THE BIRTH OF NOBLE ALEXANDER • PART I

 

21 week ultrasound pictures that I never got a chance to share

Dear Noble,
You're two weeks + two days old as I begin to write this and unlike the way most people feel about time and babies, I question how it has only been two weeks. How have you not been here with us the entire time? How have I lived my entire life without knowing you until now?

The last few weeks of my pregnancy were. . . frenetic (much like your birth would be). I feel like I never stopped moving. We moved into our apartment and immediately our days became a blur of errands, lists, unpacking, and cleaning. My mind wouldn't let my body accept defeat. I was determined to organize and scrub and shop and fluff until this place felt like home. When I was pregnant with Ev, I don't really recall going through a nesting phase. This time around, it was like an automatic bodily function. I couldn't help myself. Papa would come home, take one look at my ankles and force me to sit. Even then, he would leave the room and come back only to find me up again. Sometimes I would just be wandering and surveying what still needed to be done because my level of exhaustion made anything else impossible, but I needed to feel productive. During this time, I was willing you to stay in. I had no list of specific things that needed done before I could feel ready to go into labor. I just knew I wasn't ready. We all weren't ready. I also knew without a doubt that I did not want to go into labor at night. This was such a permeating thought that if I woke for any reason in the night, I would instantly feel a sense of panic. My eyes would shoot open at some arbitrary hour and my heart would race. I would lay in the dark hoping not to feel a contraction, but waiting for one. Funnily enough, the theme of this pregnancy prevailed with labor too - acceptance + letting go of control.

our last outing as a family of three

Fast forward to the Monday before your birth. Papa was off work, so we had plans to spend the last day of his long weekend (and what we knew might possibly be our last outing as a family of three) at the zoo. That morning, I began having light contractions that continued for a few hours. They were fairly sporadic, which would usually make one doubt whether it was the real deal, but so were my early contractions with Evie. Once again, I didn't know whether I was in labor. (Looking back, I think some progress was made and I walked around at that point for a few days.) Though I hadn't had a chance to anticipate or feel 'ready' for labor, I started to feel some excitement creep in with each contraction. I sat up in bed for an hour or so, timing contractions with a book in hand, but getting no reading done. My mind would drift from thoughts of meeting you to my list of things we needed done before your arrival and back to the book, where I would reread paragraph after paragraph countless times over. Finally I gave up and laid the book down, content to sit with my thoughts. Though a part of me wanted this to be it (I had almost convinced myself it was.), I was a bit disappointed at the thought of not getting to enjoy this last outing we had planned. I hated to sit at home all day waiting for labor to show up if this wasn't it, but I knew second babies were usually more unpredictable and had a feeling labor would go quickly this time around.

I decided to take a chance and told Papa I wanted to go anyway. He reminded me of my plans to go grocery shopping just hours before Ev was born, but obliged. I'd been given strict instructions to call the birth center at the slightest sign of labor, but I'm a stubborn woman and like to push my luck apparently. I promised I would call if the contractions didn't stop once I started walking around. Alas, the contractions did slow to a halt and we enjoyed a short walk around the zoo and a picnic in the grass. Ev has an infatuation with picnics these days and gets giddy at the mention of them or even at the appearance of a granola bar at the playground.

Going into this birth, I anticipated it being faster than my first and I assumed faster meant it would be easier. I had done this before. I had an easy birth last time. I (thought I) knew what to expect. Looking back, I realize how incredibly naive of me that was - all babies are different, so all births are probably different too. Though I was confident in my ability to have a natural birth again, I still had fears. The first thing I did after settling in at the birth center was share them with my midwife. The majority of my care had been elsewhere until just a week before you were born; whereas, I had time to build a connection with all the women that were a part of my care with Ev. Luckily, it still felt like a familiar place even after three years, and the midwife that attended your birth also assisted at Ev's. 'I'm afraid of tearing and losing too much blood again,' I blurted out between contractions. Melanie assured me she would coach me through delivery to minimize tearing and give me a shot of Pitocin afterwards as a precaution.

This is a very personal admittance, but one that I think needs to be included for the sake of the story. With each of my pregnancies, it's always been important to me that as the end draws nearer, I feel connected with your Papa and this time around, Evie too. That connection is a vital thing that I pull from during my labor. Thursday night, Papa and I laid in bed for quite some time, having a meandering talk about everything and nothing. It was the kind of conversation that had gotten harder to come by with an excited totter around and the exhaustion of pregnancy. Afterwards, we made love and fell into a peaceful sleep.

Throughout the night, I was awoken several times by a contraction here or there, but none of them were strong enough to completely pull me out of sleep. Then one approached and my eyes slipped open. I braced myself for what I had a feeling was the one, the confirmation that I needed to know I was in labor. The contraction climbed far beyond a peak I was ready for as I felt my face become flush and threw the sheets off. I jumped out of bed and took a trip to the bathroom to assess things. There was nothing out of the norm, no signs of labor other than the contractions and that my pelvic bones and muscles along the inside of my legs were throbbing, and had been for days. I could barely sit down. I had never experienced that with my past pregnancy. I walked into the kitchen to check the time - one something - and started to time the contractions. It only took two for me to decide the timing didn't matter. These were the real deal and this was active labor. It was time to go.

32 WEEKS + A 36 WEEK LETTER

These were taken at 32 weeks. I'm 36 weeks as I write this and your Papa is packing things away for our journey home in the background. We'll be headed to Albuquerque tomorrow morning. I had planned on taking another picture of you and I today, but we didn't get around to it. I hope we'll have time to take one before you come. 

