Here we are! A new year, a new baby on the way (more on that subject once things have settled with my firstborn), and a new chapter in our daughter's health. But like most New Year's resolutions, this next chapter requires work. Thankfully, Lyla has been UTI-free for months now, but her latest scans showed no improvement in her VUR. So...surgery at last.
I've had months to imagine my daughter's face as they put her under anesthesia, and the scar on her previously flawless belly. I've watched her wonderful personality grow and hate the thought of her not being able to understand or be naturally unafraid of what's coming. I've witnessed God's strength holding me up and helping me make the decisions that led us here. As we "be the parents," do our best to keep calm and work with Lyla's medical team, I know that will only be possible through the prayers of the Church and God's help...
...Because a weak part of me just wants to curl up and cry, to NOT have my daughter's little, perfect body cut open, the body I grew inside me and worked so hard to care for these past 17 1/2 months. Even though the reasonable side of me knows this will help her keep growing into the sweet girl we know and love, I still wish it didn't have to happen. I still pray for miraculous healing, right alongside prayers for a smooth procedure, easy recovery, and--above all--for God to be glorified through all of it: our interactions with staff and other patients/families, our girl's loving heart exemplified in how she responds to us and cares for her baby doll, and our inexplicable peace that (Lord willing) will radiate from us as we wait and during her hospital stay.
Humbly, I ask you to pray for those things too. It doesn't matter how "routine" or "common" a procedure or condition is; I realize now just how taxing it can be on the parents of these little ones. You're required to be strong, calm and collected, providing comfort and care for your child while watching them go through things that seem so scary and far beyond their short years.
Maybe I'm super sensitive (not to mention, pregnancy hormones!) and that's why I find this so emotional and hard. I am comforted by the thought that she's too young to remember any of it. But I won't quickly forget. I'm anxious to have, at least, this challenge behind us, though many may lie ahead. (Did I mention her siblings have a 30% chance of the same condition? Fun times.)
We'll do our best to make the hospital stay "comfortable" for her, then all that's left is the home care and the residual appointments--drainage-tube removal, outpatient procedure to remove a stent (less intricate than the surgery, but still requires anesthesia), and one or two scans to confirm everything is fixed. It's the beginning of "the end," my friends!
It's just another chance to practice what I believe about holding everything with OPEN HANDS before God. My husband and my children--more precious to me than my own life--are His first and mine second. I have the privilege of loving and caring for them on this earth, but all power and authority over their lives (and my own) belongs to God. And I trust Him. I know He won't let me break under the weight of neither this, nor any other hard times that will come. And that's one of the greatestcomforts.
My theme song of 2017: "Open Hands" by Laura Story (feat. Mac Powell)
Seventeen hours. That's how long the midwife said I was officially in labor. But for me, the process of giving birth to my daughter started about forty-eight hours prior, when Super Husband and I were on our last date as a couple sans kids.
We'd been trying out a bunch of restaurants that were new to us. It was a fun distraction in those last weeks of pregnancy, and built in together time. We talked about our baby and what we hoped our birth experience would be like. I can't remember exactly what we talked about that night, only that we did talk...a lot! We were the only diners in the small Italian restaurant, and the waitress didn't rush us. When we finished, the sun was just about to set and we were dining near the waterfront; prime after-dinner stroll opportunity! Plus, everyone said walking was good for inducing labor.
Whether the Italian food or the walk had any affect, I'll never know. All I know is that it was just time. As I waddled back to the car, trying to ignore the stares ("Yes, there's a baby in there. And no, I'm not about to pop. It's a baby, not a balloon!") I felt something. Just something. Unlike anything I'd felt in the last nine months. Excitement and nerves swept over me, but I pushed them aside and mused to my husband, "What if this is the last date before she comes?"
What if? It was! Signs of early labor arrived as soon as we got home. The contractions followed that night--fifteen minutes apart, however--producing an adrenaline rush that kept me awake. If only I could go back and tell my silly-pregnant self to SLEEP!!!
The next day I relaxed at home, canceling all my plans for the next few days (just in case) and drifting on the waves of anticipation and dread. "This is it!" "No it's not." "But these are definitely contractions!" "But they're too far apart." "What if it happens quickly?" "What if it takes days?!" On and on it went.
The contractions amped up around 1 am the next morning. That's where the official count began, as the contractions became stronger and more frequent. The nausea of first trimester came back with a vengeance. (They tell you to eat as soon as you realize you're in labor, because you may not have the chance once you're in the hospital....That just didn't work out for me. I was literally running on empty!) There was no denying it. This was labor. And this was HARD!
