On Baby Number Three

The very fact that this is the first baby-related blog post I've written during this pregnancy, and it comes just shy of a mere two weeks from my due date, ought to give ample evidence of one of the key differences between this pregnancy and my previous two.

That being, there has just been so much less time to focus on it! Part of that is intentional...for having done this twice before, I've largely known what to expect when I'm expecting, what my body is doing, what's fascinating/normal/annoying, etc., and the need to document it all has just not existed in the same way as it previously has. I do not take for granted in the slightest, however, the miracle I am taking part in and the gift I am experiencing in carrying this baby. I just now know from a little experience that the "real" fun and memory-making comes once the little one joins our family. Raising the babies that are already here has taken most of my attention over the past many months, and rightly so, I think.

The other part of my lack of documentation is not intentional, I'm afraid, and to a degree, I do regret not having written more and photographed more and journaled more. (I have kept a pregnancy journal again this time, though! There was that one entry!) As it turns out, raising those aforementioned babies that are already here has taken most of my attention...and energy...and time...and energy...(did I mention energy?)...throughout this pregnancy. Truth be told, I am banking somewhat on the possibility that, since this newest member of the family is a boy, perhaps he won't have such strong feelings once he's grown in knowing every detail of his mother's pregnancy journey. In my mind, a little boy won't care as much about those things as his older sisters could. I could be wrong, though, and this may be my first lesson in figuring out how to parent boys as compared to parenting little girls.

In any case, here we are, anxiously awaiting our son's arrival that could happen, really, any time now.... Emerson was three days early; Brennan was born a full week before her anticipated due date. I've heard from more than one friend about how each subsequent child seems to come earlier and earlier; I'm trying to mentally-prepare myself for that possibility. I'm really just hoping to make it to May.... In some ways, his near-arrival has snuck up on me. I've mentioned to a few friends that I think we're going to get to the hospital and wonder how we ended up there! Bringing a baby into the world is always a somewhat surreal experience, I've decided. This time, perhaps even more so!

On being a boy. I'll be honest. My initial reaction to opening the envelope and reading "BOY" on the card was not an especially positive one. Bobby and I opened the envelope at midnight on New Year's Eve, and in hindsight, having such an emotional moment at a time when we were both weary was perhaps not the best idea. Lesson learned. Anyway, I was not immediately overwhelmed with joy. In fact, though I'd said I didn't care either way, I don't think it was until that moment that I realized that I did actually have strong feelings about having another girl. Three sisters. We'd both expected that it would be another girl, given my symptoms and our general "feeling". But, we were wrong. Bobby was happy, though I don't think he even got to savor the moment of learning he was having a son due to concern over the state of my mental health in that moment. I'm not proud of it, but that's what happened.

The next morning was Sunday, and we were still the only ones who knew the gender of the baby. I was struggling to wrap my head around the news, and "grieving" (though I know that's too strong a word) the little girl I thought we would have. But, tears (of the positive emotional variety) came to my eyes as we worshipped and sang songs with such lyrics as "...sovereign over every step...", "...You are perfect in all of Your ways to us...", and "it is well, it is well, with my soul". And, in that moment, it was.

Having a baby boy wasn't what I expected or thought I needed. But, in the days since then, I have grown to not only accept, but quite like the idea of having a little boy in our family. The Lord knows what dynamics our family needs now, and in the years to come, and I'm thankful that He is the One designing our family.

On being "ready". People often ask if I'm "ready" for the baby to be born, and it feels as though it's often implied that "ready" means "get this over with" or be finished with the pregnancy. And, in that sense, no, I'm not. I'm not miserably uncomfortable or desperate, and quite honestly, I find this last-stage of pregnancy to be one of my favorites. If I'm going to be pregnant, I might as well look good and pregnant, and there's something about the final preparations and excitement and suspense (and what I'm considering to be nesting-related adrenaline and energy!) that makes it fun. So, am I in a hurry for him to be here? No. It'll happen when it happens. Although I am certainly excited to meet the little guy! Am I ready mentally and emotionally? I think so. As much as one can be, I'd say. The hospital bag is packed, the laundry is all caught-up, and the house is tidy. Now...we wait!

On my physical condition. There were the weeks and weeks of morning sickness and weariness and general exhaustion...the gory details of which have largely faded from memory. That's probably for the best, anyway, and really just indicative of the temporary nature of such things. "This too shall pass" holds true, and though miserable in the midst of it, it really doesn't last forever. Life goes on. Really, one of the biggest struggles I remember facing during those early weeks of pregnancy this go-around was the mental anxiety of wondering what in the world I'd done, knowing that I was too exhausted to feel like I was taking care of the girls particularly well.... Thoughts of "I'm too tired and lazy to handle two children...what was I thinking imagining that I can handle another baby?!" crept into my mind frequently. I was forgetting in my weariness, of course, that when I'm firing on all cylinders, feeling healthy and NOT in the early stages of pregnancy, I am absolutely up to the challenge. But, that feeling was defeating and difficult...but, it too passed.