Dear Baby,
In a way, I feel like this is the beginning of your birth story. Partly because this will probably be the last letter I'm able to write to you before you're here with us and also because I'm convinced your birth and place in this family started carving itself out long before the day you'll arrive. Much like the story of the gospel and really, all of our lives as a whole, the story of your beginning is full of hard things and triumphal moments that somehow come together to make a big, beautiful story. I'm excited to tell it. I'm excited to keep telling the story of our family until you and your siblings can tell it too.

I had a feeling you were with me. A few days before I held a positive pregnancy test, I had looked down while walking home from a quick trip to the corner grocery store and there you were. My shirt draped across my belly a different way. It's hard to describe other than to say that when you've done it once before, you know what is growth and what is bloat. A thought flashed through my mind, 'I'm pregnant.' and then it was gone. I wasn't entirely sure I was pregnant, but I wasn't entirely sure I was ready to know whether I was pregnant either. A few weeks before I had almost worked myself into panic attack at the thought of having another baby, ever. So I waited, and tried not to think about the possibility of you all that hard. I wasn't sure how I would feel. I knew how I would want to feel, full of joy, but just wanting to feel a certain way wouldn't will that reaction into existence. I also knew that no matter what my brain told me I wanted and whether you were planned or not, my heart would be disappointed if the test were negative. Women are funny, fickle people sometimes.

The day your Papa and I found out about you, we were packing our things for a trip to Niagara Falls. We had talked briefly and awkwardly about the absence of my womanly visitor, but had shrugged it off until the night before. I went to bed with a plan to take a pregnancy test when we woke in the morning. My hands shook as I unwrapped the test. I tried to be calm about it. I tried not to care or prefer a certain result. I held the test in my hands and watched the results appear - and I laughed. It was all I could do after the life we'd lived the past year and the changes I knew were coming. Coming out of the bathroom after taking a pregnancy test is awkward. It's like walking out onto a stage to tell a joke you had to come up with in the last ten minutes. You haven't tested it out on anyone. You haven't rehearsed it at all. I had no idea how to tell your Papa and for once in our lives, I wasn't entirely sure what his reaction would be. I don't mean his outward reaction. He is a good enough man not to outwardly express disappointment at the news of a new baby, but I can see the truth in him even when I don't want to. I was afraid to see something there, a flicker of it across his face, but I was also looking and hoping for it as a comfort to myself. I was looking for something to tell me that the touch of despair underneath the joy that I felt was ok.


I didn't have a lot of time to formulate how to tell him. I didn't want it to be awkward. I didn't want it to be solemn. So I made the split decision to take the route of humor and opened the bathroom door. I stood in the doorway of the kitchen and realized I was smiling like an idiot. I had an internal dialogue about whether I should be smiling, 'It's ok to smile, right? This is happy news, but it's also stressful news if I'm honest.' I guess I was afraid to announce it lightheartedly only for him to launch right into the logistics and shock of it all. The morning light was streaming in through our open windows. Brooklyn sounds followed the light in. He was assembling all the food for the road trip - he put the butter knife down and turned to face me when he sensed me in the doorway. I'm terrible at hiding emotions, so I'm sure he knew as soon as he turned around and saw my face. I couldn't just stand there in silence and assume he knew, so I blurted out the quippiest thing I could think of, 'So I guess one more person is coming to Niagara Falls with us.'

24 WEEKS + THOUGHTS ON BECOMING FOUR IN 2015

 

As is customary around this time of year, I've been spending a lot of time reflecting on 2014. It was a whirlwind kind of year, to say the least. We moved four times to four different states and spent over half of the year staying in other people's homes, accepting the generosity and hospitality of others, but never being able to give any in return. It was adventurous and it was unforgettable and it was hard. It was trying. It was draining. It was taxing on our family, finances, and hearts. Brooklyn was completely worth it, but I'm relieved to be on the other side, looking back at all of it and forward to a fresh start. After all of the change we've been through, heels dug in the ground and my hands over my eyes for most of it, I just don't have the energy to join in the new year hullabaloo with a list of goals and such. Realistically, I'll be spending the majority of my energy and thoughts on birthing a baby and falling in love with said baby and helping my people get our life sorted out, and that's ok with me - or at least I'm trying to make that ok with me. Anyone who knows me knows that I don't lay down goals and walk away from them lightly. Before I birth said baby, I'm trying my hardest to enjoy being three. I'm thrilled at the idea of meeting this new life, but I'm equally terrified at the thought of staying at home with two, the possibility of battling depression again, having a challenging time breastfeeding again. It was all so unbelievably hard the first time around and though I'm entering into this new phase of motherhood with more experience and perspective, the fear is there and makes me wonder whether its always a companion for mothers when adding another to their home, whether its their 2nd or 6th?

Along with the fear comes a touch of sadness at it no longer being just the three of us, or just Ev and I the majority of the time. I find myself grasping for the time to cherish her, but facing disappointment instead. The life we're headed back to in March is not the life I want for her, and this is not how I wanted to spend our last months together. The defiance that comes with being almost three has been a regular companion most days and my desire to cherish it all before we're a family of four makes for a horrible match against parenting and discipline. I swing from high to low each day, from overreacting and being overwhelmed to checking out completely and doing nothing out of defeat. I make lists to try to make sense of our lives when there's no sense or solution to be found. I know that no matter how many lists I make, it won't all get done in the two weeks we'll have to prepare, it all can't be afforded, and my experience will probably be nothing like what I'm imagining and hoping for. It will be good; nonetheless, because there's always good to be found in a new life, but I'm afraid it will be filled with more disappointment. I have no idea how I will manage two kids in all the circumstances that await us when we head back to Albuquerque. I have no idea how I will love another kid the way that I love Evie, how I will have enough good in myself to give to each of them.