I only slept for five minute intervals between contractions. Super Husband got just as little sleep and helped me log the time and intensity of each contraction. He called the midwives. He made me food that I tried (and failed) to eat. And we waited.
Strangely, I was anxious to get to the hospital. Just the thought of having help nearby and a soaking tub sounded amazing. Around 9:30 am, we got the OK. Our hospital bags were packed. I grabbed the quilt my Grammie made for me when I was a little girl and buried my face in it for comfort as we drove to the hospital. Squeezing my eyes shut and focusing seemed like the only way to get through contractions, and that made the drive seem fast. We parked in the zone reserved for drop-offs and laboring parents. Greg would park after we were admitted...
...Only we weren't. After visiting the on-call midwife, we found out I was only 3 cm. "What do you want to do?" she asked. I wasn't prepared for that question. What were my options? Walk around the hospital for an hour and get checked again...and possibly get sent home. Or go home now, try to eat again, and come back when I was farther along. Neither sounded very good, but at least at home I could have some semblance of comfort. I still cried in frustration on the drive back. We'd made it to the hospital! We were ready! And now I had to go home again?
Sweet Super Husband made me a strawberry-banana smoothie--ideal labor food, right? Sounds great now. Didn't then. All I could tolerate were a few sips of Gatorade, which I later realized was the "low-calorie" kind! Go figure. The one time in my life where I needed ALL the calories! So I spent most of the next five hours draped over the back of our couch, deliriously counting through contractions, or curled up in bed, trying to cat nap.
One thing that really helped me through this "trial by fire" was music. Super Husband played a worship song playlist on Pandora. As evidence of how long we were laboring at home, we actually cycled through the playlist multiple times, and "Walk with Me" by Jesus Culture seemed to play the most:
"Walk with me" and "how I need you" rang through my mind, echoing the cries of my heart. I needed Jesus in this moment, just as in every moment. But the intense pain and the unknown of what would come next had me recognizing my need with frightening clarity.
Finally, I felt like I couldn't take it much longer. I had to go back to the hospital, and they had to admit me, even if I was less than 5 cm along. I'm not sure how he managed it, but Super Husband convinced me, in my crazed state, to hang on a little longer and move more. Walk, rock on the exercise ball, do mini lunges on the stairs. I agreed...but only if he called the midwives first to let them know we were coming!
About an hour later, we were on our way once more. Convinced we'd be sent home again, we parked in the garage this time...on the second floor. We figured what little walking I could manage at this point could only help things along. The elevator taking FOR-EVER, however, did not. It slowly arrived. The doors slowly closed. We went slowly UP, picked up more passengers, went slowly DOWN, stopped at the SAME floor again, and then slowly down again to our desired floor. Oh. My. Goodness. I must have had three contractions in the time it took us to go down one floor. (Should've taken the stairs!) By then, the poor guy still in the elevator with us made some joking comments about how we'd remember this elevator ride as a part of our birth story. "And it'll be funny someday, I promise." Ha. Ha. Ha.
He walked ahead of us as we slowly made our way inside. The saint then asked for a wheelchair, as I'd stopped to lean against a windowsill for a contraction. (Wherever you are, sir. Bless you!) The nurse asked if I'd fallen. "Um, no. Just in labor." I said through clenched teeth. It is funny now--"just" in labor?!
"Okay then!" she said too cheerily and started wheeling me toward the Family Maternity Center...where I did want to go, but couldn't without a visit to the midwives first...in the opposite direction. Poor Super Husband must have been dazed, because I was the one who had to tell her (twice) that we needed to go the other way. Again, humorous to me now. Not so much then.
"We're back!" I chuckled mirthlessly as we wheeled into the midwives' office. There were other expectant mamas in the waiting room, and I feel bad for the horrific picture I must have left them. Already disheveled, feeling haggard beyond belief, and announcing that it wasn't a "one and done" kind of visit before the baby arrives. Sorry, ladies.
It took me a few seconds to register what the midwife was saying. "Okay, so you're 8 or 9 cm. Aaaand your water just broke! What do you say we go meet this baby girl?" I burst into happy tears, momentarily and blissfully unaware of the pain as we celebrated that THIS would be our baby's birthday! At long last! It wasn't without a tinge of fright, however, as she calmly announced that Baby had pooped already and we'd need to have NICU staff there at the birth. Not part of the plan, but safer for Baby.
The staff at the midwives' office were always so good to me and sweeter than pie! They cheered us on and wished us a "Happy BIRTH day!" as we left. Heading over to the other wing, I could hardly believe this was it! After all the anticipation and waiting for this moment, to be that far along was far beyond my wildest expectations. The next hour was a blur--signing forms, meeting our labor and delivery nurse, listening as she and the midwife joked and bantered about that day's news, and settling into the room we'd call "home" for the next 24 hours. The room where our daughter would enter the world!