The largest physical complaint of this pregnancy, though, is definitely the lower-back/rear end/hip (truly, I can't even place it or figure out exactly what hurts) pain that shows up at the end of each day. It really is brutal, and unlike anything I dealt with previously. I don't know if it's a result of carrying this little guy differently (everyone says that I am), or being that much older (hello, thirty!), or just the result of my body's changes for having done this twice already before. In any case, that has been a challenge. I must create quite the spectacle for Bobby, as he's helplessly watched as I try to get off the couch multiple times each evening, struggling to get upright and slowly shuffling to the bathroom as my back readjusts. It isn't a pretty picture.

I am looking forward to my postpartum workout routine more so than ever, hopeful that this back trouble is another temporary ailment. I enjoy being pregnant...but I think a lot of the "luster" of the experience has left, and I've been less patient with its unpleasantries this time. I'm reminding myself that I also enjoy not being pregnant...having my body do what I want it to do...and being able to keep up with these girls the way that I want to be able to.

On feeling confident. I'm so proud of having given birth to both girls naturally, and that has always been the plan for this birth, too. Still, it isn't particularly something I've looked forward to. I wasn't, and am not, fearful, per se...but I wasn't particularly confident about the event until about two weeks ago. Bobby was out of town for the week, and the big trashcan in the garage needed to be emptied into the dumpster outside. As he was away, the task became mine. Quite literally, strange as it sounds, in that moment of hoisting the big black trash bag up and out and into the dumpster, I thought "I can totally do this". "This", of course, referring to giving birth again. Silly, I know. But, it was a physical effort, one that I didn't especially want to do, but it had to be done...and I was capable. It was enough of a reminder of my ability to do something physically-challenging and unpleasant to give me the confidence that I can do hard things. It made me feel empowered and ready for another natural labor and delivery. I can totally do this.

On sentimentality. Over the past couple of days, I've begun to feel very sentimental about my time with Emerson and Brennan. I remember this happening in the days before Brennan was born, too...just an awareness that the family dynamics we've enjoyed are about to change. That isn't a bad thing, but it is the end of a precious era. I've loved our days as a family of four. Having two daughters is the family structure I know (and love) and it's difficult in a lot of ways to picture anything else. But, just as my concerns over welcoming another little girl into the family after enjoying my time with only Emerson were immediately eased, I know that this little man will fit perfectly into our home, too. Still, I am treasuring these final days at home with my girls...just the three of us. I am so in love with them.

On the big sisters. Oh, the big sisters. They are so excited. So ready. What joy they have brought to this pregnancy, seeing their enthusiasm and readiness grow as the months have gone by! Honestly, it was their initial excitement over having a baby brother that first helped me embrace the idea of having a boy.

Emerson largely knows what to expect in having a baby around, and she's confidently embraced the idea of having a baby brother. Lately, she's verbalizing the thought "I wonder what it will be like to have a baby brother...." Brennan can't relate to the idea in the same way, but in watching two cousins grow in the past year, she's been around small babies enough to imagine it. (Although, she has mentioned more than once that she will be the big sister, and I think she may be under the impression that that means that Emerson no longer will be. That may be a harsh reality to face once she figures that out.) She's woken up many mornings, the first words on her lips being "I have a baby bru-vver!" Her little hands often rest on my tummy, and she's enjoyed talking to him often. Emerson has appreciated feeling his movements in my belly, which is fun to share with her.

Some days it seems as though they're just ready to get the show on the road...enough talking about the baby brother that's supposedly coming! Emerson has shifted to thoughtful curiosity of when this big event will take place, and she's revealing some first-born tendencies that I can relate to, including not liking the surprise element in the timing of it all and wanting to know when and where and what to expect. So much of my thoughts about the new baby involve Brennan's reaction, which is certainly fun to imagine. I know Emerson is a wonderful big sister already.... But, when I stopped to consider Emerson with a baby brother the other day, I was overwhelmed with excitement about that, too. It will be entirely different this time watching her with a new sibling.

I'm excited to share this experience with them; happy for them to be able to enjoy the gift of another sibling. Their love and enjoyment of each other has grown so much over the past months; I'm thankful they have each other and I know that their bond is going to have such a strong impact on what the weeks ahead look like for our family. Not to mention that the confidence that Emerson's leadership and companionship gives Brennan ought to help with my hospital stay and time away from home.... And, I'm counting on their ever-increasing ability to play happily together being a key factor in a healthy transition for all of us! It's going to be a fun summer, and I'm so looking forward to spending it with them. This is one lucky baby boy to have Emerson and Brennan as his big sisters. Also...I hope he's ready for them!