If there's one thing I've learned through five years of marriage and (almost) two pregnancies, it's that life is uncontrollable. There's nothing like the change of seasons or the arrival of a new year to remind us of impermanence. I used to live under the assumption that it was in our control to bring a baby into the world at just the right time, when it would be the most convenient for us and our plans. Being (unexpectedly) pregnant through the holiday season has been a special time for me. It's given me a unique view through Mary's perspective - through all the wanderers' of the Bible. I'm sure giving birth in a manger wasn't what she had in mind. I wonder if she had thoughts along the lines of, 'Really? Right now? This can't wait until we're home? Or at least until we find a place to stay for the night?' When groups of the Bible were led this way and that, did the mothers long for home? Were they all just desperate for a place to rest and nurse their babies, for a normal life? Sometimes I'm thankful for the sporadic life we've lived, but oftentimes it has felt a lot like laying things down at each place we leave - my plans, dreams of home, financial goals, hopes of security, jobs, memories of my child. It feels a lot like closing the door on all of that and oh, how that begins to hurt after you do it repeatedly and how obvious it becomes that I'm holding tightly to things that I don't want to relinquish control of - things I think are important, but are just specks of dust in our lives.

I imagine there's a special kind of freedom that comes from giving it all up, from unclenching your fists, laying it down, and walking away - the perfectly decorated house or even a home of our own, the baby brought home to a space that is ready for them, the defiant toddler who is battling her own wills and desires, the job you've been hoping for. When all of that is stripped away, I imagine you can really begin to live because you aren't wasting a single second planning and worrying about matters that are uncontrollable. I've learned many lessons in patience and perseverance and letting things go over the last year and that's been a hard road to walk for a perfectionist.

When I was pregnant with Ev, I couldn't imagine us as a family of three. I had no idea how two kids who like to sleep in and go on sporadic adventures were going to figure out life with a baby. While it didn't feel like our normal at all in the beginning, we came to be comfortable together, effortlessly in love. How I long for that learning curve, that awkward fumbling stage, to be shorter than the last. These three years with Ev have changed me beyond recognition and I will always cherish our memories together. She will probably never remember a time without her sibling, but I will. In 2014, I learned that big changes often bring hard times with them, but there is always beauty to be found. While I don't look forward to the difficulty that might await us, I do look forward to the inevitable beauty and joy that will be found in this new season of life. I know that the fumbling feeling of a new person joining us will wear off and will all settle in to our effortless love once again.

So here's to 2015 and letting it all go and falling in love with a brand new person.

DEAR BABY

This was a letter I was never sure I would get the chance to write. Your Papa and I went over it all in our minds, the pros and cons of having an only child, never coming to a conclusion. Once the decision was made for us - we were at peace, accepting. It made all the sense in the world to have another baby, to raise another child. You felt right.

If I'm at all honest, I had thought that if this ever happened by accident I would be in a panic. I thought I would be full of doubts, worry, fear, but what I've really been full of is joy. When I stood and told your Papa, I couldn't help but smile big and he couldn't help but do the same as he learned of you. I didn't even have to tell your sister. She started poking her round toddler belly out and saying, 'Wook! I have a baby in here, Mama!' When I told her that I truly did have you in my belly, her whole face lit up. Papa explained to her, as her feet dangled off the kitchen counter, that you would grow big in there and then you would come out and we would have two babies. She squealed and grit her teeth and clenched her fists together in excitement. Since then, she checks in on you now and then. 'Baby still in der?' she'll say. I'll ask her to lay on my chest in the mornings and she'll say, 'No, I'll squish the baby!'

We weren't expecting to learn of you, so I wasn't sure how far along I was. We went in for an ultrasound, fully knowing what to expect and I was blown away. Even after doing this once, I was in awe that my body could make another baby. We watched as you kicked and rolled and wiggled. We listened to your heartbeat and just as it was with Ev, I wished I could have had longer. They say those ultrasounds are twenty to thirty minutes long, but it always feels like five to me. I always want more time.

Since then, I've held those ultrasound pictures a million times trying to see something else that might not have been there before, trying to know you just a little more than is possible. We're all talking about you a lot unintentionally - a lot of conversations start with 'when the baby gets here.' Ev likes to talk about 'when I a big sistah.' I've been making a list of the things we need before you get here to keep my mind busy. Papa is just hoping we'll have a home by the time you come and that something military-related doesn't come up that will cause him to miss the birth. Though there are things that we'd like to fall into place before you come, we're all ready to meet you. I'll say the same thing to you as I did in a letter I wrote to your sister when I was pregnant with her - we don't have a lot. In fact, we barely have anything these days, but we're rich in the important things. We're rich in love.

I lifted up my shirt to show Ev my belly a few days ago and she exclaimed, 'It's getting biggah! Maybe the baby will come out soon?' Where I once had so many doubts, they're all overshadowed by the joy that you've already brought to our family. I won't lie, I'm a little intimidated at the thought of having two kids to care for everyday, but from already having one I know that the joy always makes it worth it. You are just a huge mystery to us so far. We're all baffled as to whether you're a boy or girl and go back and forth between saying 'he' and 'she.' A large part of me couldn't imagine having a boy, but the other part of me would love that experience. Either way, you will be loved. You are already so very loved.

ANOTHER SPRING HIKE

04.21.2013

As a family, we have some of our best days outside. While walks around the neighborhood bring a sense of peace to our house, the absence of homes and cars and other people on a hike is rejuvenating. It helps us all come together, refocus, and breath without any distractions. So today we drove towards the foothills, picked a road and just took it wherever it led us. It's a funny thing, but we always drive Papa's truck when we go on local adventures. I always get nostalgic about riding in the middle of the bench seat, his hand on my leg when it's not on the gear shift, just like high school. While it isn't the safest place for you, there isn't a backseat, so you sit up front and you love being able to see us. You dance and smile and play peek-a-boo.

