Questions and Answers

Happy Love Day, friends :) I should probably post something festive (I do like love!), but it's not. Sorry (and all the Valentine's Day haters rejoice).

This last week(s) has been decently trying for me. I think a lot of it has to do with pregnancy and physical limitations. I've noticed a definite slowing down in my body as I've entered into this final section of pregnancy. I've felt overwhelmed by the smallest of things both physical and emotional, by the preparations needed for Abram's birth and arrival, by parenting my toddler, certain that every day I have a hard day with her is a predictor of my inability to parent Abram well. I've had this longing to stop everything that I'm committed to, because I just want to sit down and think about this little boy-- not about other people and other things-- just him and who he is. In all the chaos of daily life, I've been fearful that I'm missing moments that should be about him. But life rarely offers us those time-stopping opportunities. We just have to engage in the midst of the busyness.

As I get closer to April, my thoughts have settled on a few things in particular, questions about how our family will change, concerns with parenting and life. I don't have too many concerns with Abi Kate loving Abram. Maybe I should. I am completely certain there will be a transitional period with her and that she will have days of acting out. But she's a helper, and she much prefers to be in the presence of other children instead of alone. She's never shown any real jealousy over Tommy or I holding other kids/babies-- she's normally just been curious.  My heart knows her heart, and I think she'll love him just fine. I fear I'm not going to explain myself well here, but I'll do my best...

As Abram's arrival inches closer my own doubts and fears of the unknown inch closer to my heart, making me question my ability to mother two children. I've reached the point of vulnerability in this pregnancy where the pessimism of others has the ability to permeate my thoughts in a way that is typically easier for me to reject.  I don't mind truth, even truth that's harder to embrace. I can appreciate truthfulness for all that it holds. I don't like cynicism and martyrdom. It's been difficult to escape the "you better get ready" comments in regards both to parenting more than one child and in regards to having a boy. Cultural as those comments may be, they really don't serve to encourage the listener or to help prepare them for anything specific. They just seem to be a way to "one-up" (which I personally think derives from insecurity). Kind of like when I hear people tell first time parents, "Oh you better sleep now because you'll never sleep again." That's not true. Of course there will be times where you'll lose sleep, but I think most expecting parents are pretty aware of that. It just feels like fear-based commentary, sweeping statements made to make the hearer feel less significant and unprepared. Usually, I can just acknowledge comments like that for what they are. But as I've struggled with my own concerns, those comments have found a wedge into my mind. There have been a lot of uplifting comments too which I'm so grateful for, but I guess within the last two weeks the others have just been louder. I've been very thankful in recent weeks for the close friends surrounding me that have encouraged me with honesty about the harder realities of parenting multiple children while also balancing it with all the wonderful things that happen with adding new life to the family. It's good to hear truth, and it's even better to see it displayed in their lives-- the way that they very clearly love mothering, even on hard days.

This weekend, I made a trip to GA to see one of my favorite mothers, and while my hips still have not forgiven me for those 8 hours in the car, when I made mention of what it would be like to parent two instead of one, her response was simply, "You will do beautifully. It's great. It is." It's funny how some people know just the right thing to say. I needed to hear that. I didn't need to hear a heavy dose of someone else's vague reality-- I will be getting my own experience with that in a few months. I did need encouragement. She didn't know that, but as usual, her love for motherhood shone clearly in her words and her actions. I felt the same way when I told my midwife, a mother of boys and girls, that all I've known is girls and I hear boys are really different... she said, "Nah. You'll figure it out." To her, it was just a passing comment. She probably doesn't even remember saying it, but I do. Because it implied that my ability to parent well rests much less on the gender of my child and more on my knowledge as a mother... and I so deeply appreciate that. 

I appreciate it for all that it awakens in me. We didn't enter into Abram's pregnancy lightly, and I don't hold a unicorns and rainbows theory about parenting multiple children. While I won't share our very specific prayers after our miscarriage, I will say that I believe his life has heavy purpose, otherwise I do not believe I would be pregnant. And in giving us this child, God in His wisdom obviously knew we'd be raising two young children. It's easy to forget His calling and His anointing. But these people reminded me of that-- just with their words. I am insufficient on my own, but in my weakness He is strong. Strong enough to equip me to mother two children.

But the deepest concerns that have laid on my heart most heavily is the change that will inevitably take place with Tommy and I. I've always been protective over my time with him because I believe it's vital to successful marriage. These days, I feel that pull even more, wanting to spend every second I can with him and shut out everything else before this big change happens in April. It's funny how our culture has a way of rushing things, urging us on to the "next big step" as soon as we complete the first one. It's a rare event to stop and cherish the moments we're in instead of anticipating the ones that will arrive. I'm guilty of that. Tommy and I were married for 4 years before having Abi Kate, and we dated for 4 years before getting married. 8 years of just us. At the time, I definitely thought about having a family often, finding myself ready to move to the next level, dreaming about it and how sweet it would be to have a big belly, to feel  a baby move, to watch Tommy snuggle a tiny one- our tiny one. I'm thankful for the people around us that said, "Take your time" and I'm thankful that God's wisdom overrides our own perfect plans. I look back on those years with just the two of us, and they are so precious to me now. I cherish them in a way that I wish I would've had the knowledge to do back then. I wish I'd spent a little more time savoring the days of us, and a little less time dwelling on the potential future. It wasn't because we were young that we needed years together. Younger or older, I don't think it has a ton to do with parental preparedness. I've seen great young parents and less than stellar older parents. But I'm glad we had them, because even in my own naivety of the transformation that was taking place, our hearts were so ready for Abi Kate and the changes parenting brings to a marriage. We found pleasure in the sacrifice of releasing time with just the two of us because we had waited for her as a bonded unit for 4 years. We communicated more easily about parenting issues because I knew him as husband and he knew me as wife so very well. Marriage is different than dating, and parenting inside of marriage is different than marriage alone.  It's not a bad thing at all-- it just requires more intentional effort. There is a spontaneity that must be sacrificed, the ease of independence as a couple to do whatever whenever that shifts. The simple tenderness of just the two of us fully investing in only each other to investing in another life, a life that is needy of love and direction and time from us both... It is a change. This new season, as we wait for another child to enter our home, I know that things will again change and be different. Getting away will be harder, staying deeply connected in the midst of two age two and under won't flow so easily as it does with just one. And sometimes, I find myself just missing the ease of those earlier years. Don't misunderstand--I don't think there's special as parenting with the person you are in love with, the person that really is your closest friend. Period. It is precious. The relationship evolves to new depths that could not happen without the experience of pregnancy and parenting. And Tommy and I are closer now than we were back then. But the knowledge of how children shift things has made me aware of my need to live in THESE moments, something I don't do well naturally. Not to dwell on the past, but to appreciate it for all that it was and all that it brought us. Not to dwell on the future where fear of the unknown permeates, but to rest in the assurance of our very deep love for each other. Not to long for easier moments that we will one day do again when these selfless days that we will surely miss slip by, leaving us as just us two once again. I want to simply enjoy THIS moment. The one where I'm at. The one where it's too hard for me to lift the toddler after prayer time at night. The one where we share our lives with just one little girl. The one where I feel a little boy kick me from inside. I'm a planner and a preparer, so staying in the moment is often hard for me. I want to fully appreciate these moments, and to anticipate the rewarding things that await our family instead of the difficult ones that society brings reminders of- the way it will be when Tommy and I see Abram for the first time. The first hours that we will spend with just each other and our new baby. The moment that we watch our little girl see her little brother for the first time. The way we will watch him sleep together at night, completely mystified that we ever lived a moment without him. The way we will value time with just each other when both our babes are asleep. The way our love will grow for each other and for our family as new life joins us.    