On being a mother of three. I joke about my readiness to handle the busyness and action and demand of three children...but, honestly? I feel pretty capable! I'm a good mom, and I don't pretend to have "it" all figured out, but I also feel like I'm pretty good at "this"! And, I'm glad to have that confidence. Homemaking is, I'm quite sure, my calling, and (as I would hope I would have the opportunity to say about any career I could have chosen)...I'm good at it. So, will I feel overwhelmed at times? Have hard days? Think I'm in over my head? Most definitely. But, I'm ready. And capable. And it's going to be great. Three babies in my nest? What an enormous blessing!

"My Friends"

Emerson ran excitedly to the sandbox at the softball fields. There were a couple of older girls playing there, likely six or seven years old. After introducing herself to them, and asking them to play with her, she looked over at me, giving a confident "thumbs-up". My heart practically burst with pride.

I watched them play. The group grew throughout the evening as they built castles, chased one another, made "sand angels", and dug in the sand. Emerson was happy and carefree and everything a three year old should be.

We talked about her time later that evening. Over and over again, she talked about "my friends".

She could not, I'm quite sure, have told me their names. She knew they were older. She could recount the games they played. It never seemed to dawn on her that she may never see them again, and their relationship would likely never amount to more than the play they shared on that summer evening in June. Nevertheless, they were her "friends".

I admire her for that. Without knowing anything else about those children, the fact that they played together made them her friends. Why shouldn't they be?

I find myself, for whatever reason, more inclined to see other people...other women...as competition (in what?), as a threat (to what?), or as a challenge (for what?) than I am apt to see them as potential friends.

When did that happen? How did that happen? And how in the world do I change that? Because I don't think it's healthy. It's certainly not Christ-like, and it isn't the example I want to set for my girls.

Then again, on that night, Emerson was the example. She showed love, she demonstrated kindness, and she reminded me that the world is full of "my friends"...most of whom I just haven't met yet.

Brennan's Birth Story

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

(7 days until due date)

Months had passed since I had updated my pregnancy journal. I didn't make nearly as many entries during this pregnancy, and I knew that if I didn't make at least one more entry before the baby arrived, I would regret it. There were no signs of impending labor, no reason to believe that I couldn't make journaling happen the next day...and the later it got in the evening, the more I just wanted to crawl into bed. Still, at 39 weeks pregnant, writing an entry seemed like the right thing to do, so I sat on the floor of the living room, pen in hand.

"October is here...we are one week (or less!) away from meeting our daughter....and we are all so very excited. It seems entirely surreal, and so very hard to believe that her arrival is so near, and our time as a family of three so short."

Thursday, October 2, 2014

(6 days until due date)

I woke up at 6:45 a.m. feeling very definite cramping. I got out of bed and walked up and down the hallway.

Are these Braxton Hicks contractions? I don't think I've ever really felt those.... Baby isn't due for another week, and Emerson wasn't this early.... What are we dealing with here? What did this storm front bring about?!

I wasn't miserable, but the pain was growing increasingly uncomfortable...and closer and closer to being five minutes apart. I knew subsequent babies had a tendency to come more quickly, but what did that mean...really? Just how soon did I need to be thinking about going to the hospital? 

I had a doctor's appointment already scheduled for 10:15 a.m. My biggest question throughout the morning was whether or not I could hold out until then to see what was going on, or would I be heading to the hospital instead? Bobby and I exchanged texts as the morning continued, both of us wondering where the day was headed.

I texted my mom at 7:57 a.m. to fill her in on the morning's happenings. The plan had been for Emerson to come with me to my routine doctor's appointment. However, at some point in the morning, as my discomfort and confidence that this could, in fact, be the "real thing" grew, my mom (who had been on her way to babysit my nephew) turned the car around to take care of Emerson here. The contractions had decreased in frequency, but there had been a few that were intense enough that I realized I'd rather leave Emerson at home with Mom.

I drove myself to my doctor's appointment on the rainy fall morning, and as I neared the office, I began to cry. I was in pain. I was nervous, primarily due to continuing uncertainty for how the soon-to-be big sister would handle my absence during the upcoming hospital stay. I was hormonal and emotional, and the tears continued to fall. 

Sam Hunt's "Leave the Night On" was playing on the radio as I pulled into the parking lot. That was my jam, and it gave me a boost.

My contractions eased as my exam began (go figure) and had become less frequent. I was about 2.5 cm dilated...a half centimeter improvement from the previous week, and Dr. W said that "it feels like something has changed", that she thought I was in labor, but of course couldn't confirm before my water broke or things became more serious. 

Then, she broke the news that in order for her to deliver my baby, I had to "either deliver before 5:00 p.m. or wait until Monday" because she had to take a red-eye flight to Vegas for the weekend for some sort of technology demonstration. 

Seriously?