We walked down a trail a little ways, spotted what we called a mountain but was really just a hill and said, "Hey, let's climb that." So we did and when we reached the top, I took you out of the carrier and watched you wave at the whole city (and tried not to be too nervous about you being up so high). Shortly after we reached the top, another couple climbed up and offered to take a picture for us. Any time this happens, it means a lot to me because I'm always the one behind the lens and rarely get to be in the picture. We've had plenty of people meet our ability to bring you along for things like this with surprise or even disdain, but it's second nature for us. I can remember being 30 weeks pregnant, climbing to the back of a cave on my hands and knees with your Papa behind me calling out, "Are you sure you're okay? We can turn around." It's basically been the same since. You're always happy to come along and we're happy to take you exploring.

THE BIRTH OF EVANGELINE IDELLA

Two months old.

02.28.2012 • 2:57 P.M.

Wednesday, April 4th, 8:45 P.M.

You're now two months, 1 week, 1 hour, 5 minutes old, and fast asleep. I've been sitting and thinking of the glorious event that brought you into this world for an hour now. I'll write a sentence, erase it, pause to scribble down thoughts, decide to scratch everything and start all over, and steal a glance at you in between. I watch you as you smile, hoping you're having sweet dreams. I hear you sigh and coo and grumble. There are no words to describe your birth or to explain how it has impacted me. I really haven't felt ready to give an account of it until tonight.

During the last few weeks of my pregnancy, I tried not to think too much about your upcoming and inevitable birth. Not because I was afraid of labor, but because my heart was swarming with so many complex emotions. I wasn't sure if I was ready to end this stage of our relationship and begin a new one. I loved sharing my body with you, so much so that I mourned the loss of that person inside of me after you were born. It was hard for me to connect the dots, to fathom that you, this beautiful little person, was what had been living inside of me for nine months. After two months, I still find myself placing my hand on my belly as I brush my teeth at night, thinking that a loud noise like the blender is scaring you and waiting to feel you jump, or feeling a split second of worry when you kick your little feet off my belly. As much as I loved being pregnant, I was still so ready to see you, to hear your cry, to feel your little hands wrap themselves around my finger, to meet the little girl I had already fallen for.

I'll start this story on the morning of February 1st. It was a Wednesday. I'm not sure how long I drifted in and out of sleep, oblivious to my body beginning the process of bringing you into the world. I remember arriving at that place between sleep and wake, recognizing slight cramps, but not feeling them enough for it to register as labor and wake me up. At last I allowed my eyes to open and my mind to process what had been happening. I rolled over and looked at the clock - 8:03 A.M. I lay there for a few minutes until I felt another. They were similar to the Braxton Hicks contractions I had been having for weeks, but a bit more uncomfortable. There was no definite beginning or end or pattern to them, so I brushed it off as nothing, possibly false labor. About the time I had arrived at the conclusion that I surely wasn't in labor, your Papa rolled over, cracked his eyelids open, and gave me a sleepy smile. I smiled in return and said, "I think I might be having contractions." It took a moment for it to register, but when it did, his face lit up. We lay there as he asked question after question, both of us trying to decide whether we thought this was it. In the end, we decided to get up and go about our day as usual, but get all of our things ready to go just in case.

I had intended on packing our bags weeks before, but put it off, telling myself I had plenty of time. After breakfast, we started slowly gathering the things we would need. I remember telling your Papa to leave things like the toothbrush out and we could gather all of that stuff when we were sure I was in labor. In my mind, I was convinced we wouldn't be doing that for a few more days, but he gave me an unsure look and packed those things when I wasn't looking, hoping that today was the day he would be meeting his daughter. I wouldn't allow myself to get excited for fear of disappointment, but I could tell he was bursting at the seams. I don't remember when we started timing them, but eventually we came to the conclusion that they were about 10 minutes apart, but weren't getting any stronger. I called Melanie, one of the midwives, around noon to give her a heads up. She didn't seem to think it was labor, but said it could be a possibility and to call her if they continued or became closer together. (Later she told me that out of all of their patients, I was the last one they expected to get a call from.) After that, I was almost convinced that this wasn't the real thing, so I told your Papa I was going to go grocery shopping once he left for work, just in case you came sometime in the next few days. He gave me a worried look and told me he wasn't okay with me going alone. I thought it was no big deal and said I would call him if something happened, but he still gave me an exasperated look and said, "I wish you wouldn't."

Your Papa decided to call his supervisor to see whether he thought he should go into work. His wife had just had a baby, so he asked her what we should do. Her reply was, "If she's in labor, she'll know it!" I guess that statement doesn't ring true for everyone. In the end, he told Papa to stay home. When you're an adult, I'll share what happened next, but for now, let's just say your Papa and I got my labor moving. My contractions were 10 minutes apart and at 2:00 P.M. they started coming 5 minutes apart. We still hadn't finished packing the bag, so we ran around the house and gathered all the last minute things. By 3:00 P.M. they were 2-3 minutes apart and getting stronger, so I called the midwives' on call phone again. We were told to make our way to the birthing center, but for some reason, it still hadn't registered that we were going to be meeting you in just a few hours. I thought she just wanted me to come in so that she could check and see if I was dilated. I got off the phone and told your Papa to load up the car 'just in case.' As he was putting our things into the Jeep our neighbor came out and asked him if we were going camping. He laughed and said, "No, I think we might be having a baby." We pulled out of the driveway around 3:45 P.M., oblivious to the fact that we would be returning as a family of three.

36 weeks

How did this happen?

How have you already been growing in my belly for 36 weeks? 9 months. 252 days.

