Thursday, March 31, 2011


"One day at a time; this is enough. Don't look back and grieve over the past for it is gone; and don't be trouble about the future for it is yet to come. Live in the present and make it so beautiful it will be worth remembering."
-Author Unknown

Thursday, March 24, 2011


I know it sounds cliche, but it really is insane how fast time passes.

Tomorrow I hit the infamous 35/35; thirty-five weeks pregnant with only thirty-five days remaining before my not-so-tiny-anymore human is expected to make his or her debut into this world, and I have no idea how I got here.

Well, I know it had a little something to do with a petri dish and everything to do with God's perfect timing, but I'm talking more about my constant inability to comprehend how blessed I truly am to not only be pregnant with my own biological child, but to be nearing the end of such an amazing journey and about to begin an even greater one.

Goodness, just saying that still gives me the chills.

My second baby shower is this weekend, and I've begun preparation to exit the working world for three months by way of reorganizing, making lists, and cleaning the bathroom. But the entire time I'm dancing around the office of our family business tying up loose ends, I feel like I'm living someone else's life.

My belly button is still in, I can still shave my legs, and daily workouts still feel good. But before the above is precieved as bragging, know that breathing is finally proving difficult when I bend over, I now wake up several times a night and literally roll out of bed to relieve my bladder, and braxton hicks contractions throughout the day are awkwardly helping to ready my insides for the arrival of labor.

And though I'm pretty sure I should have by this point, I still haven't entered nest mode, which is proving to be a problem all of its own.

We still haven't agreed on names.

And as for the nursery, I have yet to make the crib bumper, skirt, touch up holes and choose curtain fabric; but at least our dear friend-the-doppler-renter will be in town this weekend to finish up the wall mural and rumor has it that I may even be getting my custom painted canvas wall art as a gift for my shower this weekend.

So if I could only kick this new found procrastination habit-this odd, backwards nesting sort of behavior-then maybe I'll be able to share my little miracles' nest with the world before he or she arrives.

I hope this isn't a sign of what's to come. Because the old me-the not pregnant me-would have had the nursery completed before anyone even knew I was pregnant; along with names picked out, my hospital bag packed, and my entire duplex re-organized and deep cleaned about three months ago.

I'm not a complete mess though, because a pediatrician has been chosen, maternity photos have been taken, my cloth diaper stash is growing and birth classes are almost complete. And as crazy as it sounds, I'm more excited than ever to experience every second of a natural labor, even after watching numerous graphic videos of ladies from the seventy's screaming and writhing in pain while they labor in strange positions, making strange noises, with strange hair.

I don't care what anyone tells me, as long as the Lord allows me time to do so, I will be showered, shaved, and in full makeup. I will do everything in my power not to make awful moaning noises and I absolutely refuse to have a bowel movement while pushing.

I'm just saying.

So as I sit here, stuck somewhere between wanting to meet my newest love and denying the fact that next month may hold the birthday of my first child, I'm praising God for allowing me this privilege. There is nothing more precious to me than feeling a miracle move in my uterus, struggling to put on my shoes, stressing over the perfect shower apparel, and debating weather or not to purchase an enema against my doctors wishes in preparation for child birth.

I'll never get this time back, because there is no rewind button in life, no way to stop the beautiful madness and chaos that surrounds me at this very moment; so instead I must constantly remind myself to look around and soak it all up before it's over. The anticipation of not knowing the gender of my child, the fear and excitement that accompanies thoughts of being a mother and eternally responsible for shepherding my child's heart, sweet time spent alone with my husband before our relationship changes forever, and the innocents of my last few free weeks as a selfish, self centered individual are nearing an end.

I feel larger and more clumsy than I ever have, but I also feel oddly beautiful as I revel in pride in completing what God made my body to do. I feel overwhelmed, out of control and inconsistent, but for the first time in my life it doesn't really matter because there is life in my uterus. I find sadness in the absence of strangers commenting on and touching my belly that I've waited years to grow, but joy in the lack of stretch marks and discomfort that come with a truly ginormous midsection.

I'm terrified to be a mother, but more ready than ever to have a child.