I didn't really care. I was more intrigued by the irony of the situation, given that she missed Emerson's birth, too. Honestly, as normal as the pregnancy had been and my previous delivery was, I didn't feel at all strongly that she be the one to deliver my baby. I'm perfectly happy with her as my doctor! But, I knew that life would go on if I delivered with another obstetrician. I'd done it before! She told me all about the two doctors that would be on-call over the weekend. I decided I'd be comfortable with either one.

"I'll be really surprised if you're still pregnant on Monday."

I drove home in a quiet van, trying to soak up the stillness...very aware that moments of solitude like that were about to become all the more rare.

I touched base with Bobby. I updated Mom, who assured me that she would be "on call" throughout the afternoon, and to let her know if I needed assistance. 

Emerson and I had a restful afternoon. She was precious...loving, understanding...sensitive beyond her two years.

"Mommy's tummy is hurting."

"I'll rub it for you. ... That feel better?"

For all of Emerson's tender moments over the past months, rubbing my belly and talking to her sister, I realized that I didn't have any of it recorded. So, we made a video. 

I bounced on the exercise ball as the afternoon progressed. Emerson napped for a while. I tried to sleep, too, without success. The contractions weren't all that frequent, but they were intense enough that I realized I didn't want to be alone. Around 2:50 p.m., I was ready for Bobby to come home. He did.

I began counting contractions using a contraction timer on the phone at 4:26 p.m. At that point, they were coming about 2:45 minutes apart.

I labored on the couch, changing positions as necessary, moaning with each contraction, trusting my body and the process and the Lord. Bobby and Emerson played in the playroom. She was happily distracted, and Bobby offered to help me, but there was little he could do. His time with Emerson was well-spent. 

The two of them went outside to watch the thunderstorm from the garage. I joined them for a bit, bracing myself against Bobby's truck as contractions were growing in intensity. After a few minutes watching the heavy rain, I realized that I needed to be back on the couch. I was writhing in pain as the contractions came...more frequently, and requiring more focus than before.

My parents offered to bring pizza by for our supper, recognizing that we were otherwise occupied. Bobby ordered the pizza online at 5:27 p.m., though eating was the furthest thing from my mind. Mom and Dad showed up shortly after; I didn't move from the couch. After dropping off the pizza, they left, and I had another big contraction. 

I threw up over the side of the couch, and I knew: it was time to go to the hospital. 

My parents had barely left before I texted them asking them to return. Of all the scenarios I'd imagined regarding the timing for leaving Emerson, this was exactly the situation I hadn't wanted. Leaving in the evening, before bedtime, late-enough that Bobby wasn't going to be able to make it back to help with the nighttime routine. We'd never been away from her at nighttime. She would be scared. I was, too.

But, Mom in her "grandmotherly wisdom" showed up with a treasure box-shaped cardboard box, full of old Happy Meal toys and similar trinkets, and dumped them on the living room floor. Emerson was captivated with the "treasure" and with Grandma & Grandpa, and Bobby and I were able to give hugs & kisses and disappear quietly. Leaving her was every bit as difficult as I'd imagined it would be, but things were growing intense enough that I had other things to think about. 

Around 7:00 p.m., I got in the passenger seat of the van, thankful to be on our way. It was dark, and the drive to the hospital was different than the last time...seeing the city lights and evening traffic instead of the early morning calm. I had several contractions, and noted that I didn't remember driving through them when Emerson was born. 

"Leave the Night On" played on the radio again as the hospital came into view.

We pulled into the hospital, and when I stood up getting out of the van, the contractions intensified again. I was only able to walk a few feet at a time before needing to stop to focus through them. Bobby asked if I needed a wheelchair. Then I insisted that we needed a photo in front of the hospital for posterity.... He thought I was nuts.

The contractions continued as we walked into the hospital. I braced myself on the side of the elevator and on the hallway railing as we arrived on the 'Labor and Delivery' wing. We passed a family in the waiting area who seemed to have been there a while...they all had that impatient "look", and were flying paper airplanes back and forth to pass the time. 

I leaned against the counter in the Triage area while Bobby got the paperwork we needed. No one seemed to be moving as quickly as I thought they should be. 

"There aren't any rooms open right now", one of the nurses said to another coworker. 

You'd better find one, I thought. It was getting more serious, and I was having a hard time focusing on anything other than the task at hand...that being, working through each contraction...leaning against the wall...hips rocking.... Does this not look like a pressing situation to them?

I had to fill out paperwork of some kind. I scribbled something down, and would love to see what my handwriting on those documents looks like.

They found a room, I walked back to the Triage unit, and went directly to the bathroom for a urine sample. I realized then that I could probably stop using my contraction timer phone app; the professionals would probably take over the calculation then. At 7:24 p.m., I entered my last contraction into the app: :45 second duration, 1:38 minutes apart.