You are our beginning, you know.

Since your Papa and I were young, maybe even too young to be worrying about families and babies and such, we've dreamt of you often. We've talked about the life we would create together, the memories we would make together, what we wanted our future family to look like, how many kids we might want, where we would like to raise you - and sometime in the next four to six weeks, all of that talk will form itself into the beginning of our family that we've waited so long for. You have always been a part of our relationship. You have always been a part of what the richest love possible meant to us. He and I have always been a family, even before our wedding day, but in the mere seconds surrounding your birth, this new chapter of our lives as family of three will have begun.

As I finish writing this, I'm actually 37 weeks along, which means I've gotten the green light. You can come into this world at any time now and you'd be considered full term. I sit here, trying to wrap my head around the possibility of meeting you this week or even in a mere three weeks, and will myself to find peace. We've already grown leaps and bounds together, you and I, so why not spend just a little while longer together?  We have both been a part of a miracle and in the process, have created a bond that no one will ever be able to take away. I know there is a plan and an exact moment that you are destined to enter this world, so I wait.

What a magical day that is going to be.

I've never experienced this feeling before and I'm quite certain the only other time I might is when I arrive at this familiar place again in a few years, as I'm getting ready to bring your brother(s) or sister(s) into this world. I know that the most beautiful, magical thing is going to happen without any definite answer as to when. Yes, we have a guess as to when you might be ready to meet us, but it isn't completely accurate - any given morning that I wake up may be that day. Every morning I pry my eyes open, stretch my swollen hands, and I think to myself, "I could meet my daughter today." I spend large amounts of time trying to imagine your face. I can't wait to see what you look like. The only thing that I can compare this sensation to is as a child, falling asleep hoping it would snow, then waking to see a bare ground and having to go to school.

You are our snow day - our break and joy in the monotony of life that we've been waiting for. Thank you for being our dream come true.

All the Love in the Universe,
Mama

HELLO, MY NAME IS. . .

Dear Evangeline,
This is the first letter that I've addressed to you, by name. Before now, it has always been a heartfelt, but impersonal, "Dear Baby,". We've known for quite awhile what your name would be, almost from the moment we found out you were a little girl actually, but I've been in no hurry to announce it. I don't know how to explain why, other than to say it's been out of selfishness. I don't want to share you. Besides the sonogram pictures and movements I feel each day, your name is the most tangible thing that we have of your existence. When other people, who haven't felt your presence in their bodies or yearned for you, call you 'Evie' or 'Evangeline,' I cringe inside and grit my teeth a little. I realize this is your name, what people will call you your entire life. It will be said a million times a day in our house, I'm sure, and at that point it will no longer be as significant as it is now, but when I hear it on someone else's lips right now, it feels like they're stealing the magic of your existence away, like they're making you less than you are, someone ordinary, and in my eyes you are anything but.

The weeks have been flying by! So fast that I hadn't realized that the last picture we took of my growing belly was at 18 weeks. This Friday, I will be 30 weeks along. This has your Papa feeling anxious and excited, but my feelings are bittersweet. I'm sure this is only the beginning of the bittersweet feelings of parenthood. In 10 weeks or less, I'll be staring at a bright eyed newborn wondering where my pregnancy went, and in a short time I'll be staring at a little girl wondering where my baby went. So I'm trying to relish this homestretch of pregnancy. I did not expect to like being pregnant. I expected to hate it, because every woman I've known has hated it, or at least they never loved it, but I really love it. I love trying to distinguish what little hard part is pushing against me - is that a foot? a knee? a tiny baby butt? I've loved feeling every roll and move you've made since the very beginning. It feels like a secret language that we have - a mother and daughter morse code. I love feeling the steady thumps when you get the hiccups. Your Papa didn't believe me when I told him that's what those were until I let him read about it on one of those baby websites. In a way, I find it pretty surreal myself - getting the hiccups is such a human thing to do, you know? I love watching my belly become rounder and rounder. Despite stepping onto the scale and seeing numbers that I never thought would correlate to my weight in my entire life, I love the way my body looks with a child inside of it. I'll miss those quiet minutes spent in front of the mirror after undressing at night, running my hands over the ever tightening skin and flat belly button, admiring the marvelous feat my body has managed in creating and sustaining you.

I expected to find myself miserable and ready for it to be over already by this point, but I'm actually a little sad to see this journey coming to an end. Even as I grow increasingly uncomfortable from your little feet kicking me in the ribs, I can't help but dread that the days of having you all to myself are coming to an end. Right now you're safe and warm, comforted by my familiar noises, and I can nurture and protect you in a way that I'll never be able to once you're born. I'm torn between these feelings, and the desire to memorize the curve of your cheeks, the smell of your skin, the sound of your cry. I want to see you sleep on your Papa's chest and bring joy to his life that he's never known, but these last few weeks are precious to me. We're existing in the same breath, living from the same blood, and I'm in no hurry to end it.
You reacted to your Papa's voice for the first time a few days ago while we were decorating the Christmas tree, and I almost became a blubbering idiot over it (pregnancy hormones, you know). I hadn't felt you move in awhile and had started to worry. Your Papa got down on his knees and started talking to you. He didn't poke or prod you, just said your name and asked you where you were while rubbing my belly, and you gave him a little show. I read somewhere that you're able to hear voices other than my own inside the womb, so I had assumed that if you heard his voice enough that you would start to recognize it or at least be comforted by it after you're born. It could have just been a coincidence that you happened to feel like having a party in there as soon he started talking, but I don't think so. I like to think that you're already as in love with your Papa as I am.

