby "drops". If the mother has had previous children, is older, or has, um, neglected her ab workouts, chances are she'll carry lower. The length of a torso will also effect the direction in which the baby grows.

I am carrying low and out front so far, so according to this wives tale, it's a boy. According to reality, I need to hit the gym.

Fetal heart rate: High is a girl, low is a boy

The first time we got the hear the heart beat, it was 165 beats per minute. The second time, it was 142. According to the wives tale, what does this say about our baby? In reality, if you were to take a fetal heart rate 10 times within an hour, you'd likely get 10 different rates ranging from both above and below 140 BPM. The variation has more to do with the developing fetal brain than the genitalia (what a thought, huh). While the nervous system develops, the baby's heart rate spikes when stimulated by the sympathetic nervous system and falls when controlled by the parasympathetic nervous system. Interesting, eh?

Judging by the heart rate theory, we're having a girl.

_____

Although I invest no weight into these wives tales, they are still kind of fun to hear about. I have had lots of women POSITIVE that I am having an XYZ because of so-and-so theory. It's kind of funny to hear their explanations. Cast your lots now, people. We'll see if these hold any truth come October!

Pet Peeves

When people find out I have a Great Dane for a pet, there are a handful of puns that I can predict they will choose from. These puns include some variation of the following: "You should put a saddle on that thing!", "That's like a small horse!", "Did you ride that thing to work?", or my personal favorite, "That thing is huge!". Thanks for the comments, peanut gallery, but I hate to break it to you; your jokes are far from original.  

The same phenomenon occurs whenever someone finds out I'm pregnant. While the intentions are always pure, the results are sometimes skewed. Allow me to explore a few of the comments that are my personal favorite pet peeves.

Pet Peeve #1: "What do you want it to be?"

My answer to this used to be pleasant and polite as I entertained their inquiries. I would say something like, "Well, we are going to be happy with whatever we get!" Now, I'd prefer to say something witty like, "You know, I was really hoping for another puppy.. But I just don't see that happening." I don't think Will would appreciate my sarcasm. But in all seriousness- don't ask people this. I don't want anyone to give me an opportunity to entertain the thoughts of preferring one gender over the other. What if I start saying I hope it's a boy? What if it is a girl? For a split second, am I going to dislike the fact that it's a girl? Am I going to resent it? I don't want to even for ONE moment be disappointed with the outcome. So I'll just help us all out with this one and tell you what I want: I want a healthy, happy baby. That's all.

Pet Peeve #2: "Just you wait until...!"

For example: I wrote a status on an unnamed form of social media that said something to the effect of, "Sitting here feeling the baby dancing around in my belly. I can't get enough of this!" A few responses went something as follows: "LOL! You say that now, just you wait until that baby of yours is sitting in your ribcage and kicking you in the bladder!" I do realize that my sentimental sayings do, in fact, break down at some point. When I say "I can't get enough of this", I do know that there is an indeterminant time in the future in which I could, feasibly contain an adimate amount of "this" to be deemed "enough". I am aware. I wouldn't choose for my fetus to be in-utero for an eternal period of time, for serveral reasons. 1. I would hate for my fetus be be denied life on the other side of birth. There's much more to do out here. 2. I would concur that at some undertermined time post a 9-month gestation, the feeling of baby kicks may, indeed, become mundane. irritating, even. gasp. I said it. But hey, for now, in this moment, I am really enjoying every part of the experience. So please, let me enjoy it without having to jump months into the future and think about the moment when this feeling will become displeasing. 

I also like to call this comment "queen bee syndrome". This syndrome occurs when one human, typically female, feels the incessant need to one-up any experience, feeling, or situation one should find themselves in with an experience, feeling or situation of elevated decibles deemed significantly more severe. For example: In the rough of my 1st trimester, I state, "I feel so tired." Said queen bee smugly replies, "Oh you think you're tired now? Just you wait until that baby comes! Just you wait until you work full time, have two toddlers, a dead-beat husband and a screaming newborn. THEN you'll be tired." Hey, thanks. I'll keep that in mind.

Pet Peeve #3: "You only have X-amount of months left of child free life, enjoy it while you can!"

Ah, GREAT idea! Now if I could only get my sleep schedule, incessant vomiting, ever-growing stomach and ever-shrinking clothes to agree with your sentiments, then I'd REALLY be living large! What makes people think I am not enjoying it? I wonder what activities I would have to engage in in order for people to stop telling me to enjoy my time. Again, the intentions are good, but let's try not to use this cliche comment anymore, people. It suggests that 1. My life looks undeniably boring, or 2. All things fun in life are dead with the birth of a child. Neither sound promising. 

______

If you said any of these comments at one point, I wouldn't remember. Honestly, I have heard them all so many times it would be difficult to keep tally. Perhaps it's important I included a disclaimer stating that while I joke about it, I really do appreciate everyone's intentions and attempts to be involved in my pregnancy. While I may poke fun, I promise that no feelings were harmed intentionally in the creation of this post. 

(But seriously, cut it out.) Haha!

Ultrasound

Moms and dads that have been through ultrasounds will agree with me when I say that there is no feeling in the world that compares to seeing your little one for the first time. Today we got to go in for our first (okay, technically second- but first "real") ultrasound. What a big change it was from the little black and white blob we saw just 9 weeks ago with indistinguishable appendages!