In the privacy of the bathroom, I realized that we didn't make it to the hospital at all too soon. I was ready to be taken care of.

I was examined. I was 7 centimeters. I said something to the tune of "I wasn't messing around." The nurse reported the (unsurprising) news that my doctor wasn't on-call, but that she'd check to see if she was around. I informed her that she was on her way to Vegas; she didn't really seem to care.

I was wheeled to a room, and instructed to put on a gown. Ready to be in a bed and getting the show on the road, I decided modesty was of little importance at that point and undressed and dressed myself quickly. A nurse gave me an IV and tried to make conversation. "Have you been here before? You look familiar." I answered her politely enough, I think...but I knew I wasn't as friendly as I would've otherwise been. I was very much in "the zone" and knew I had work to do.

Bobby turned on some Jim Brickman music on the computer, and the Royals first ALDS playoff game versus the Angels on the television. I didn't notice any of it.

"Has she done it naturally before?" I don't think there was time for an epidural at that point, even if I'd wanted one. (I most assuredly did not.) I got the impression that they were trying to see if I knew what I was in for.

Time seemed to pass very quickly. I remembered from my labor with Emerson that being on my hands and knees was both more comfortable (relatively-speaking...and I do emphasize the "relatively") and productive. I assumed that position pretty much straight away, and it did get "things" moving. 

I'll leave it at that. 

A new nurse came into the room, and I introduced myself in a most vulnerable state. She was so kind, sensitive, and compassionate, and it wasn't until after the birth that I even saw what she looked like. (I was picturing her as a much older woman than she actually was.) She was an encouraging presence. Bobby was, too, but I was so focused in those moments...I really don't even remember talking to him....

The nurse asked me about my previous delivery at some point. Yes, I did it naturally. ... No, I didn't push very long. ... It took seven minutes last time, can we beat that? She somewhat doubted it.

An especially-strong contraction came, and with it, a new pressure. I got the nurse's attention. Quickly. She checked me again.

"Nope, I don't feel anything left...."

She rushed to the door, and I heard her yell "I need an O.B. in here, NOW."

I wasn't worried. It wasn't an emergency in the "something is wrong" sense. But, I knew...our baby was coming.

Within moments, the room was abuzz. The warmer was readied (a stark contrast to Emerson's birth, where the warmer sat prepared...and empty...for hours), and nurses all took their places. It was fascinating, really. It was game time, and everyone had a job to do. 

I met Dr. L, a sweet, friendly woman who seemed to know what she was doing.... She broke my water, and I realized that I'd forgotten entirely about that piece of the process. 

I asked Bobby for my glasses. The tv was turned off. The mirror was positioned. 

I remembered from last time that the work was different now. This is where it got good....

A few (three, maybe? four?) pushes and five minutes later, we saw our daughter's head. Dark hair, just like her sister. I got a clear look at her tiny face; she was working hard, too! Entirely surreal.... That's her. This is me. This is happening.

And then, within a matter of moments, I felt the rush of her body leaving mine. Brennan Elizabeth was born at 8:37 p.m., and immediately placed on my chest. We had experienced another miracle, this time every bit as precious as the last. What a gift we were given. Thank you, Lord.

Bobby cut the umbilical cord.

I was quickly stitched, after a minor tear. I barely noticed. Brennan was still in my arms, nursing readily and resting, wide-eyed and peaceful. It was incredible to already know how to be "mom" this time.... She looked like her big sister, with "a beautiful round head because she came down so quick." In the busyness of her birth, the instruction to hold off on eye cream and the vitamin K shot was missed, and I was disappointed by that, but what was done was done.

We called Emerson first. "Brennan Elizabeth is here!" It was precious to hear her voice...happy, but shaky and unsure...it was after her bedtime, and we weren't there. She'd waited up to hear the news. She was in good hands, but hanging up the phone was hard. We sent her a video, showing Brennan nursing and saying 'goodnight' "in person", and she and Grandma sent us a video of her singing "happy birthday" to her new "baby 'tis-ter". It melted my heart, and I was so excited to have our whole family together in the morning.

Bobby called his family to share the news. They were gathered to watch the baseball game, and as the entire process happened so fast (we'd only been at the hospital for just over an hour!), they didn't even know I'd been in labor. 

The surprise of her birth, being that it was a week earlier than expected, made the entire delivery feel that much more surreal. Of course we knew she was coming, but didn't imagine that it would be that day...so when she was in our arms, it was hard to believe, and seemed very much like an out of body experience. There we were! With our daughter! Another beautiful baby girl. Ours. 

Brennan didn't leave my arms until an hour later when Bobby held her for the first time and she was measured and weighed. (7 lbs. 8 oz., 20 3/4 inches.) She was never out of our sight, and having her with us constantly was a precious experience. 