I'm convinced  the reason pregnancy lasts so long is because there's so much work to do, inwardly, before a baby arrives. There's still so much of myself that will have to die in the face of childhood needs. There's a great amount of sacrifice that my heart will have to yield to so I can lovingly respond to both Abi Kate and Abram. Every late night, every busy morning, every selfless moment where I must put them first...my heart is still being readied for those things. I can feel it. And I think the chaos of the previous weeks has been a quiet urging from God-- to recall my own insufficiencies and rely on His abilities instead. To make a practice of relying on Him for the easiest of things, things that would likely be easy targets of frustration when there is more than one child who needs me. I can always tell a difference when my efforts are of my own.

In the still moments, I remember that at some point between birth and these last two years, I've become a mother. I learned how to mother Abi Kate. I learned to pay attention and be sensitive to her individual needs. And I will learn with Abram the same way. It will be busy but that's what these years have been preparing me for. I won't do it in and of my own accord. I will do it with the calling that Christ has laid over my life to do it. And no matter what fears I have or what fears are spoken over me by strangers or people, that will be enough. There are worse things than little boys that scale furniture and two young children that need everything I can give at the exact same moment. I can think back to May and remember things that are worse indeed.

There are big changes on our horizon for sure. Some will be hard and some will be better than we dream. And in the waiting time, I am doing my best to treasure these days for all that they are-- even when they overwhelm me. I'm going to stop letting one hard day with one child make me certain that I can't mother two. I'm going to close my heart and my mind to the cynics. I'm going to spend time with the man that I adore and rest in the knowledge that we were designed to raise these babies together, even if life gets busier with the addition of Abram. I'm going to place my certainty in the One who equips me, the One who has knit these lives together,  instead of in my best efforts. Because the truth is, this was never about me anyway... these little lives and these days are always about Him.

3 Is the Magic Number

3rd trimester. 3 more months. 28 weeks. We’ve arrived in the third trimester, thankful for and anticipating this baby boy. I wanted to do a better job of documenting his pregnancy than I have, so I’m hoping I’ll stick to it in this last section of the journey. I hate that I didn’t do a better job of it with Abi Kate, so I’m going to attempt to do one every week from now until he arrives… we’ll see…

We’ve started busying ourselves with preparations for his arrival. Even though we still have roughly 12 weeks ahead of us, I know how quickly that time will pass. We’ve begun the process of playing ring around the rosie with all the bedrooms in our house. I get a little tickled thinking about the back and forth we’ve had about staying in our house or not- all 1200 square feet of it- good thing we all love each other a lot since we'll be nice and cozy! ;). It’s the home we bought the month before we were married, and 6 and a half years later it’s where we still live. When we first bought it, we were certain we’d move before having a baby because of it‘s size, hoping to keep it just as a rental property. Then, the housing market crashed, but moreover, my pregnancy was just too trying to even consider moving while also teaching full-time. So, we had a contractor close in our garage and build us a big storage closet for the few things we had in our garage at the time. As time got closer to adding to our family again, I just plain didn’t want to move or leave this house. It is where all of our big moments have happened. It’s where we stayed on our wedding night. It’s where we conceived our babies and where we’ve labored with them. One day in the not-too-distant future, we’ll need to move. But not right now. Simplicity and financial plans and my sentiments towards this tangible structure urge us to stay. That said, making space that will be livable and comfortable for us on a daily basis is our current chore at the moment. I don't love the chaos of things being out of place and moved around, but I know I will thank myself in a few weeks when everything has a home. ;)

Snow baby bump ;) Bye, feet!

Having another baby is a bit different in its process than the first baby. I know that I really have all I need for his first several months--  I have boobs. After doing this once already, I think I could pretty much get by with that alone. But we also have all of the baby gear from Abi Kate, and we did use it often so that’s nice too ;) I know that Abram doesn’t need much. He doesn’t need a bedroom-- he’ll be in our room for months. He doesn’t need a crib for the same reason. But, I need it for him. There is something so special to me about preparing a place for him in our home. For me, having his room painted and mostly ready and filled with things for him, it says, “Yes. You belong here. You belong with us. You have a space in our home and in our hearts. And we’ve been waiting…just waiting for you and for your presence.” I know it’s just a room. And I know it’s just a bed and decorations on the walls. And I know that he won’t even be utilizing that room and it’s furnishings hardly at all for a good while. But it’s part of my connection to his arrival, the proof that he is indeed coming. I know that sounds dumb considering the size of my belly, considering the sweet heartbeat that’s completely separate from my own, the one  I’ve heard countless times and rejoiced over, the baby I’ve seen on a black and white screen, and all the movements I’ve felt for months now…. Obviously, a baby is coming. But my heart has been resistant to trust that, to fully yield to his arrival.