We made our first trip to Babies 'R' Us this weekend to buy your car seat and play yard that we plan on using as a bassinet. We also ordered your crib and mattress! Afterwards we laughed about the fact that I'm 30 weeks along and besides clothes, these are the first baby items we've purchased. Most people have been in Babies 'R' Us at least 20 times by now. When people ask us if we have everything we need or if your nursery is finished, I feel a little guilty. They really aren't asking, as much as assuming, so it always takes them by surprise and I can see a flash of judgement on some people's faces (like we shouldn't be having a baby if we can't be ready for one by the time I'm 30 weeks along) when we laugh and tell them we still need a lot and no, your room isn't finished and probably won't be by the time you arrive. The truth is, we don't have a lot of money to spend on cute or convenient baby items, but I'm truly okay with that. We're simple people. We don't need a lot to be happy, and the fact that we've been able to conceive you is enough for me. I don't need to dress you up like a baby doll or have a perfect nursery ready when you arrive. Neither one of our extended families are getting involved, and a lot of our parents and close family aren't in the financial position to help as much as some can, so we're doing this mostly on our own. We've had to do a lot of things on our own since being married, and it's made us a team. Pulling together comes naturally to us, because we are all we have - we need each other. It also makes us really appreciate when someone does step in and help us out.

In the middle of November, our friends here in Albuquerque all got together and threw us a surprise baby shower. Before that they also threw your Papa something called a 'beer and diapers party.' This helped us out more than I think they all realize. You probably would have been sleeping in a laundry basket for the first few weeks if it weren't for them (and your Uncle Jim and Aunt Betty, as we like to call them). We've only known some of these people for 3 or 4 months and their generosity blew me away. There are some really good people in this world, and I hope you're lucky enough to find friends as good as these throughout your life.
We're slowly but surely getting things ready for your arrival. Like I've said before, we may not have the money to buy you everything you'll ever want, but we're wealthy in the things that matter most. We have a beautiful life and can't wait for you to be a part of it.

All the Love in the Universe,
Mama

October

*A tutorial for the Halloween costumes can be found here. This was a pretty simple project, but freezer paper was fairly hard for me to find. If you want to do this, make sure you plan ahead, so that you can order it online if stores in your area don't carry it. ( In other words, don't wait until 2 days before Halloween to run around your entire city in a panic because you've already bought all the supplies, but can't find freezer paper like I did.)

Dear Baby,

When your Papa and I decided we would find out your gender before the birth, I was anxious up until that day, but at the same time, I was nervous. I wondered how I would feel once I knew whether you were my son or daughter. I imagine finding out after I had given birth to you would have been a completely different experience than finding out during an ultrasound. I was worried that I would somehow be disappointed, not with you being a boy or girl, but with our decision, with my impatience. I never thought that I would have any negative feelings - It was just. . . uncharted territory, I guess. It was one of those rights of passage that made me realize just how fast time goes. One day, your Dad and I are broke newlyweds, living for the moment in a one bedroom apartment with art supplies scattered all over the living room and Hamburger Helper on the stove. The next, we've made a human and are in a waiting room, knowing our lives are going to change even more as soon as we see your beating heart and get the news. It was a surreal day, here and gone like a blur. This is the video we made to announce to our family and friends that a little girl will be joining us in February. As it turns out, I don't have any regrets about our decision. I've been able to bond with you in such a different way. I love knowing that those bumps, kicks, and rolls are you, not just my child, my daughter. I have my hands on my belly every few minutes throughout the day, savoring this experience. (Your Papa is a little jealous. He's always jokingly yelling, "Quit playing with my baby!" when he sees me chasing your thumps around my belly with my hands.) I have less than four months to take advantage of this magical time with you, so I'm soaking it up. A lot of nights, I lay in bed with questions dancing in my mind. What kind of personality will you have? Will you be a picky eater? Will you be artistic, like me, or will you have a different talent, something uniquely you? Will you like your Papa's old country music? (It turns out, you do.) Will you love to read like your Papa and I both do? (You do and reading together each day is always a savored moment.) What kind of things will you dream about? Will you love being outside like I did when I was little? (Yes.) As these thoughts take over and flow into each other, there's always an abrupt pause in my running mind when I ask myself, "What do I want for you? What are those memories I want to leave you with, to reminisce over when your childhood is gone? What are the important lessons that I want to be sure you learn?" I'm sure these things will bend and change as time passes, just as you and I will, but right now, these are the best answers I have to these questions. I want you to indulge in and enjoy life. I want to see you conquer the world. I want to watch you explore all you want to explore, learn all that you want to learn, love and be loved. As weird as it sounds, I want to encourage you to devour this world, to have no fear - take hold of your dreams and fight to make them happen. I want you to experience all the shades, tones, and variations of the mental and physical experiences possible in life. This doesn't mean you have to have wild, crazy, jaw-dropping aspirations for yourself for me to be proud of you. This is your life. These are your dreams. Make them as big or small, simple or complicated, close to home or far away as you want. I want to raise you with the same desire I have, to seek and find those people, places, and experiences that will define your own personal joy. I promise we'll always support you in your aspirations and process of self-discovery, whether they're in far away places or in our backyard. The whole wild world is waiting for you. (I can't wait to let you listen to "Wildflowers" by Tom Petty. I can remember your Papa singing it to me as we drove the dirt roads of our hometown in high school, and I can't imagine a song more fitting to what I just finished writing.) At the same time, if you meet someone who makes you stop in your tracks and rethink the path you're on or what you've always wanted, let your guard down. Don't hold onto your dreams too tight and miss out on something more beautiful and fulfilling than any dream you could have - love. Sometimes you just have to let go and let life take you where it wants you. If I hadn't learned that, your Papa and I would be in completely separate places. We wouldn't have had the privilege of building a life together. On the same topic of love, don't be reckless with other people's hearts, and don't put up with people who are reckless with yours. Hold out for someone that treasures you, and if you never find that person, don't pity yourself for it. If you do, accept that they can't and will never be able to complete you. Don't try to change them too much. Be content to simply have a companion through life's conflicts.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. Some of the most interesting people I've known didn't know what they wanted to do with their lives. They were just living in the moment, and that's okay, as long as you're happy.