Thumb sucker already

This time, everything was so clear. We could easily tell the arms from the legs, fingers and toes, the facial features, even the beating of the heart. The picture was so clear that I could have counted the ribs if I wanted to, if I weren't so distracted by memorizing every piece of its little face. When we were watching it from the side, we saw a little arm raise up in the air. Totally fist pumping. Haha! We watched that same little arm curl back and extend it's thumb- headed straight for it's mouth! That's when the waterworks started. I couldn't help it but cry seeing our baby in action. I was so overwhelmed with happiness, excitement, and complete disbelief that all I could do was cry and smile, and let out the occasional, "awe".

I was surprised at all of the coordinated movements baby K was making. Itching it's ear, doing somersaults, crossing it's feet, and especially the thumb-sucking. I think s/he was showing off a little. We watched it yawn and then come down with the cutest case of hiccups I've ever seen. The weirdest part was that I could actually FEEL the baby moving from hiccuping while watching it on the screen. Talk about being blown away. After that 15-minute oogling session, the ultrasound tech got down to business. She took all kinds of pictures from different angles, taking measurements. According to said measurements, the baby is about a week ahead of schedule growth and development wise, and is in the 79th percentile! That being said, I could either 1. Have a watermelon for a child, or 2. Have the baby a little earlier than anticipated. (I am hoping for the latter.)

Tummy time
(head is on the left, you can see the spine along the top)

We got to take a closer look at the brain and the chambers of the heart as she took measurements. Do you know anything more amazing than looking at the brain of a child that has yet to be born? Yeah.. me either.

Guys, God is so good. I have never felt so full and blessed; He truly is an awesome God. I can confidently say that this was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. Knowing that it only gets better from here is what is really getting to me. Only 5 more months, baby, and I'll be seeing you suck your thumb in real life!

Dinosaur yawn! (face is on the right)

Mama Liam

As some of you may know, William and I are proud owners of a 135-pound Great Dane. One of the attractions to a Dane (besides the immense size) was that they are very docile creatures, making them a perfect choice to spend time around elderly, developmentally disabled, and our growing family. Since we deal with all three in both work-life and home life, a gentle spirit was a non-negotiable in our pet quest.

At 11 months old, so far Liam has exceeded our expectations. He is kind, gentle, calm, and very intuitive. That was until the past few months. It seemed like suddenly, Liam had quickly developed a very protective, boarder-line aggressive streak that we are not fond of. It started with him growling at the chefs of our family's restaurant. This was strange- because he has known these guys since he was a baby! He didn't stop there, though. His over-protective streak continued at the beach, Petco, and even in our home with our little nephew.

Concerned, I talked to my sister Hannah (who has owned several Danes herself) about it. She had an interesting thought- Perhaps Liam has become more protective of his owner because he senses I am pregnant! Seeing as this was the only variable that has changed in the last months, I resorted to the all-knowing Google. Our assumption was definitely reinforced by information on the Internet; dogs can indeed sense a hormonal change when their owners are expecting. 

Come to think about it, he has been pretty clingy to me (and my ever-growing stomach) as of late. I hope his protective streak is limited to my 9-month gestation, and he returns to his gentle self come October. 

Kick, Push

I don't know if you're kicking or pushing in there, baby, but I can feel you!

Last week when William and I were spending 8 glorious days in Mexico, I felt the baby for the first time! I had been feeling some "fluttering" if you will for a week or so before that, but nothing definite enough to accredit the baby. I had been told that the first few movements can feel something similar to gas (which thanks to my good friend Progesterone, I've had no problems discerning the correlation). Up until last week, I could go along with saying the movements feel like bubbles; this past week changed everything!

There was a definite KICK.

And then it happened again. I was so alarmed! I couldn't stop laughing. I was laying on the couch massaging my stomach (darn round ligament pains) when I felt it. Baby must have been telling me that I was squishing it in it's already tight quarters, because it kicked twice more when daddy put his hand on my belly and pushed.

There are not words to explain the awesome- truly awe-inspiring- feeling a child moving around inside of you. I feel like I have a new found love and admiration for God and His plan of creation. I can only feel a glimpse of how much He must love us, because I know I love this little one more and more each day!

The S Word

Stretchmark.

It snuck up on me out of nowhere. I mean, they really do come out of nowhere. One day you're perfectly happy, living a perfectly stretch-free life, and then BAM. There you are. Staring in the mirror at your left hip, while a dark red eye-sore of a stretch mark stares right back.

Or maybe that's just me, last Tuesday.

It's not like I have a fetus developing in my love-handle. And it isn't like they are getting exponentially larger as to need a stretch mark to facilitate my fat. It just, arrived. Uninvited. Unexpected. Tuesday.

I can now imagine my stretchy red tiger-striped stomach 5 months from now. All stretched out and saggy. I can only cross my fingers and hope that it's not as bad as I am imagining it will be.

That, or stop looking in mirrors.

What to (really) Expect When You're Expecting

• A gravitational pull towards all things sweet (and salty. Sometimes even in the same sitting)
• Heartburn, 'round the clock
• Tight clothes, which leads to...
• Stretchy waistbands. And yoga pants.
• A loss of lady-like posture
• An incessant need for perfect strangers to touch your belly (yes, this happened)
• Hair. Everywhere. 
• All day naps. Can I get an amen?

On the contrary, there are so many beautiful things that accompany the bad:

• A new unexplainable closeness with your husband
• Endless support from, well, just about everyone- which usually comes with...
• Endless snacks provided by those who are convinced I must "eat for two"

And best of all,

• The anticipation of meeting the precious being that WE created! God is so good.