A friend of mine told me that pregnancy after loss can often have dark moments, and she is right. At least for me. I don’t mean that to sound as depressing as it probably does, because there really are no right words to describe the inner workings of my soul and my emotion every time I hear Abram or feel him or see him. It’s a level of rejoicing that’s hard to illustrate. But there are moments of fear as well. Fear of the knowledge that everything can be right and then suddenly be wrong with no warning. Fear of the raw emotion that comes from losing. I know a lot of people hold their own personal “scare zone,” and once they’ve bypassed it, they breathe easily. That’s just not me, at least not this time. Pregnancy is such a vulnerable time in the hearts and lives of women. It’s one of the reasons why I love it. God is and has been so active in the insecurity, in the doubt, and ultimately, in the faith growing process.

I haven’t spoken much as of late about the fear in the process because sometimes, the most well-intentioned responses are hard to take. And, it’s hard for me to effectively explain that my fear and my joy have been balanced. I don’t sit around dwelling all day about my concerns. You're much more likely to find me dwelling on how he will fit into our family, what kind of mother I will be to him, and dreaming about those first moments together. I love this little boy with a ridiculous love already, and I am so eager to meet him. But there are moments of fear. Moments that are different than in Abi Kate’s pregnancy.

There are a lot of clichés and such about fear, and ones that I’ve had to stop and consider for their validity and how they actually work out in life. I hear a lot that as believers we just have to choose our response to fear. That any amount of fear felt is sinful because we‘re not trusting God. And after walking these last several months, I just can’t say I agree with either of those statements in their entirety- though at this time last year I probably would‘ve freely offered up either of those sayings myself. In the earliest months of this pregnancy, I spent a lot of time praying through my concerns and evaluating fear’s place in my life with Tommy and with my sister. Fear is an emotion. And our God is a God of emotion. In scripture, Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. But before he does that, he arrives to find that Lazarus has died. And Jesus, in all of His perfection, doesn’t clap his hands and begin rejoicing-- He cries. In fact, He weeps. Jesus certainly didn’t need to cry-- being God Himself, He knew He could and would raise Lazarus within the hour. But I think the real perspective is that Jesus also felt. He was fully God and yet fully man, and in being human, He felt. He didn’t run from emotion and act like he’d had a lobotomy where He could do nothing but be happy. He felt sorrow, and that was ok. He didn’t dwell inside that sorrow, but he did feel it. In the Garden of Gesthemane, before he is arrested, Jesus prays that God the Father would let the cup pass from him. Scripture says that he was so overwhelmed, even to the point of death, that His sweat became like blood. If you’ve ever read anything about hematridosis, you know the incredible amount of emotional stress one must feel for the body to yield that physical reaction. Again, he felt; and not just happy or joyful. I remember telling Rachel one night that I was trying so hard to not feel fear, to only respond in faith to my concerns. She said two words, “Stop trying. You can’t try hard enough, be good enough, conjure up enough faith to bring peace to myself. You fail at it because it’s not your job-- it is the job of the Holy Spirit. Stop trying, and ask Him do it for you.” We put a lot of stock into our responses as believers, and I’ve found that usually only results in pride. Because then, we could pat ourselves on the back and say, “Yes. I overcame this fear. I responded in a holy fashion that pleased the Lord.” When in fact, if our only boast is in Christ, it is Him inside me that affords me the privilege of peace. It isn’t a simple “choice” that I made to put myself in a positive frame of mind.

My sister, who is not only a gifted counselor but also a beautiful writer, wrote an illustration that I love several months ago…. Her words are far superior to mine but I’ll do my best to paraphrase the concept. She said to imagine that you are in a vessel at sea in the midst of a violent storm. The waves are overtaking you. It is dark and you cannot see in front of you. Thunder and lightening, pelts of rain pour down upon you and in looking around, there is no rescue. But suddenly, you see a lighthouse and you are able to make it to concrete structure. You run inside and are shielded from the storm. The storm outside continues to rage, it does not stop. The wind and water pours and blows against the lighthouse. You may even feel fearful of the storm outside, but you are no longer accepting the blows of the storm. The lighthouse is absorbing those now. And you, in the midst of the storm, are kept safe. I love that illustration, because it is exactly how I have felt in these months many times. I have felt the rage of the storm, the possibility of everything coming undone. I have lived inside of the very little control that I have. I’ve had to surrender my need for control because I can’t dictate life’s circumstances.  But I have been kept safe inside of Christ. It doesn’t mean I have felt only peace and happiness. I haven’t. But I am no longer the one receiving the blows- Christ is. There may be fear of the storm, but I feel rest in the assurance of His protection in the midst of the storm. I do think fear can lead us to sin, and I would be lying if I said that it never has for me during this time. But my fear has also refined my faith. It has been in the midst of fear that I have found the very presence of Christ. It has brought me to the end of myself, which is the very place where I am most moldable.

So, I have felt and still do occasionally feel fear over Abram’s pregnancy even all this time later. I fear that I will have the carpet pulled out from under me the way I did in May. But when it arrives that fear continues to bring me to a place of surrender, and it makes my heart hunger for Abram’s arrival in a way that I do not believe I would have felt without it. It has almost been like an unlayering of my heart, a laying down of self and pride to reveal the softest and most vulnerable parts of myself. And strangely enough, it has been the tangible things that have worked in conjunction with this unlayering to make me ready to hold him, to connect to him, to see his face and stay up late at night watching him sleep.