In a strange moment of calm, I opened my eyes from another contraction to find our midwife sitting in front of me, watching me intently. It struck me how odd and amazing it was to have two people there with us the entire delivery, from this moment on! "What do you want to do?" Again, NOT expecting that question. Should've said, "I want to have this baby!" But instead I shrugged and muttered that maybe a bath would be good.
"Good" doesn't cut it! It was the best thing ever! A sweet bit of relief from an exhausting 24 hours. "Just let us know when you feel the urge to push," the midwife had said. I'd been a little anxious over that part...okay, a lot anxious! I'd never had a baby before. Didn't know what that urge felt like, much less how to actually do anything about it!! But the old adage is true--your body will know what to do.
After about an hour, I felt ready. After a bit of coaching, I knew how to get the most out of this most difficult part of labor. Super Husband was a bit surprised at how involved they let him be and he did AWESOME! I think he was more in shock about the whole experience than I was!
In a strangely appropriate way, Ludovico Einaudi (the composer whose song "Divenire" played as I walked down the aisle to on our wedding day) was playing during the birth. Obviously, my attention was elsewhere, but I'm pretty sure this was the song I heard, "Questa Notte:
Divenire means "becoming," a word that meant a great deal to me in our early years of marriage and becoming a wife. Likewise, Questa Notte, which means "this night," is perfectly suited to the birth of our daughter, because her name means "night" in Hebrew. And as night fell that day, our Lyla was coming.
I felt strangely calm and focused. I knew what I had to do. And I would do it. As the midwife excitedly announced, I was doing it! It was by God's mercy that I delivered so quickly. After about ten minutes of the hardest but most rewarding work I've ever done, a perfect, surprisingly big, hot, and purple little human being was placed on my chest.
Here she is!
I'll never forget the way her long fingers wrapped around my arm, already holding on for the ride of life. We cried and welcomed our daughter to the world. She didn't come in screaming (unfortunately) and I had to give her up for a few minutes while the NICU people checked her out. I couldn't take my eyes off her as they got her airways cleared. (She came so fast, the NICU crew barely arrived in time!) But her first little cry made me tremble with joy. She's alright. She made it. WE made it!
When I had her back in my arms again, I finally managed to tear my eyes away from her sweet, round face to look at Super Husband. In that moment, with golden evening sunlight pouring in the windows, my child in my arms and my hero at my side, I think my heart grew bigger than I ever thought possible. Bigger to hold the love I have for this man and our little girl.
When I first saw her big eyes squinting up at me, I was surprised how dark and impossibly blue they were. What a privilege to be the first thing she ever laid eyes on, to be the first to touch her. It was truly a miraculous experience. God showed me great mercy and kindness that day. I'll be forever grateful, forever praising Him for it.
And that's how one of my greatest dreams and desires came true. We had a baby! And suddenly all the other dreams I thought I had pale in comparison. She's such a priceless gift. Our family story started a new chapter, and we're still enraptured by it.
After months of planning, researching, registering, and un-registering for baby gear, Super Husband and I went on a final shopping date. I brought our registry print-outs and we picked up the last few things I think might be helpful for life with the Elfling. There wasn't much to get, really, thanks to the kind generosity of so many friends and family. But I have to share, it was like witnessing a miracle! I'd planned out exactly what "essentials" we'd pick up, but ultimately things like shaving cream and Advil found their way into our cart. (Many friends warned me of how difficult a sudden revelation that "we're out of toilet paper!" can be during post-partum.) I was beginning to doubt that our gift cards would stretch that far, which was totally fine. But then, the clerk handed me back several cards that we hadn't needed. Wow! Okay, so I'll go online and pick up a few of those "nice to have" accessories for the stroller and the diaper pail we'd been waffling on. "It probably won't cover all of it, especially with shipping, but I'll be grateful to have these things later on." Again, not only did the cards cover everything...there was a little left over. I shook my head and laughed. This process repeated itself for all three stores we registered at. I'm still in shock. We were gifted enough to cover everything we needed and more! And as we put things away, threw out packaging, and looked around our home, I got choked up at how it finally looks (and has always felt) like there's a place for our baby girl in this home. God has provided abundantly for our family! From hand-me-downs to gifts. From borrowed items to free advice. From Baby's full closet to her jam-packed bookshelf. From the meal schedule a friend set up to the freezer stocked with meals. God made sure our baby girl, and her parents, will be cared for in the weeks ahead. I'm so grateful! How could I not share this story of blessing? It truly felt like a "loaves and fishes" moment. (See Matthew 14 & 15, Mark 6 & 8, Luke 9, or John 6 for the full story. Jesus has this provision thing down!) I can't wait to tell our little miracle the stories surrounding her birth.