Enjoy the beauty of your youth as best you can. You probably won't understand the beauty of your youth until it has faded but trust me, in just a few short years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and you won't be able to grasp how much opportunity lay ahead of you or how good you actually looked. You are not as fat as you imagine and all those things you were self conscious about at one time or another in your teenage years will no longer be so obvious. On that same note, don't bother with beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Friends come and go, but for the few you meet who are worth it, work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and the different paths in life. The older you get, the more enjoyable it is to still have people in your life that knew you when you were young.

Don't waste your time on jealousy and envy. Depending on who you compare yourself to, sometimes you're ahead and sometimes you're behind. The race of life is long, and in the end, it's only with yourself.

I've never liked when people would say, "Just be yourself."  It allows you to use the excuse, "That's just who I am." Be who you want to be. If you have to make changes to be a better version of yourself, make them. You're the only one who you'll have to spend your entire life with, so don't sell yourself short. You can make the best or worst of life. I hope you make the best of it. I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you've never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you're proud of. If you ever find that you're not, I hope you're strong and brave enough to start all over again.

All the Love in the Universe,
Mama

A dream come true

On September 23rd, 2011 at 3:15 P.M., I was changed.

After five months of waiting and wondering, I found out whether I would be giving birth to a son or daughter in February.

As we sat down in the waiting room and I began to fill out paperwork, I leaned over to Alex and said, "I think I might throw up." He laughed, kissed me on the cheek, and pointed at the T.V. The Little Mermaid was on, one of his favorite Disney movies when he was a kid. He started to quote the movie and sing along with the music, as I giggled and shushed him.

I thought my name would never be called. We waited and waited, trying to ignore the anxiousness in the air.

Finally, they called me back. I walked into the room and climbed onto the table to the sounds of the paper liner crunching beneath me, which somehow added to my nervousness.

The ultrasound technician asked us if we'd like to know the gender. I looked at Alex to make sure he hadn't changed his mind, and said, "yes?" He answered with a smile and a nod. We had talked about waiting until the birth, but as the date that we would have the chance to know drew nearer, we became anxious and didn't want to wait any longer.

I felt a squirt of warm gel on my stomach, the pressure of the wand, and then there it was, on the screen -
our miracle, our child, our little girl.

The technician said he was going to get straight down to business and give us the gender first, which I was thankful for. As he moved the wand across my belly and manipulated it so that he could get an accurate view, I heard him say, "This one really wanted you to know what it was, and it looks like a girl." Tears came to my eyes as I looked at Alex and saw the most beautiful smile of his I've ever seen. I couldn't stop giggling, but didn't want to miss a second of being able to see our little girl, so we put our eyes back on the screen and exchanged hand squeezes while we watched her yawn and stretch.

As I laid there watching our little miracle move inside of me, I tried to think of a happier memory. We've had a lot of them in our short years together, but nothing like this.
This is what novels are written about.
This is the kind of love that changes people for a lifetime.
This is what it feels like when dreams come true.

My greatest wish was granted that day - I get to have a daughter.
I get to raise a little girl who I'll love as much as my mother loved me.
I get to brush and braid and put her hair in pig tails.
I get to teach her that intellect is more important than looks - that the things that come out of your mouth make you attractive, not make up or earrings or hair styles.
I get to help her pick out Christmas dresses, Easter dresses, prom dresses, and wedding dresses.
I get to share shoes and purses and stories and lessons.
I get to foster her imagination and curiosity, watch her fall in love, and hold her through the good stuff and tough stuff.
I will never be the same.
This little girl has changed me. She has captured my heart.
I can't wait until you're here, and tangible, and in my arms, and I know your Papa can't either.

18 weeks

(This is the color of your newly painting nursery walls. We decided to go with a light robin's egg blue, 

whether you're a boy or girl.)

I felt you move for the first time two weeks ago (at exactly 16 weeks). As I lay in bed, looking through the window at the early morning light and sky full of clouds, I felt a distinct 'thump, thump, thump' inside the lower, right side of my belly. I held my breath, and stopped, waiting for it to happen again, but I didn't feel anything. I texted Papa to tell him that I thought I had felt you move. You gave me a few thumps just a few days later, then I was sure that what I had felt was indeed your tiny little legs kick, kick, kicking away inside of me. Since then you've been having dance parties and rearranging furniture in there at all hours of the night and day. A week ago, last Friday (at exactly 17 weeks), Papa got to feel your kicks from the outside. Since then you've gotten stronger and we can even see you move from the outside if I'm laying just right. Sometimes you surprise Papa with how strong you are. You start showing off for him and he jumps, opens his mouth wide with surprise, and says, "What's it doing in there?!" It makes me giggle every time. I love watching him get all excited. You've also started moving a lot when you hear music you like. I had the radio on some crazy rock station in the car the other day, not even paying attention to what was playing, and I swear you started dancing in there. I probably looked like a loon driving down the road, smiling from ear to ear and looking at my belly instead of the road. You must have your Papa's taste in music because I wasn't very fond of the song, but I turned it up for you anyways, just like I do for him.