Two weeks ago, I stripped and prepped a part of Abi Kate’s girly cloth diapers, and within a week and half I’d sold almost all of them, making a quick $300 bucks (see it also pays to cloth diaper-- literally), which I used to buy part of Abram’s stash (with 100 bucks left over- yay!). And as these teeny tiny diapers have arrived in my mailbox, it has made me want to count down the weeks like I did with Abi Kate. Just until I can hold him. I wasn’t really certain I was going to cloth diaper in the newborn phase…I’ve done the newborn phase before, and exclusive breastfeeding alone will keep you fully busy in those earliest weeks. I mean, you literally have about an hour between each feeding. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tackle that along with a parenting a toddler and add in extra laundry loads…. But I rationalized, telling myself that I’ve breastfed before, so the mechanics should be pretty second nature for me at this point. And once that first little diaper arrived, well… I was sold. I’ve felt the need for simplicity in our home lately (really, don’t stand too still in this house… you might be taken to the Goodwill). I’m not sure if it’s from nesting or just a shift in myself, but less has been my aim. With Abi Kate, I had a million different diapers-- brands, types, fabrics, etc. This time I’ve felt the need to streamline things and cut back . I never would’ve imagined I’d be a prefold girl, but something about the basics of just cotton and a few covers-- the frugality and the simple consistency has appealed to me. So prefolds and pockets (only my favorite brand this time) are making up his stash. Almost all of his diapers have arrived or have been ordered. It makes his coming all very real. And I love it. I think once his room is ready (or mostly ready), I’ll be fully ready too.

A few of his cute little diapers... how can his booty be so small?!

We got to hear our baby boy yesterday and because my brain is on a need to know basis, I asked our midwife to tell me his position. I’ve been feeling like he’s been head down for about 2 weeks now, and when I’ve palpated my abdomen it felt consistent with that, but I just wasn’t 100% sure. Sure enough, he was hanging out head down (hallelujah)…. And posterior (not so hallelujah). So I spent all day pep talking my uterus about how that was just unacceptable and telling my sweet, unborn son, “No, sir” for the first time. ;) Really, it doesn’t matter so much how he’s laying right now. I know this. He could’ve been anterior two minutes later or even transverse and it still wouldn‘t matter at this point. I do all of my exercises, sit in certain manners, and have regular adjustments to line him up appropriately anyway. BUT… I’m not taking any chances so don’t be getting too comfortable like that, son.  

Despite my massive belly, I’m only at a 7 pound weight gain, which is quite a bit less than where I was with Abi Kate at the beginning of my third trimester. I’ll probably start packing it on any day now. ;) Or I’m just going to have a huge baby (which is a statement that I hear often--- one that, for the record, I do not adore).

I'm so eager to meet this little boy, to see him in our home, to love him with our actions and not just with our hearts. So bring it on, April...we're almost ready for you!

Tea for TWO!

I had really good intentions of a follow-up post, a real one, after the last one filled with ridiculousness. But, it’s like the universe read that post and said, “Oh really, Katie? You thought that was a big deal?” So, promptly the following Monday I had to get a new tire after running over a bolt. Later that day, our laptop stopped working and we took it in assuming it would be a quick fix only to find out that the motherboard was gone and we needed a new computer altogether. And one other crazy thing that now escapes me happened that week, too. I’ve lost track of the crazy. My sister offered us her laptop for the following week until we could get to Best Buy one night and go buy a new one. Even that plan got thwarted…which you will get to read about ;)  But, the positive in all this is that I have Rachel’s laptop, and with it comes Rachel’s music. And that is a very good thing. 

That following week, we were gearing up for Abi Kate’s birthday party, so every night we had something to drop off or pick up or get together. I’m not a great party planner, but I really love putting her birthday parties together. Even when in the preceeding days I’m stressed that everything won’t come together. I was so excited for her party this year because it is the first year she had an understanding of what was going on.

In the months before her birthday, she started making “tea” and “coffee” every day, multiple times a day for us. That prompted me to decide that she should have a tea party for her second birthday. The week of her party, anytime she opened saw something with tea cups or tea pots she’d say, “Tea Party!!” I think I was equally as excited as she was for this party. This is also the first year that she has an understanding of friendship. She loves her little friends, and asks for them usually once a day if not more, by name. I couldn’t wait for her to have them all in one place together. 

 Kid's Food Table/ Birthday Book "Sign-in"

 Tea Party table

 All the little girls really did sit down and eat together! And drink "tea" (aka apple juice) together out of their little tea cups! So sweet!

 Our 2 year old!

 Friends!

 Blowing out candles :)

 Playing...

 And snacking...

 And lovin'...

Tea for two and two for tea!

We had the kitchen for the girls to cook in, dress up, and the big slide my parents got her for Christmas. There were so many fairies and beads and tea cups and squeals as they took turns going down the slide I almost couldn’t stand it-- and I mean because I loved it so much. She was completely taken with her little friends and playing with them and it was such a fun time just to watch her enjoy. I could’ve cried just watching her. She’s evolved from this little baby into this little girl with a big personality, full of extremes in her emotion like her Momma and full of her Daddy’s mannerisms and soft heart. She has the ability to wear me out and melt my heart all within a 2 minute span of each other. 

I was so thankful for the people in that room (and a few that were missing, too). They know her and they know us. They know that she isn’t a perfect child and they know that we aren’t perfect parents, and they just keep on loving her and loving us anyway. They keep investing in us and in her, choosing to dwell on the good things she does and we do, encouraging us as we parent her and encouraging her when they see Abi Kate growing. They have stayed near to us in hard times this year and genuinely celebrated the happy times with us. Their children have invested in her, playing with her and setting examples for her to learn from. To be surrounded in a room full of people like that… it is good. Abi Kate has learned in this year what friendship is at its most simplistic level. What it means to spend time with others and to put others first. She’s seen what it means to be the offender, to be forgiven , and to have restored relationship-- kids are so good at that. She’s learned what it is to forgive others-- kids are good at that, too. Funny how forgiveness, true forgiveness- the kind that fully releases the offense and returns immediately to loving the offender-- happens so easily in the hearts of little ones yet becomes so much harder as we get older, or at least to me. It seems outlandish that such big things would be learned at such a young age, but I'm certain they are. I've learned much about my own weaknesses from watching her...and it makes me want to press harder into Jesus so I can love all people that way, easily and simply. I am so deeply thankful that she is growing up in the knowledge of what it is to be a friend and to have friends and to keep them-- that others have given her that opportunity. There are a lot of things we hope for Abi Kate, and one of those things is that she would be a lover of people. I sat on the couch, and looked around at the adults and the kids, and felt so grateful that these people both big and little have placed themselves in her life so that she could learn those things, and moreover that she could apply them, in ways that I often struggle to as an adult. 