The nurse filled out our admission paperwork. We hadn't had time to do that beforehand given the rush of the delivery. "Consent to treat?" "Oh, okay....  I suppose so." I was now in a much friendlier state of mind and body, and we had pleasant conversation.

The nurse brought me a soda. I felt incredible. Proud of what my body had once again naturally done with the Lord's strength. Enjoying the post-delivery adrenaline rush that is like no other.

I joked with our nurse about the hourly rate for the room and how much we'd saved by being so quick. I held Brennan in my lap as I was wheeled to a recovery room, passing the paper airplane-flying family in the waiting area. I felt proud, and a little guilty, for getting in and getting out with a brand-new baby while they were still waiting. Our nurse congratulated us again and helped us settle into our room.

Brennan was given her bath in our room. In the minutes we held her, we studied every inch of her face, noting lots of similarities between both of our daughters, & growing more in love with each passing moment.

Having missed cafeteria hours (and a pizza dinner at home...), Bobby left the hospital in the rain to bring back Burger King. (Tradition!) A burger and fries and more texts to loved ones later, we were all ready to rest. The three of us settled in to sleep, with anxious anticipation for our daughters to meet each other in the morning. It had been a most wondrous day, welcoming Brennan Elizabeth into our world. All was well. 

I'm Here!

Somehow, it is already September, and the fact that I haven't written a blog post since May makes me sad. Particularly because I know that there have been so many blog-able stories and moments and happenings that I haven't documented the way that I would've liked to. But, life keeps happening, we're busy, and at the end of the day...well...I am freakin' exhausted. I don't usually use the word "freakin'"...at least not in my "formal" writing...but, the tired I've experienced lately with two little ones can only be described in such a way. (And, to be very clear, it is THE BEST sort of tired.... But, I'm tired all the same.) Really, though, at the end of the day when the girls are in bed, I just want to BE STILL, and sometimes the idea of trying to sound eloquent or put together any sort of string of intelligent thought amuses me. Ha! It is so often impossibly hard to switch out of jumbled "mommy mode"...to remember that I have a voice...that I AM CAPABLE of organized thought...and to have the energy to do something with it.

I don't know how some mommies do it, taking care of the children AND blogging thoughtful, focused, meaningful prose during the day. (Maybe their children take long naps? Or, nap at all?)

I do know there are moms who make it happen. I know this because I often find myself reading their beautiful words while I'm sitting in Brennan's bedroom in the wee hours of the night, desperately trying to stay awake while I nurse her back to sleep...again. I applaud them for it, because they have to be bone tired, too. Right? RIGHT?!?!

If I made it more of a priority, I could write more often, I'm sure. And, I SHOULD make it a priority, because these are such precious, precious days, and I want to be more intentional about recording this tender time.

So, I need some sort of game plan here.
I'll get back to you when I figure it out.
Fingers crossed.

In the meantime, I'm still here! Doing life. Editing the never-ending photos and posting way too many of them on Facebook, writing Sunday School curriculum for the church we found and love, planning a 1st birthday party for the little girl who can't possibly already be this close to being "one"....

I'm here. Sitting on the couch with Bobby, watching a football game, enjoying a beer, celebrating the end of a Thursday...another day of this beautiful thing called "parenthood" in the books.

Noticed

A forgotten post, drafted last fall...but a pertinent personal reminder, always.

The family excursion to Lowe's had not gone well. I had needed a Saturday outing...to be out of the house for a time...to feel productive. 

And, the errand did--not--go--well. Despite our best parenting efforts...the children won. 

I came home tired and grumpy...silent, but visibly frustrated by our discouraging and very non-productive experience out of the house with two small children. I walked from room to room, picking up this & that and tidying here & there. I saw messes that I had no idea when I'd be able to address. My annoyance with the clutter and with the day grew.

I bent down to pick up a few stray alphabet refrigerator magnets, that I knew had been lying on the kitchen floor for days. 

I'd better get these, I thought. No one else will. 

Does anyone else even see the mess? What's the point? Why do I bother? 

My attitude was poor; my spirit was weary.

"Thank you, Mommy."

What did she just say? Surely she can't have noticed. There's no way she's thanking me for this.

"Thank you for what, Emerson?"

"Thank you, for picking up my magnets off the floor.... You're having a rough day, huh?"

She noticed. My efforts, my mood.... Oh, wow. ... Wow.

And then, the tears began. She had seen, and genuinely affirmed me in the most precious way.

By her comment, through the innocent eyes of a child, the Lord was speaking.

I see you. I notice. And your work matters. 

I heard Him. 

I realized that it most certainly did matter. That my work is noticed and appreciated and valued, even when it doesn't feel that way. And that, as much as I value serving my family, I am ultimately working for the Lord.

23 Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters,   24 since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. 
It is the Lord Christ you are serving.