Reading through the Psalms has been a great comfort and encouragement to me in these last few weeks of pregnancy, and this passage has jumped to mind again and again. This is my hope for our daughter, that we would be parents constantly pointing out to her the things God has done, is doing, and promises to do.
The past three months have flown by! Babymoon trip, baby showers, family reunions, freelance work, birth class, summer fun with friends, and nesting...oh sweet mercy, has there been nesting. On top of that, hot weather like I've never known in the Pacific Northwest. It's made for particularly speedy second and third trimesters. Most days, anyway.
Now that we've entered the last month of pregnancy, the weight of new parenthood is settling in even more. I find myself mulling over things like pediatricians, labor techniques, and drafting a will. While all the "fun things" are getting finishing touches--the nursery, baby laundry, hospital bags, her name, etc.--the not-so-fun choices and tasks are looming before me. When I cross one thing off the list (e.g. organize baby's closet), two more things take its place (e.g. add baby to insurance policy & interview pediatricians)...each seemingly more time-consuming and complex than the last.
I've had a few days where I've dissolved into tears. Other days, I go about my business with calm, confident determination. It's a roller coaster for sure.
Before you conclude that I'm a frazzled, overwhelmed, overly anxious mama-to-be, let's be clear. There's much more to the story. I've longed for mommyhood! Super Husband and I are excited to have our daughter join our family! Ask us if we have everything we need to welcome baby and we'll enthusiastically reply, "Yes! And more!" We'll tell you how God has provided beyond our wildest hopes.
And we'll also be real about our initial reactions to the realities of parenthood.
That's what this is, right here. I'm realizing just how many decisions and how much cost (and not just the financial type) is involved in raising a human being. It sure beats adopting a pet, choosing a college, buying a house, or establishing a livelihood. It's way beyond any life change I've experienced so far, even marriage, because her very survival seems to rest on our shoulders!
I say "seems" because there's something else I've been learning recently:
Her life, her growth, her sustenance...EVERYTHING about this beloved child rests on the unwavering, utterly reliable shoulders of an Almighty God!
Sweet relief! Sweet hope! It lifts the pressure, waives the anxiety, and frees my heart to honestly trust Him. To praise Him for what He does and who He is. These past eight months were only possible through Him. Just like this final push.
I've said it before, and I'll say it til I'm blue in the face: God has a plan for our daughter and only He orchestrates her future. We'll do our best--by His grace and with His help--to be the loving, guiding, and nurturing influence on her life that He's called us to be.
I'm reminding myself of these facts throughout all the decision-making and tasks of third trimester. I'm being transparent with you when I say it's pretty easy to slip back into thinking we're the ones who are making all this happen on our own. To feel like we've got some semblance of control. I'm grateful for the truth-telling of my brothers and sisters in Christ, their encouragement to see this whole thing rightly. And I find much-needed peace and rest in the knowledge and experience of God's unfailing faithfulness to us.
It's a bit gross (sorry) but I keep getting the image of of what it was like when my mom held my hair back and supported my body as I got sick as a girl. She softly reassured, "Mama's got you. It's okay. Mama's got you."
Now as I prepare for this final push and most likely the hardest thing my body has ever done, I keep hearing it over and over: "Jesus has got you. It's okay. He's got you."
I think I'm finally beginning to understand the term "Mommy Bird Moment" (what we call those moments when my Mom gets nostalgic about our childhood or emotional about the present/future of her kids).
It happened one night as I was sitting alone on our back deck, imagining our little girl playing in the grass or exploring the bushes. Tears flooded my eyes, and through them, I could almost see her there. I'm so excited to watch her discover, interact, and grow.
It happened again as I folded her freshly laundered outfits to be put away, ready for her use. The thought of her tiny frame filling those clothes was overwhelming! I cried happy tears for the little one we've waited and prayed for. Just knowing she'll soon be here is enough to burst my heart with love.
So, Mom? I'm starting to get it. And I'm certain I'll have many more moments like these throughout the rest of my life.
When I found out I was pregnant, it was like the honeymoon phase. "Everything is beautiful, registering will be fun, decorating the nursery will be a bonding experience, and I'm just glowing with happiness. All I have to worry about is keeping my body the best incubator for Baby as I can these next 7 months...right?"
It wasn't months into the measles outbreak before I realized, "Oh yeah! I'm vaccinated, but my little peanut won't be fully covered until around 2 years old! Is this thing going to be contained by then?"