Last year it was really emotional to see her turn 1. There’s just something about that first birthday as a mom I think. This year, I thought about the two days before… one of the best text messages ever received from my doula- “Don’t have sex tonight, ok? Tell Tommy I’m sorry.” It had snowed earlier that day and she was iced in on back roads. I laughed when I remembered that. I thought about the day before, cleaning my house and watching movies with Tommy- the sweet solitude and the ease of spontaneity--savoring the last day of just “us,” though we didn't realize it at the time.  I even told him, “Babe can you believe 2 years ago today it was just us two?!” I thought of that night, the realization that she was probably coming in a few hours. And I of course, thought of the moment that my midwife handed me her warm little body, breathing her in, and the breath-taking realization that she looked exactly like her Daddy. I thought of all our moments of parenting her within this last year-- the hard ones and the easy ones. The shifts that took place in our family and the ways that she softened the hurts and made the sweetest moments sweeter. And I thought about the future-- what she will learn as a two year old, how she will become a big sister in this year. I still cried when we laid her in her bed that night, realizing that another year with her has passed. She rolled over in her crib and waved goodnight, snuggled her Minnie Mouse. She’s so grown and yet so little and I just wanted to soak in those moments because I know they will pass with an intensity that I could never be prepared for. 

Snuggling my big girl before nap time after her party

 Her birthday morning, ready for church & a little bit extra ;)

The days before her party I felt this recurrent need to just pray over Abi Kate’s health. So, I did. I prayed that she would stay healthy through the weekend and through her birthday so she could just fully enjoy them. She did. And sure enough, the night after her birthday, I woke up at 4:30 am to hear her in the monitor saying, “Oh my goodness. I need wash hands!” I didn’t think anything of it at first because she talks in her sleep, it’s not odd for her to talk or jibber in the middle of the night and go right back to sleep. But she repeated this statement and then added, “I need wash mouth! I need drink!” I just thought she had woken up and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I went into her room and sure enough-- vomit. Her first stomach virus. At least we made it to age 2? And bless her, she DID need to wash her hands and mouth-- and she definitely needed a drink and new jammies and new sheets. I was doing good cleaning up, and then my body remembered I was pregnant and I started gagging, so I called out for Tommy. We cleaned her up and laid her back down, both mentioning that we felt kind of queasy too and maybe it was just the dinner we ate. At 6:00, we woke up to the same, “I need wash hands! I need drink!” I was still nauseated, but let’s be honest, that’s just par for the course for me. But by midday, Tommy and I were both sick. As were various other friends from her birthday party, everyone’s sickness beginning within about 5 hours of each other-- 4 kids and 6 adults… lovely. Come on down to Abi Kate’s party, make sure you take a tea pot cookie, a balloon, and a little bit of norovirus as a parting gift! :/ She definitely shares her Daddy’s immune system (thank God he passed that on)-- she got sick those two times and that was it, though her appetite took about 3 days to return. She is SO much more resilient than me.  It seemed the majority’s lasted between 48-72 hours. Today is Thursday. It is the first day I have felt like a regular person since Sunday. The awful sickness stopped after 24 hours but the remains just hung around. I do not recommend getting a stomach virus while pregnant. Ever. Around 8 pm I started to get nervous that I was dehydrated. I hadn’t been able to keep any food down (the 4 saltines that I tried) and I couldn’t keep any liquids down. And the Braxton Hicks contractions were becoming a bit more, “Ow. That really hurt.” Abram was moving all around, more than he ever does--but I started to get a little freaked out nonetheless.

You know how when you’re caught up in a moment it feels really big and way more serious than it is-- like for example, I was certain I was going to die on the floor of the bathroom. So there I am, certain that death is imminent, and pretty dang sure I was headed towards dehydration-- and all the images of the NICU and IV lines and hospitals started popping up in my head. I texted Gaylea, my doula/midwife assistant, because, well-- I think she knows my freak-out level well enough by now to not be surprised… I asked her if there was anything to be concerned about, and sure enough she confirmed the contractions… and also reminded me of a few things to try. Am I the only one who responds really poorly to being  “in the moment?” Like I forget everything I’ve ever learned about pregnancy and should do?! (Clearly, I am NOT the person you want near your side in a serious situation. I’ve proven that I will just stand there and freak out. At least when the situation pertains to me.) Thank God for wise care givers and for my sister who ran to the store for coconut water and Epsom salts and dropped them on my porch. Much as I hate it, that coconut water stayed down and the bath helped too. The next day, I ate ¼ of a piece of dry toast around 11:00. And my sweet little Abram who had been moving and kicking non-stop finally settled down… He was hungry, people! How sad is that?! Starving my baby before he even arrives! (This also taught me that when he does arrive and when he’s hungry, I better be ready to feed little brother right then… I don’t need to be waiting around and taking my sweet time-- he doesn’t appreciate that. When he needs to eat, he needs to eat.)

It’s been a fun few weeks in our house ;) I think everything is finally settling down a bit-- at least for the moment. I’ve done a terrible job documenting Abram’s pregnancy and I have full intentions of doing a much more sufficient job of that in my third trimester, which is only a few days away… My word.

But here's a really fabulous 27-week shot for you Tommy took while I was putting shoes on for church... He's a looowww rider...

 All in all, we’ve had a busy but great month. I can’t believe we have a two year old little girl and that we’re on the downhill slide to meeting our little boy. It’s one of those moments to stop and soak in… because this season will be past all too soon…

The Big-Foot Yeti

This week has been, in one word: Whew. Nothing  big or important or even serious, just a lot of “my world is falling apart” moments that would probably feel less “falling apart-ish” if I weren’t pregnant. Really it was just dumb stuff, but we're all allowed to have those weeks, right? Good stuff happened this week too, like a fun play date with a friend (where Abi Kate proceeded to poop in her panties. Twice. Awesome.)  But just a week where I wouldn’t have cried if someone wanted to offer me an island getaway or something, or maybe even just new pipes….