Colossians 3: 23-24

My attitude changed. I stopped tidying. I tearfully went to her & hugged her & held her. Tightly. 

"I love you, Emerson."

"I love you more, Mommy."

"Not possible, Little One.... Not possible."

All In

There are days when stay-at-home-motherhood just 'clicks'; I'm engaged in our activities and have the energy and enthusiasm to make it fun. I'm "all in". Last Thursday was one of those days.

(It is worth noting that these days are often directly-related to my having had a solid night of sleep...or close enough to one...and there being a decent amount of sunshine. Go figure!)

On Thursday, the girls and I went to the zoo, and it was so wonderful to get out of the house just for fun. Not running errands with any sense of purpose, not even meeting friends for a play date. Those are good things; outings that I crave and so enjoy. But, the times that the girls and I go out "just for fun", just for us, are rare. Although they will, no doubt, increase as the days become warmer and it gets increasingly easier to be out and about with Brennan. I hope that's the case!

But, on that day, I got to just be with my daughters.
Really be with them.
Focusing on them.
Enjoying them.

The three of us are together a lot. But, there are distractions at home...things to do, things to think about: the load loads of laundry needing to be done, the photos I should be editing, what dinner prep I can do during lunchtime, even wondering where I last placed my coffee cup, because goodness knows I'm going to need to finish that off.... There is a monotony to being here daily, and as unbelievably wonderful as it is to stay home with my children day in and day out, there's a danger in taking this privilege for granted. I realized again last week that, for being with the girls so much, I'm not always intentional about being fully-present with them and focused on my time with Emerson and Brennan.


I want to be.

And, they deserve for me to be. 

Motherhood is a calling. It certainly is mine, and I've never questioned if I'm making the right choice to stay home with my girls. But, some days are long & hard and feel every bit like the very real work that it is. But, then there are days like Thursday, that remind me just how much I can delight in this job of mine...just how much I should...and just how precious it is when I truly do.

Eleven Days

One week ago today, Bobby and I watched two of our best friends bury their eleven-day old son.

I am taken aback just writing that sentence. This is all so entirely surreal.

Eleven days.

Eleven days to hold him in their arms. Eleven days to memorize every one of his tiny features...so fearfully and wonderfully made. Eleven days to sing lullabies, read Bible stories and whisper his name. Eleven days of fervent prayers, petitioning the Father to heal their son.

For nine months, they prepared and anticipated, full of excitement and joy. The pregnancy was as normal as could be. There was no reason to expect that the birth wouldn't be, too. For nine months, they waited as their baby boy was knit together.

And then, in a matter of a few short moments, their world was shattered as things went very, very wrong.

The story is theirs to tell; the sorrow is ours to share.

Eleven days.

I am heartbroken with and for them. I am angry. This isn't how it's supposed to work. This isn't what should have happened. They are enduring what no one should have to...certainly not them.

It is beyond comprehension, and although it is not for us to understand, the questions persist. The devastation continues.

This traumatic experience causes me to consider how I might handle the situation if it were me facing it. I can say with near certainty that I would not be responding as well as they seem to be. I am in awe of the faithfulness and trust in the Lord that these two are displaying. They are the epitome of grace, embodying what Christians are called to do in the face of trial. I am overwhelmed by the evidence of God's work in and through them throughout this experience.

"The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. 

Blessed be the name of the Lord."

Job 1:21

The journey, though, is just beginning. The reality of the grief is only now setting in.

Bobby and I pray for the Lord's perfect peace and continued presence in their lives, and for His guidance and wisdom as we seek to discern how to be the kind of friends they need in the coming months and years.

I struggle to know how to end this post. For a situation where there are really no words, anyway.... It seems appropriate, though, to conclude with a verse that I know our friends have found comfort in as they navigate their grief.

May we all hold to this truth so confidently, faithfully clinging to His assurances.

"Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, 

and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, 

and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts 

through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us."

Romans 5:3-5

Till You Feel Better

January has been winning. Yesterday was hard. Two little ones, both ready for a change of scenery, tired of being stuck indoors, in need of fresh air. (Plus, their mommy...also in need of fresh air.) Because there are so many germs prevalent lately, we are under a self-imposed quarantine. Besides that, it's rarely worth the effort it takes to get us all out and about, especially in the cold, with no where we really have to go. It's just not worth it.

But, for the good health we've thus far enjoyed this winter, there's a mental health price to pay. And, pay it we are. (Yes, our solitude is largely of our own doing. In some ways, I have only myself to blame. Noted.)

Yesterday, though, as we began to color on the windows with markers...again...I decided to turn on the 'Sound of Music' soundtrack on Spotify, and introduce Brennan to "My Favorite Things"...because if Julie Andrews can't lift my spirits, what could?! We moved from "Edelweiss" to "That Thing You Do" (I know, I know....) and then from there it was a short leap to an album of James Brown's greatest hits.