Aaaaand reality hits! Not only are there a million dangers in this world, there are a million decisions parents have to make, starting the moment they decide to add to their family! Some seem daunting and take months to process. (We're currently a bit stuck on the name decision.) Others seem pretty trivial and don't require much mental or financial burden. And then some appear to be trivial at first, but they're really wrought with brain-busting considerations!
For example: cloth diapering. Yea or nay?
It's like if you don't at least try to cloth diaper your child, you're a failure as a modern parent! Why, after all, wouldn't you want to save the planet from your baby's toxic, solid underpants?!
Judgement. Oh, I feel it.
And just when I think I've made a decision on one thing (trying a few cloth diapers until investing in more), friends with good intentions bring another gadget to mind!
"Do you guys have a car seat picked out?"
Car seats are constantly changing. I was made aware of this fact when my sister had her first baby and the concept of expiration dates for baby gear reared its ugly head. And not only do they scare you with horror stories of incorrectly installed seats and old equipment failures, they tell you that past a certain date, that seat is basically a death trap for your child! AH!
OK, I can handle this. Just buy it new, do a quick check for safety ratings, keep an eye on recalls, and we'll be fine! But there's still the issue of rear-facing seats for as long as possible. I'm in full agreement that this is safer for kids in an accident and will keep our kids rear facing until they're the proper weight/height.
However, this topic still increases my heart rate because of one simple fact...my husband and I are both tall, so it's probably safe to assume our child will be looooooong...and probably pretty lean like her daddy. Which means this whole rear-facing thing will probably be uncomfortable and a logistic nightmare when those little legs start to stretch. *sigh* Each day as it comes, right?
I've spent countless evenings reading reviews, searching color/theme options, and building a registry. It's harder than I thought, mainly because I want to build a thoughtful registry--that is, well thought out, not just things Babies R Us tells us I just have to have (we made that mistake with our Bed, Bath, and Beyond wedding registry). And also with the gift givers in mind--which stores are easily accessible and have the best prices, etc. As a frequent wedding/baby shower attendee these days, I know I appreciate being able to find a gift that's in my budget AND something I feel good about giving because I think it'll get used.
Fun fact: baby brands are impossible to pronounce!
Graco = Gray-co (I've been pronouncing it Grah-co. Where do they get the hard "a" sound?)
Chicco = Key-co (Really?! I thought for sure it was Chee-co)
Lansinoh = ...(OK, it's not the pronunciation, it's the spelling! I think I might be slightly dislexic because I keep typing "Lanisoh" every time I try to look up one of their products!)
Before you think I'm going bald ripping my hair out over this stuff (I'd seek help LONG before that happened!), I'm actually feeling more at peace about preparing for our baby girl. We won't have her entire future planned out, we probably won't have everything on hand right when she needs it, and we certainly won't have all the answers to the questions she and others throw at us! But we'll be her parents and love her fiercely. And God is both Provider and Healer. Everything won't be perfect--amusing how my silly, finite mind sometimes thinks it can be--but I have confidence that everything will work out for good.
Oh, the joys of pronouns! For the past four months, I've been turning a blind eye on grammar and referring to our baby as "they." *cringe* Let's face it, saying "he or she" or "his or her" EVERY time you need to talk about your baby is cumbersome!
And let's not even talk about calling our baby "it." *cringe x 1,000,000* I never want my child referred to as "it," thank you.
Saying "they" has its own challenges, in addition to the obvious grammatical one. For example, the gasp and tentative question if we're having twins. No, there's just one in there. I promise! Also, you get so used to saying "they" that when you DO find out Baby's gender, you have a hard time using the correct pronoun! It's the power of conditioning, friends. Frightening.
However, that habit served us well the week we found out. I was all prepared to do the envelope game: have the ultrasound tech write the news on paper, seal it up, give it to the clerk at the party store and have him or her fill a box with the appropriate color balloons for the gender reveal party. Complicated? A bit. But I figured we'd waited 20 weeks, so what's one more week?
Then I learned Super Husband's preference for us to know and keep it secret until the party. At first I found myself clinging to "my plan," but when I considered how nice it would be to know and to able to relish in and enjoy that knowledge for a week, with my husband? I felt at peace about it.
It sure wasn't a "ta-da!" kind of moment, though! The ultrasound took an hour and a half, and the student tech had us convinced it was a boy when she quietly referenced "his head," and after a pause, hurriedly explained to the licensed tech that we said we wanted to find out the gender, "just in case it slips out." Wouldn't you be convinced too?
So when the news came, we were both surprised and overwhelmed. I think the student was even more emotional than we were--maybe it was her first time getting to share such news with parents. But as the days passed, and reality sunk in that we have a daughter, the happy tears and laughter came afresh.