I can pretty much sum up this week’s crazy to a comment from last week. Tommy got home from work and walked into the kitchen, where I was cooking dinner. He said, “Oh my gosh. It’s like seeing a big foot Yeti.” And me, “Huh?” And him, “You’re cooking!” Now ya’ll, he is not heartless. He was totally playing but he is so right! I am normally the cooker around here, though he is a great cook himself and is always happy to make dinner or whatever. But when I am pregnant, that pretty much goes down to nil. It’s been that way in all 3 of my pregnancies. Food aversions coupled with nausea with heavy fatigue just does not a beautiful combo make for dinner preparations. I always feel pretty bad about it, but it’s reality while a little person shares my body. That said, we had a good laugh and I kept hovering it over his head in the following days, which also was funny. ;) It did actually make me think for a minute, though…. And on Monday I decided that since I was feeling pretty good I had fewer excuses not to cook. I made our dinner plan for the week and told myself I was going to get busy in the kitchen. Oh the best laid plans...

On Wednesday, I decided to make apple butternut squash soup (which is fantastically delicious, perfect for cold gross weather, and also happens to be vegan friendly.) Abi Kate was riding the crazy train that evening and I was quickly trying to get everything mostly done so Tommy wouldn’t have to wait 100 years for dinner once he got home. That and I was starving myself. I peeled the butternut squash, and in a hurry and against my brain saying, “No no, Katie. Don’t you do that” I quickly smashed the peels down the disposal and flicked it on…. And it did great for a second and was then clearly super clogged. Lovely. Welcome home, honey.  

It took about an hour, but we were able to clear the clog. Happy faces. The following morning, when I went to unload the dishwasher from the previous night, there was standing water in the bottom of the dishwasher. I knew it was related to that dumb butternut squash (which Abi Kate hated with a fierce veracity by the way)…. I thought, no biggie. I read this could happen. It’s a quick fix. Fast forward to Friday where yes, the water is draining better though still not completely. It is SO COOL to shop-vac out your dishwasher a couple times a day. I HIGHLY suggest it. Stab. In addition to the washer, our shower and sink in the back bathroom that had been running slowly for about 2 days decided to completely stop draining on Thursday as well. I had to take a shower. Had to. I was taking dinner to a friend who just had a baby and my hair was beyond repair without a shower (and by the way, that baby might’ve been the best part about my week. Yay baby Ethan for your undeniable cuteness!!) I decided to shower in our front bathroom which is Abi Kate’s tub. I was in a hurry, so I didn’t have time to clean out the toys. It’s very fun to wash your hair while tippytoeing around 10 ducks, 2 turtles, 5 bathtime books, and a few pails. VERY fun. Try it. Also, try to make sure your center of balance is off with a baby in utero. That adds to the fun. All of that to say, we got the shower and the sink fixed that night and they decided that water should go down their drains. Hallelujah. That was until this morning when the front bathroom’s toilet decided to overflow. If I wasn’t convinced before, I am now 100% certain that the pipes in my house are all conspiring against me. And also, you know how in Harry Potter The Chamber of Secrets the basilisk is in the pipes and affects the kids…. Yes, that happened here too. The chaos in the pipes=chaos in my toddler. Not bad chaos, just crazy chaos. All in all, the garbage disposal is fixed, the toilet is fixed, the shower is fixed, and the bathroom sink is fixed. The toddler is funny and the dishwasher…. He will probably have a date with Mr. Workman if Tommy can’t correct it tonight. And really, people, ALL of this stemming from that dumb squash, which was a result of me being a Yeti. Each of these events isolated probably wouldn’t have been a big deal. All of them within 48 hours of each other…. Less than stellar. I officially hate myself. And squashes. And cooking dinner. It may not happen again until May. Welcome back, big footed Yeti.

All of that to say, I needed some giggles. Like hard hahahahaha laughing. I was reading a blog where she mentioned in a link something about her random funnies. I clicked on this link and it took me to a Pinterest board. I am not a Pinterester-- shameful, I know. Well, technically I am, I guess. I do have an account that I created when it first came out, but the one time I got on it I couldn’t figure out the boards and just haven’t tried again since those 2 years ago. I do see people post really cool stuff on Facebook from it and I will click on it and think, “Ooo! I like that” and I will look at their boards of pins. And that’s about as far as my pinteresting goes (It has now become an acceptable verb, right?). You have probably seen these. Possibly all of them, especially if you’re on Pinterest. But they were new to me. And besides baby Ethan’s little ball of goodness and most beautiful baby hair on the planet, I think THIS has been my favorite part of the week…. If you need a laugh because your week has been full of the crazies like mine, this is also for you…(I promise to write a real post in the near future, but until then....)

Yes, Google. Yes it does.

 Oh my gosh. This is still so funny. I can't stop laughing while I post this.

Not everyone has a Harry Potter complex like we do. And not everyone knows all the lines of Mean Girls like myself (and my hubs) do.... But if you fit that combo.... We were both sobbing while reading this. Tears of Laughter.  

 This could be you, Mom. Don't lie. ;)

Coming to a mailbox near you as a part of Abram's birth announcement.... 

Or maybe you'd prefer this one? Not creepy. At all. I know you are DYING to see my stretch marks. Nothing says newborn love like a gun and a bare belly.

And last but not least, my absolute favorite.... The one that made me miss my little friends and their pure hilarity...

You are welcome.

Out With the Old

It’s hard to believe this year will end and a new one will begin in a few hours. The older I get the more impressed I am by the shockingly quick passage of time. I feel sure I could wake up tomorrow and be 56 instead of 26.  It’s funny to look back and see how New Year Celebrations have changed. We’ve often celebrated with a friend who has a New Year birthday; and despite the best laid plans, I’m writing this and bringing in 2013 from our couch, gingerale & peppermint nearby instead of “birthday-ing” with her-- a sign of the season of life I’m in if ever there was one.