It's such a strange thing to feel, your child moving inside you. The way that it physically feels isn't so strange, but knowing that my child, a living human being, is in there just doing it's own thing is unfathomable. Sometimes I find myself talking to you, sort of cheering you on, as you kick and wiggle and wonder if you can feel how proud I am of you and how happy it makes me to have assurance that you're still okay in there. I've never understood why people get so excited about a baby doing something as simple as lifting it's head up. I was always like, "How can you be proud of the kid for doing what humans are supposed to do? It isn't anything millions of other babies haven't done." For some reason, I understand a bit better now. You're my baby, something you're Papa and I created together. That's what makes it different, what makes it a big celebration. I know it's human nature for you to move once you get big and strong enough, but something inside of me wants to believe that it required some kind of inner strength for you to choose to start moving like that. That probably isn't true at all, but I like to believe that you have a strong personality already, that you're going to get out here and conquer the world.

We had our first midwife appointment on Friday. When the midwife tried to check your heart rate with the fetal doppler, you started showing off for her and squirmed and kicked so much she kept having to move it to keep up with you. Your heart rate ended up being 148, which was lower than last time (156), but still good. She seemed confident that I would have a healthy pregnancy and be able to deliver without any complications, so let's hope she's right. I don't want to bring you into this world under bright, sterile lights of a hospital, so I'm hoping I won't have any problems and can deliver you at the birthing center. The atmosphere is more like a home than a hospital, and I'll be able to walk around while in labor, deliver you in water if I want to, and keep you with me to bond and breast feed as long as I want to after the birth without cutting your umbilical cord or doing any testing. We won't have to stay there overnight and you won't have to go to a nursery either. We'll get to leave as soon after the birth as we want to, as long as we're not having any problems. All of this has almost got me excited about going into labor. I know it's going to be a life changing and epic experience. You still have about 22 weeks left to grow before you'll be entering this world, but you're Papa and I are already really looking forward to the day that we'll get to meet you. We just have to wait two more weeks and we'll get to see you and find out whether you're a cowboy or a ballerina. We plan on waiting a week to announce it to everybody else though. It'll be our little secret for just a little while.

You're growing so fast now, and it's just a matter of time before my belly pops out and I start to do the pregnant woman waddle. When you're curled up, you're about as long as my hand (5.5 inches), but if you could stretch your legs out you'd be about 10 inches long! I've noticed that you're usually most active late at night before I fall asleep, and early morning right as I'm waking up or eating breakfast. I've read that you're already developing your sleep pattern, so I hope you don't stick with this one - it will be mighty inconvenient for Mama and Papa. I also read that you've probably already found your favorite position to sleep in. I'm looking forward to learning things like that about you (your favorite ways to sleep and be held, your favorite foods, etc.) and I can't wait to see what your personality is going to be like. I'm sure you're going to be stunning.

All the Love in the Universe,
Mama

WE'RE SO OLD.

We moved into [what feels like] our first house, and celebrated our two year anniversary. We've lived in two different apartments in the past two years, and although we're still renting, this one is the first place that really feels like ours. This picture was taken on our second anniversary and when I was around 15 weeks pregnant. We decided we're going to make it a tradition to take a family picture in front of our home every year on this day. Our anniversary isn't just a celebration of our love, but of the beginning of our family as well. We want all of our children to be included in this day too. It will be really neat to look back on this series of photos in a few years.

We went car shopping, picked out, bargained for, and bought our first vehicle, a Jeep. We're going to be taking a lot of trips to the river, mountains, and caves around here to go hiking, to flea markets and antique stores, and to Arizona to see family around the holidays. I hope the baby likes adventures and the sound of Papa whistling and playing his harmonica on road trips.

We shuffled through thousands of paint samples, settled on colors for each room, and started painting. If we didn't have a baby on the way, we probably wouldn't have decided to paint, but we're both committed to making this house feel like a home, especially for our children. Neither one of us has ever painted before, so this has been interesting. It's no different than any other crazy thing we've tackled together though. We're a team. Here's a sneak peek into our finished kitchen.

(I delivered with Abigail, the woman on the right.)

We took a tour of a local birthing center and decided that this is where I'll be giving birth. They're newly established, and are still bargaining with insurance companies on coverage, so we were under the impression that we would be responsible for somewhere around $2,500. You can't put a price on being satisfied with your birthing experience, so we were just going to make it work somehow. It wasn't really in our budget, but we were going to try and sacrifice and save as much as we could. I was confident that we could do it and had peace about it, but said a simple prayer asking God to take control of the situation and work it out. I wanted to be sure that we were making the right decision. I didn't want to put ourselves into a bad financial situation that we couldn't get ourselves out of before the baby came. I would have forgotten that I had even prayed about it, if it weren't for what happened a few days ago. Our midwife called to give us our exact amount that we would be responsible for, and I was in disbelief when she said nothing. She was even in disbelief. Our insurance company agreed to cover the full amount. We won't even have a deductible. This has been such a relief for us.

Isn't it weird when things you told yourself you would have or do when you were younger really do happen? When we were in high school, Alex and I used to to sit in his truck with the radio playing in random places all over our home town and talk about getting married and having kids. I really married a good man like I promised myself I would. We're really going to start our family in our early twenties like we had talked about. My old baby clothes and stuffed animals are all sitting in the nursery, waiting for our baby to wear them and play with them, just like I had thought about as I held onto them and packed them away year after year, move after move. I really moved out of Cullman. He and I did those things, together. Our parents didn't make these decisions for us. We took control of situations and made these things happen, and that's what the title of this post is all about. We're adults. We're making decisions and living life on our own, just the two of us, soon to be just the three of us, and it amazes me how easy it is in comparison to what every one leads you to believe when you're younger. When I was a day dreaming kid, I worried so much about not being happy as an adult. It's really comforting to have made it into adulthood satisfied with the life I have, and with the path that I feel we're taking. We aren't done growing up and we aren't done making changes in our life, but we have a good foundation that I'm confident will carry us through it all.