No more vague pronouns! We kept our secret for the week, and sharing the news was a joyful event. We're so in love with our baby girl already and can't wait to hold her. And by how active she feels, plus the way she wiggled her feet when we were trying to count her toes in the ultrasound...I think we may have a little dancer on our hands! I just want to learn more about her. Only four and a half more months until that happy introduction!
Until then, I find myself increasingly excited over the color pink.
Spring has sprung, but I feel like it's nearly the start of summer vacation! That's right. Only 6 days until I'm done with work!
"Already?!"
I get that a lot.
Super Husband and I made the decision soon after we found out about Baby. It's important to both of us that I stay home with our kids, and Super Husband insisted that taking time off before Baby arrived would be the healthy choice for all three of us. I'll admit, "type A" me took a few weeks to get used to this idea. In the end, I agreed to stop working in April, with the promise of freelance editing from home as long as I can.
Some days I feel a bit guilty about it. Nowadays, it's not uncommon for new moms to work right up to delivery and then high-tail it back to work as soon as maternity leave is up. It amazes me! But I'm also grateful for this opportunity to finally take on my dream job as a stay-at-home mom, or, as my Mom lovingly called it, a "domestic engineer."
I think I confused people by leaving my job so "early." (Frankly, 5 months out of a lifetime of parenthood doesn't add up to much!) Coworkers bemoan not getting to see my growing belly--although I promised I'll stop in--and friends who don't know how far along I am wonder if I'm due sooner than expected...and just ridiculously small still?
But the biggest question has been, "What are you going to do in the mean time?" One coworker teased, "Take up knitting?" I suppose she could've meant it sincerely, since I do work at a quilt/sewing/yarn book publishing house. Kidding aside, I think they actually want to know what a mama-to-be/stay-at-home wife does.
Plenty.
Over the next few months, will my status be...
A full-time freelancer?
Self-employed?
A homemaker?
A stay-at-home wife?
All of the above, I guess! I'll be freelancing as "full-time" as I can manage while making sure I'm taking care of Baby, my body, and my home. Yes, freelancing means "self-employed" and I've ALWAYS considered myself the homemaker of our little family. I was already a stay-at-home wife once, but the early days of marriage meant I was busy stumbling my way through cohabitation and the job search (far from my "network," I might add)! This time, I have familiarity on my side. We're settled into our home, I know where to shop and what chores need to be done, and I hope that there will still be time leftover to keep doing the editing that I love while nesting!
And the timing couldn't be better!
Professionally, it aligns perfectly with other position shifts at my company. So I know I'm leaving my job in capable hands. Plus, I've lived my dream of being a copy editor and learned valuable skills that I can carry on through freelancing. It's been an excellent run.
Personally, it means I'm free to host my family this summer without taking PTO, and our travel plans will hinge on Super Husband's schedule alone! Add on the convenience of NO commute and NO more feeling restricted to a desk (Baby and I need to get up and move around a lot these days). It seems like the perfect fit for this stage of life and pregnancy!
So I'm looking forward to it, even if I do feel sentimental over leaving my office and the friends I've made there. I want to spend this time well. Call it what you will: stay-at-home wife or stay-at-home freelancer. I'm aiming for the high goal of stay-at-home mom. And I can't wait to meet my little "client." This new season is a blessing. Not a luxury I take for granted. An incredible blessing.
BOLG! Evil and deranged pale orc from "The Hobbit" films. It amused me, mainly because blogging can sometimes feel like "Bolging"...roaring at the world and stomping around with slumped shoulders and a sour expression.
Now, I present to you, a bolg post.
It was worse in the first trimester when my gag reflex made food prep difficult. Never mind that I was starving, food prep was just bad! But I HAD to eat. And unless Super Husband was around to save the day and finish making dinner, I put on my "angry eyes" and slammed around bowls and cutting boards and utensils until some semblance of a meal was formed.
Super Husband would come home and greet me tenderly, but I'd only suffer a quick hug before I continued my ogre-like rampage around the kitchen. That's how bad it was...and sometimes is, if the monster decides to rear its ugly head.
Meet HANGRY, the hungry, angry orc that I've found myself turning into during pregnancy. Rest assured that after a few measly bites of food, Hangry turns into a sweet little Hobbit of delight, relishing in her meal and apologizing to her hero of a husband. But it's not uncommon for the cautionary phrase, "I'm hangry," to be spoken in our kitchen of late. Watch out!
Likewise, I've discovered a new monster of the pregnancy realm.
PREGO EMO. Uber emotional. Messy tears over the slightest of inconveniences (like a cutting board that managed to slip down, out of reach, between the counter and the refrigerator), choking up at ads for baby products (dang it, Pampers!), and losing it completely over things that I might've handled with more grace in the past.