We had a great Christmas. Watching your child adore a gift you slaved over is just about the coolest thing. Tommy and I don’t rock at putting things together, so her little wooden kitchen was a task. It was funny and we had a good time laughing at ourselves, particularly because when things didn’t work it was always a result of me having touched it… Really though, Santa should definitely consider learning the word “Pre-assembled…” 

 When she came out into the living room on Christmas morning and saw her kitchen, she ran over, started flinging the doors open and said, "I cookin!"

 Taking a time out from cooking with some stocking stuffers 

And right back at it later that evening

Sadly, Abi Kate and I were both sick on Christmas. Her little voice was so hoarse it was hard to understand her at times when she was talking. Pitiful. I was so congested that I could not taste any food on Christmas Day. (That is so sad. Too sad for words.) It really didn’t seem to phase her too much. I’m the whiney one. I don’t like being sick period. I definitely do not enjoy it when pregnant. Since I’ve been either pregnant or breastfeeding for almost 3 years now (Wow…nothing will make you feel more “mom-ish” than that realization), I’m limited in what I will take to treat sickness. Even before pregnancy, I’ve preferred to lean towards the side of natural cures that boost my immune system. But I’m telling you, if I hadn’t been pregnant this last time I would’ve been racing for the chemicals. I would’ve happily taken stock in Nyquil, Tylenol Cold, and anything else that would put me out of my misery. Tommy and I are both believers in orthomolecular medicine, though admittedly he knows a lot more about it than I do. Unfortunately, neither he nor I have been able to find a lot of consistent research about vitamin dosage at therapeutic levels for pregnancy, so… cuts that out. For me, “natural” doesn’t automatically equal “safe,” so I’m also pickier about the herbal and homeopathic treatments I’d normally use when not pregnant, meaning that most of my “aces” for quick natural healing were kind of wiped out….Huge bummer. All of that to say, it takes longer to get better and I’m not patient. I downed copious amounts of Bragg’s Apple Cider Vinegar, which I hate with every ounce of my being. I fully believe in its benefits & so desperately want to be one of the people that likes that stuff so much, but it’s not in me. I literally talk to myself out loud, telling myself why I’m taking it before swallowing a shot and chasing it with orange juice or something to mask the awful flavor. (With Tommy standing by saying, “You should probably do another one…” WHAT?!) I drilled through the rest of our local honey and part of a container of raw honey, mixing it with cinnamon. You’re welcome bees, I just kept you in business another year. We juiced, I smelled like a walking poster for Eucalyptus oil and Vicks, and the Sinus Rinse people made money off of me again. I did so much lymphatic drainage massage on my neck/head that my fingers were worn out. It went away after a few days, I could taste again (hallelujah), and if I were really honest with myself, then I’d happily acknowledge that it lasted a shorter time and was less severe than sinus infections that I used to treat with medication….But I’m not being honest with myself (probably because I can still taste that ACV), so I would love to find the person who passed that nastiness off to us, no doubt while I was out Christmas shopping.  So with the exception of the sickies, our Christmas was wonderful. ;)

I will say the day after Christmas takes on a whole new meaning after becoming a parent…. You know, finding homes for all the new toys that have arrived in your house. Back in November, we went through her toys, clearing out things and packing away toys she no longer uses for Abram. Still, it was a bit of a task. And the cardboard… I took 3 huge boxes filled with cardboard to recycling two days later. It’s well worth it to watch her discover a new toy in the basket or the spend hours in her little kitchen. And now when I’m picking up toys, at least there are new ones to look at ;)

We really had a fantastic holiday season and like most people, the ending of the year has made me think on all that has passed. This year brought us a lot of things. A lot of good and a lot bad. It has been, easily, one of the hardest years of my life. I’ve shared publicly a lot of the hurts, but many of them I have not. So, I can’t say I’m sad to close the door on 2012. I won’t pretend that I’m not eager to look into a fresh beginning. I know tomorrow is really just another day, another square on a calendar dictated by human constraints of time. But I’m letting it be a day where hope and ancitipation begin anew.

At the very beginning of this year, Abi Kate wasn’t even a year old yet. Incredible what 12 months will do to a child. This year brought us her first steps. It brought the arrival of her rather intense personality. It welcomed with it her desire to talk about everything and sing endlessly. She plays purposefully now with her friends and asks for them by name when we aren’t with them. She weaned herself this year, nursing for the last time at 21 months. She couldn’t use food utensils at the beginning of the year, and now she uses them effortlessly (and often inappropriately if we’re being honest…. Yogurt isn’t paint, sister.) She uses the potty now during waking hours about 85% of the time (though she could definitely use a heart to heart about why pooping in the potty is equally as cool as peeing in the potty….yowza). It’s hard to imagine all of that happened in just 12 months… Seriously, think back to where your kid was on January 1, 2012 versus where they are now. It’ll blow your mind.

This year brought us the knowledge and excitement of pregnancy. It brought us the devastation of losing that baby. It brought us renewed hope of new life once again a few months later. It brought us the news that our household will no longer be outnumbered by the girls. It brought health challenges and scares for family members. It welcomed new friends into the fold of our lives. It fostered friendships that were already present into deeper, more meaningful relationships. It brought big changes in our lives spiritually. It grew us in character as individuals and as a couple. It connected us even more tightly to each other.With ups and downs, the Lord has brought purpose and established a greater sense of gratefulness. So there’s been a lot of good, and a lot of good that has come from the not-so-good.