During a time in my life when so much is uncertain, all I really know for sure is that while infertility is awful, God has blessed me and pregnancy is blissful; and being here is worth every tear, every shot, every penny that it cost, even if it leaves me feeling uncharacteristically bipolar with it's roller coaster of emotions and unanswered questions.

But while I stand in the midst of joy and pain at the closing of this chapter I've waited so very long to be a part of, I know God's already started on the next one, and something tells me it's going to be worth reading.

Maybe even a best seller.

So I'll pray away my fears, and allow God to calm the storm inside as I ask Him to grow me into the mother He would have me to be, even if that involves disorganized chaos, an unfinished nursery and strange moaning noises in the labor room.

Because He's a much better author anyway.

"There is an eagle in me that wants to soar, and there is a hippopotamus in me that wants to wallow in the mud."
-Carl Sandburg

Monday, March 7, 2011


At last weeks appointment, the doctor found that my uterus was measuring small.

He wasn't too concerned, mostly because in extremely petite women and in there opposite counterparts-ones like me that have long upper bodies-uterine measurements can often be deceiving. But they still like to see your uterine measurement in centimeters matching your pregnancy in weeks; and at thirty two weeks pregnant, I was measuring just short of twenty nine centimeters.

Nothing too discerning, but when coupled with the fact that my tiny human felt like it had experienced a major growth spurt in the last two weeks according to my doctors palpitations from the outside, it was enough to recommend a growth scan to determine the cause of my uterus falling behind.

I was thrilled for another opportunity to see my little one, but a little nervous because I was told I wouldn't be getting another ultra sound unless we ran into a problem. And though measuring just a bit behind could simply be due to my body type, the baby's position in my uterus or for no good reason at all, it could also mean a lack of fluid, an unhealthy baby or even a major uterine problem.

So at today's ultrasound, I laid quietly on the table for what felt like eternity while the technician took the measurements she needed, and I studied her poker face to no avail. I wanted so badly to ask her a million questions, but all I could manage to say was that we didn't know the gender and we were keeping it a surprise, to which she quickly nodded and confirmed in her thick accent that she would respect our wishes.

And when she was through, she turned the screen towards my husband and I, and showed us a a pair of feet.

Perfect, fat little feet.

And though she couldn't disclose all of the information until the doctor had examined her measurements, she brought us relief by letting us know that she saw nothing of concern. Just some chubby cheeks and chunky thighs, attached to a four and a half pound bundle of perfection.

My uterus may be measuring behind, my child most certainly is not. And this makes me happy, since I'm pretty sure that I myself came into this world in the form of a bald spider monkey.

And though we told the technician that the gender was to remain a surprise, I'm almost positive she referred to my not-so-tiny human as he on more than one occasion, but I may be wrong. It could have been her heavy accent, or the fact that in some cultures you just refer to the baby as he out of respect since it doesn't sound nearly as grammatically correct when discussing a baby, but still.

Back at twenty four weeks when we were having an ultrasound done to determine the cause of ferning, our doctor referred to the baby a he while operating the sonogram wand. And when I asked him if he just let the gender of our child slip out, he looked confused and told me he was only saying that because I had refered to the baby as a he earlier. Then before I realized what was happening, he dropped down to the area in question on the anchient, fuzzy screen and mumbled quietly to himself that he didn't see anything dangling, so his guess at this point would be a girl.

And then as my heart began to beat out of my chest, I gently reminded him that we were just going to keep it a surprise, so there was really no need to examine the issue further. He immediatly sat back up straight, moved to another section of my child, smiled and congratulated me on a healthy baby and the strength to wait and see what God had in store for us.

So even though I never let myself fully commit to expecting a little princess, I never could shake the feeling that despite everyone saying this child would be a boy due to old wives tales and intuitive feelings, I may very well be housing a little lady.

Because since I was little, I always knew I'd have a girl first, there was never a question. And when we started trying to conceive four very long years ago, girl clothes, hair bows, purple nursery designs and classic, feminine names filled my thoughts and my heart.

But when I found out I was finally pregnant, everything clouded.

Suddenly, the little girl I always knew I'd have wasn't in the forefront of my mind any longer, because I could also see a little boy that looked just like my husband when I closed my eyes. And maybe it was the opinions of so many others that swayed me to change my mind, or the fact that my husband-though he undoubtedly would love either gender-would prefer a son just because that's what men do, but I realized that I would truly be happy with either one.