For example: This morning, while trying to surprise my husband with a steaming hot latte with breakfast, I somehow managed to spill (read: explode) a scalding carafe of espresso all over the counter, the kitchen, and my hand.
Like any calm, collected adult, I rushed over to the sink to submerge my hand in cold water...and burst into uncontrollable sobs. Yep, I'm a big baby. Mainly because I'm carrying one. Although, I feel like this pain warranted tears, even if I wasn't pregnant. It's the worst burn I've ever had, apart from a few nasty sunburns (at least those end up as a nice tan once they heal!).
After Super Husband came to the rescue, got me ice, and cleaned up my ghastly mess, "Prego Emo" struck again! This time, it wasn't out of pain, fright, or general upset...I was embarrassed, and disappointed that my attempt at sweetness toward him was thwarted by clumsiness and a not-quite-tight-enough Aero-Press filter. Add the fact that we would now BOTH be late for work on a day when we have a retreat to get to in the evening...
Oh yes, Prego Emo likes to treat little embarrassments and disappointments as if they were the worst kind of betrayal.
So I'm leaving my "friends" Hangry and Prego Emo here for a bit. Writing is my therapy, and this bolg post has given me some level of comfort. My hand still stings, but a little aloe and a deep breath seems to help that too. We'll get through this.
We made it to the 2nd trimester! I can't decide what I'm happiest about: more energy (that seems to come and go, depending on the day) or the small bump that's making my pants too tight. That's right; I'm excited for my baby bump! I can't wait for more physical (and not just symptomatic) evidence that I'm carrying a child. I can't wait to pass this awkward stage of looking bloated from a good meal versus looking pregnant. (OK, so the two are closely related at this point...the bump looks more prominent after I've eaten.)
My least favorite comments so far have revolved around my current size and "baby weight" predictions. Coworkers complained about the weight they gained with each of their pregnancies and then proceeded to predict I wouldn't gain any or that it will simply "slip off" as soon as I give birth. They were trying to be nice, I'm positive. To keep from scaring me about what will most likely be the heaviest weight I'll ever be. But you know what? I'm not scared! I'd be scared of NOT gaining any weight. Baby's got to have nutrients! Baby's got to grow! And it is so worth every pound and stretch mark I'll earn, even if they never fully go away.
Even an employee at a maternity store asked me if I was shopping for a gift. When I said no, I was shopping for myself, and a joking "Can't you tell?", she gave me the once over and said, "Come back when you've got a belly, then we'll talk." My pregnancy hormones made me overly emotional about that one. I'm pretty sure I flushed a lovely shade of red and swallowed a tear or two. It must never have occurred to her that her comment could come across a little hurtful. Some women are actually thrilled to be pregnant, and that a baby bump is something of a dream, not a dreaded "side effect." Personally, I like shopping for maternity clothes before I get much bigger, because I'll have comfy things to wear as soon as my jeans won't zip up. Makes sense, no?
Bring on the cocoa shea butter lotion and the belly rubs! And maternity pants--funny looking belly panel or no--are SO comfortable, I can't wait to wear them daily! (Right now they're my go-to when I'm feeling particularly uncomfortable or my normal jeans are in the wash.) There's a lovely pair of shorts with my name on them, waiting for summer (thanks Mama Mo!). I'm so happy to have reached phase 2 of the journey. And even if I (and Super Husband) am the only one to recognize it, Baby is starting to show!
Don't be concerned for me--I understand how this works. I know I'll feel remarkably uncomfortable in my third trimester, when I feel like a beached whale and can't put on my own socks (thank goodness it'll be summer and sandal weather!). My midwife has already warned me that my tiny, yet long, rib cage means breathing is going to be a joy when Baby starts pushing up on it. Ouchies on the way! But for now, let's be excited for the bump, shall we? Okay!
I put it on my wish list semi-jokingly. Super Husband knew how much I wanted one. After years of waiting for the green light, we only recently felt like we received it. We're "ready." But I was prepared for an even longer wait, if need be. So I put "Baby" on my birthday wish list, with the understanding that these things can and often do take time...
The first month passed and I didn't even need the (two) boxes of pregnancy tests I'd bought...two boxes because it was going to take awhile, right? So I had my little grief session and moved on.
The second month came and went. I was determined to follow this advice: "Don't take a test until you're late. It'll save you from premature disappointment, or maybe a false negative! Plus, all those tests cost money..."
I knew the "day of knowledge" was three days away (but who's counting?!), and I had made up my mind. No early test. No trusting the package's claim to give a result "five days sooner." I practiced patience and tried to enjoy the weekend. It was, after all, my birthday!