Tommy and I are both goal-oriented people, so we regularly talk about things we hope to achieve or want to work towards. The New Year doesn’t really change that. But we are both anticipating this new year--looking forward to seeing our baby girl turn two, walking through the remainder of this pregnancy together so we can meet our son, who is quickly becoming the topic of many conversations in our home. We’re anticipating the many changes that will occur as we learn to parent two children instead of one, of watching our little girl take on the role of big sister. I’m anticipating this next year to be a season of continued vulnerability in my life, where Christ makes beautiful the ugly parts of my heart and continues to bring restoration to the broken parts. And I am hopeful, so hopeful, for these things because of Christ’s willingness to become Emmanuel…

Ann Voskamp, poetic as ever, wrote this a few days ago. It captured the essence of how I feel about this next year, so I will let her words speak for me…

“God comes to the edges. He intimately knows the muck of my lives, the stench I try to mask. And this is the thing: He chooses my dirty places, the places that shame me, as His point of entry. The lights celebrating the birth of the Christ Child — God with us — they’re still flickering as we look into the New Year — a new us…. I feel this happy relief: The New Year only has hope because Christmas happened out in a dung heap.”

Happy New Year friends. I hope yours is filled with overwhelming goodness.

12.12.12

Today is a hard day. Not because of anything that happened but because of what didn’t. Today, I should’ve felt the pain of contractions wrap around my body. I should’ve been on my knees surrendering to their power. Or I should’ve been in the hazy, restless days of early postpartum. Overwhelmed by my new responsibilities, nursing a babe into the earliest hours of the morning. Or I should’ve been still waiting, no doubt impatiently, for those undeniable signs that a baby was on the way. Feeling that baby inside, nothing but knees and elbows at this point, praying that God would bring her soon.

None of that happened today. Today, I played “making coffee” with my toddler. I danced with her as  she successfully ran to the potty. I made lunch and did laundry. The makings of a normal day. Except my heart has felt far from normal.

Even outside of myself, today holds significance for other people. 12. 12. 12. The last day of repetition in this century. 12:12 pm on 12. 12. 12.  But for me, today is the due date that would have been.

It’s funny the way things change in us, in our lives and in our hearts. I remember embarking upon our new life together, planning our wedding and our future simultaneously. I remember how we had things laid out so perfectly, where we would live and where we would work. When our babies would come and how life would look. Everything was idyllic. So perfect it almost sparkled with possibility. And in honesty, much of that has come to pass. Some of it hasn’t. No one factors in the sadness or the unexpected into their future. Yet, that has unfolded in our lives too, in spite of all our “perfect” plans.

I’ve thought a lot about that tiny little body I held in the palm of my hand for only a few minutes. I thought of who she would’ve been, what she would’ve looked like, how her presence in our home would’ve molded our family into a new unit. What’s interesting is that she didn’t need to be here long to change us in deep and permanent ways. I’ve often heard a statement something to the effect of, “But if I’d had that baby, I couldn’t have the one that I do now. So I know that loss was for the best.” You won’t hear me say that. I’ve stopped trying to explain away miscarriage and loss to myself. Those statements are just earthly reasonings for things we don’t understand, and I’ve come to a place of peace with simply not knowing why.  And while yes, it is true, that logistically I could not carry her and Abram simultaneously, it does not undo the connection that my heart will always feel to her life. Always. She is not the sacrifice that allowed us Abram. She is the life that lives in only our hearts for now.

I feel differently about things than I did 6 months ago. My heart has changed towards those experiencing pain I haven’t.  I’ve learned to live more purposefully inside my redemption, not hiding the parts of my faith that are weak, being open about my struggles, and recognizing that the only times I’ve responded appropriately is purely and fully the power of the Holy Spirit inside me, never because my faith is strong or because I “chose” to respond in a righteous way. I’ve more fully understood the origins of my own redemption, which has allowed my heart to embrace mercy for others as it should. I’ve come to understand more deeply the role of the sovereignty of God in the face of suffering. I have found peace in the fact that no one stole her from us. No one snatched her from me while I was not looking. I do believe that death results because of the brokenness of humanity and that death was not a part of God’s original plan, but I also believe that God knew the number of her days and ordained those moments for His glory, even the suffering that we have experienced as a result. He is capable of using all things for His glory. Though I continue to struggle and wrestle with it regularly, I’m coming to terms with the purpose of my life being used solely for His glory, even when that means hard things in this life.

More than anything, I have arrived at a place where I have hungered for Christ to return and make things whole in a way that I never have before. As I’ve tasted the death and brokenness of this world, I have longed for completion in a fresh way. Where the sting of death doesn’t exist, where relationships are fostered in deep harmony. My heart has yearned for the halves to be made whole, for the fissures of separation to be covered so fully it’s as if they were never fractured. In its simplest form, my heart has said, “Come, Lord Jesus. Please come. Bring heaven to earth.”

So, today didn’t go as I planned, but there is rest in the knowledge that it went exactly as He planned. I messaged a friend at the beginning of the week asking her to please pray for me. As this day has approached, I have struggled hard especially the last two weeks with heavy emotion and a heavy heart. Having lived this herself, I felt she would understand me fully. And she did. More importantly, she reminded me of our future-- that yes, the last time I held her she laid still in my hand; but the next time I hold her, she will burst forth with life. This life is not the end. How fitting that today, my Christmas devotional would be about the purpose of Christ’s arrival. Piper wrote, “So we are free from the fear of death. God has justified us. Satan cannot overturn that decree. And God means for our ultimate safety to have an immediate effect on our lives. He means for the happy ending to take away the slavery and fear of the now.” While I am reminded today of her absence, I am also reminded of her presence-- that the verse we chose for her Psalm 27:4, is fully manifested in her life. And that one day, it will unfold in my life as well.

I woke at 4:30 this morning and immediately remembered what today meant for us. I laid in bed, overcome by sadness and hard memories that I don’t like to relive. Somehow, my little girl woke up at 4:30 too, something she never does, and I heard her singing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” to herself in her crib through the monitor for 20 minutes before she simply drifted back asleep. Simultaneously, my little boy who is always still inside me in the morning, started kicking and moving around as I laid perfectly still and listened to his sister sing, reminding me of his presence and his health. Their very presence filled me and reminded me … God sees and hears the hearts of His children, even when they hurt at 4:30 in the morning. And He not only sees and hears, He responds--in the most tender ways, bringing the comfort we don’t realize we need that is nothing short of divine.   “As for God, His way is perfect…” Psalm 18:30