So when the doctor revealed his guess at a quick glance to be a girl, I was thrilled. I felt a little sorry for my husband and his dreams of raising a football star that would easily result from the mix of my families height and his build, but I was still ecstatic for a sweet baby girl nonetheless.

And today, when the ultrasound tech with her strange, foreign accent referred to my not-so-tiny anymore human as he, I was just as thrilled. Though I felt sorry for my mother, who desperately needs a granddaughter to balance out the four grandsons she already has, I was still excited about the possibility of birthing and raising a little man.

So despite the fact that the technician may have-or may not have-revealed the gender of our child today, I'm thankful that the outcome now reverts back to a surprise. I now have the suspense and anticipation back that I missed so much after hearing that our doctors guess-at-a-glance on an old, beat up ultrasound machine would have been girl, as it is now accompanied by the possibility of a thick accent saying the word he on several occasions.

And winning me over again in redemption of her possible mistake, the ultrasound technician did save the day by pointing out the thick layer of fuzz surrounding my child's head and made it known that our baby certainly would not be bald, in turn excusing her for any surprises she may-or may not have-ruined.

Girl or boy, this healthy, chubby little miracle already has my heart. We are so very close to the day when our questions will be answered, a name will be chosen and my world will change forever, and I find myself wishing it would hurry up and praying time would stand still in the same breath.

I'll finally have a baby of my own in seven and a half weeks-give or take a week or two-and I still can't wrap my head around the miracle of it all. Even the constant, gentle movement of my little one inside of my crammed uterus isn't enough to convince me that this is real, and I am in fact carrying a tiny blessing around with me everywhere I go.

Most of the time I can't wait to meet this little human, but it also breaks my heart to have this pregnancy come to an end. I never thought I could feel so many emotions at once, carry so much love for such a tiny pair of feet, or feel so terrified and sure of myself about an upcoming event at the same time.

I must be going crazy.

Or perhaps I'm just becoming a mother.

"With what price we pay for the glory of motherhood."
-Isadora Duncan

Tuesday, March 1, 2011


I expected it to feel normal by now, but I beginning to think it never will.

I'm a few days short of eight months pregnant, but my mind is still desperately trying to wrap itself around the fact that my uterus is currently occupied. Even the constant nudges and thumps coming from my tiny human deep inside aren't enough to convince me, though they do manage to take my breath away as I look down and watch the unidentified body parts roll under my skin, realizing for the first time-every time-that there is life growing inside of me.

My prayers have been answered, my dreams really have come true.

And as if simply being pregnant after all this time isn't enough of a blessing, my sister and a close friend hosted my very first baby shower this past weekend, and I was filled with such gratitude as I walked in the door and found the fabulous food:

The adorable homemade favors:

The stunning decor:

The generous gifts:

And the amazing ladies that made this surreal day that much more special:

(my mother and mother-in-law)
(my sister-in-law and mother-in-law)
(my soon to be sister-in-law, mother, grandmother and sister)
(The hostesses; my sister and my Jenny)

And believe it or not, despite the immense love I hold for this child and with being pregnant, there is still a small, vain part of me that looks at these pictures and cringes at the awkward belly poses, extra weight, a massive chest, shiny skin, messy hair, ridiculous-gift-opening-faces and surprisingly close encounters with views up my dress, and the fact that my bump was not impressive enough for the audience so I was given a couch pillow to make for more dramatic pictures:

But a much bigger part of me sees pure happiness despite the many flaws.

I still wake up every day and thank the Lord for allowing me to grow this child, in a prayer of gratitude that I hope I'll never loose sight of as long as I live. To me, this child will forever be a true miracle, proof that God is still in the business of answering prayers and that His timing is always perfect; and to be able to experience this shower was literally the icing on top of the cake.

A rich display of love, hard work, and affection from just a small part of an unbelievable group of loved ones who have waited and prayed for this tiny human with us for the past several years; watching as God managed to conform infertility into the biggest blessing of all.

And a constant reminder that God is awesome, faithful, and good.


"A few years' experience will convince us that those things which-at the time they happened-we regarded as our greatest misfortunes have proved our greatest blessings."
-George Mason