I awoke surprisingly early that Saturday. As I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I did what many birthday girls do...think about my age, where I am now, where I thought I'd be at this point in my life. Grimacing at the memory, I recalled my "plans" for the future...as a high schooler:
1. Meet the guy at 18
2. Date for a few years
3. Get engaged at 21
4. Get married at 22
5. Have a baby at 24
7. Have baby #2 at 27
8. Maybe another at 30?
It didn't take more than a semester at college to realize my plan was seriously flawed. (Big shocker.) Granted, it did play out much better than I could've imagined once my illusions were shattered. I did meet the guy at 19, got engaged at 22 1/2, and married at 23. So even though my timeline was still pushed back a few years, God had worked things out for good. Really good. It's what He does.
So I talked to myself: "I'm 27 years old, married to an amazing man for almost four years, and we're not pregnant yet. That's okay with me."
"Take the test."
...What?!...
"Take the test. It's alright."
It wasn't an actual voice, more like a gentle suggestion planted in my mind. I hesitated for a few minutes, trying to weigh whether or not it was just me, my desire for a baby, that prompted the idea. Then there was peace.
"That would be how He'd do it," I thought. On my 27th birthday, giving me the gift I've longed for and prayed for. And even if God didn't, it was His gift of peace that gave me permission to take the test. To hope. To wait and see. And to try again, if necessary.
OK, then.
I quietly slipped out of bed and took the test. The peace started slipping a little as I waited for the result. I started shaking. "What if this was it?! What if I AM pregnant? ...And what if I'm not? Can I accept that with grace?"
The answer: "You'll be fine. It's a gift that you even get to do this today!"
So I picked up the test for another kind of answer. I stared. I squinted. I knit my brow and chuckled nervously. Why can't these things be plainer?! Were those two lines or was it just a fluke?
Looking back, I'm actually glad of this faint result. It wasn't a bold and affirmative "YES!" But it definitely wasn't a firm "No." It gave me time to calm down, to let the truth sink in that I was probably pregnant, and I was allowed to be happy about that.
That's when Mary's song drifted into my mind...
"My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior [...] he who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is his name." (Luke 1:47-49)
*Cue the tears that shifted into muffled sobs.*
I may have mentioned that Mary has always been one of my favorite women in the Bible. I've admired her faith and obedience for as long as I've understood the gravity of what she was given. But I wasn't thinking of her recently, and it brought joy to my soul that her very words of praise and adoration would come to mind at this crucial moment in my life. Because they perfectly embodied the worship bubbling up inside me.
I put the test away and decided to take another in a few hours. Then I'd share the news with Super Husband. Besides, I'd planned a fun way to tell him...yes, some of my "planner" tendencies haven't changed. ;-) This plan seemed innocent and worth hanging on to until the time came.
We agreed to have birthday cake for breakfast (cranberry and orange cake...qualifies as breakfast food in my book!). So while I was putting on my makeup, I took test #2. This time, no squinting or knit brow. Two very clear lines. I'm pregnant!
I bounced down the stairs without finishing my hair and announced that it was time for "breakfast." Greg graciously went along with it and cut us each a slice of cake. I set up the video camera "to document a little bit of my birthday" as I opened cards from family. A few bites of cake and a few cards later, I turned to him. "I have a card for you too!" He protested that it wasn't his birthday as I handed him the card and compass I'd bought him.
What the card said is between the two of us, but I'll explain the compass: On our wedding day, his groom's gift was a sword. I wanted to give him a visual reminder that I was entrusting myself to his protection and care from that day on. This time, I gave him a compass as a reminder that I entrust myself (and our child) to his leadership and guidance.
It took him a moment to get it. He thought I was just being sentimental by mentioning our future children. (Yeah, I've been looking forward to our growing family for a loooooong time.) He kept glancing at me questioningly, until I finally let my smile loose and nodded.
*Cue more happy tears and unbridled excitement!*
"You've known since early this morning?" he asked, "How are you not bouncing all over the house right now?!" I reminded him that I was, if he'd only recall my sprightly descent down the stairs and my enthusiasm about breakfast. (OK, I do love breakfast...and cake...and breakfast cake, but not quite so visibly.)
It was the best birthday EVER! In spite of having to keep it a secret for another month or so, it was by far my favorite birthday gift. Baby had already been with me for a few weeks, but that was the day he or she was made known to us. Could it be any more perfect? It's like He knows me or something! Knew I'd enjoy an answered prayer far more than any earthly present. More proof that God's authorship over my life results in a story greater than any I could come up with.
So we're on our way to #1 on my 100 List! The Elfling (lovingly coined by a dear friend) is coming!