And then we couldn't help but get moving! Emerson chased me around the sectional in the living room as we moved and grooved and I showed her my best dance moves (which are, not surprisingly, quite entertaining even to a toddler).

Not much feels blog-worthy in the middle of this long winter, with uneventful days that all look very much the same. But, I want to remember yesterday, if for no other reason than to have a reminder that in the midst of a bad mood, I am likely just a soundtrack and a dance party away from a swift attitude adjustment.

So, as James Brown says, "get up offa that thing", and you know, "dance till you feel better".

I did.
And, I do.

(And then, Bobby came home with sushi. And, my best friend sent an encouraging text that made me cry. And I was again reminded of just how great I have it...even on the dreariest of January days.)

The Present

On New Year's Eve-Eve, Bobby asked me if I had any New Year's resolutions for 2015. I reminded him that "no, I never do". But, as I thought about that, I realized that I'd never really been able to articulate why that is. To be fair, I'd never really tried.

But, I pondered it a bit the next day, and decided that I'm not inherently opposed to the idea, by any means. Yet, I realized that when I think about the coming of a new year, I am more likely to be reflective of the past year than looking forward to the one to come.

I am fortunate in that my years aren't ones I'm particularly ready to see go. Even the "low" points of any year in recent memory aren't the parts of the year that come to mind. What a blessing. The negative happenings haven't even been notable enough to remember. Instead, the memories that come to mind are ones of great joy and happiness and comfort. So, although a new year holds intrigue and excitement, I find myself more sorry to see the goodness of the past year fade.

2014 was incredible. Another beautiful year. And, as I look back at the year, so much of it is difficult to remember...in many ways, it feels like the year didn't begin until early October, when Brennan joined the family. The year began with the hope that a baby would be on the way...excitement and anticipation for several seasons as we awaited our daughter's arrival...and joyful celebration when Brennan was here. To consider that she wasn't even created this time last year...and all that can happen within twelve months time...is indeed incredible.

Looking to the future is fun, but the present is just so darn wonderful these days. So, if forced to verbalize a "resolution" of some sort, I suppose it would be to focus on truly being present in the present.

Happy New Year!

Missing Jim

To anyone that knows me well, it's no surprise that I am a big fan of Jim Brickman. Ever since I was introduced to his piano music as a middle-schooler (let's face it, probably not his key demographic), I have been a fan...a "Brickmaniac", if you will. (Ha! I just made that up...& I don't think I'll say it again. It is quite awful.) His music played at my wedding, and in the delivery rooms when Emerson and Brennan were born, and listening to his music never ceases to be such an immediately calming, soothing experience for me. So, when I heard over the summer that he was coming to Springfield for another Christmas concert, I was thrilled. (Seeing his Christmas tour a couple of years ago was such a fun way to celebrate the holiday, and I have anticipated him coming back to town since then!) I knew I would have a two-month-old at home by the time early-December rolled around, but I told myself that it was do-able. That, one way or another, I'd be in attendance. And, frankly, looking forward to the occasion was an encouragement for many weeks...an outing that I knew would be a rejuvenating, relaxing one for me during a time when I knew I'd need one.

But, when tickets went on sale in August (on my birthday, no less), I didn't buy them. And, the twenty other times I checked the website, selecting my ideal seats and getting excited about the event, something stopped me from ever making the purchase.

I think I knew in the back of my mind that it wouldn't be particularly feasible. And, I was right. Here we are, the day of the concert, and I still don't have tickets. I won't be going. The reality is that the timing is wrong; the girls need me in the evenings, and leaving them for the concert would not be in the best interest of the family. I know that staying with them is what I need to do, and because being "Mom" is my greatest joy, it's what (deep down!) I want to do, too.

But, in all honesty, I am truly sad to be missing out. Seriously, I'm really, really, bummed. It doesn't help my attitude that I have family members that will be going. I'm happy for them (because really, everyone needs Jim Brickman in their life), but I'm jealous. I'm downright green with envy, as embarrassing as that is to admit. Although it's not a quality I'm proud of, it's the truth. I wanted so badly to get out of the house, to have some peaceful time, doing something that would be special to me. 

But, as I reflected this morning about my bad attitude, I realized that my desire to do this, for ME, goes against everything this season (& this life) is about. It isn't about me. It's about giving, and serving, and loving others before myself. Motherhood certainly teaches that lesson again and again.

(With that said, I think there's a lot of value in the concept of taking care of yourself as a mom so you can better serve your family. And, really, going to this concert was less about having a fun Christmas outing, and more about doing something that would benefit my mental health. This definitely would've fit the bill...but I'll figure out something else to serve that purpose. Not that I'm in poor mental health.... You get it.)

I so want to be focused on the right things during this season of Advent. And, if missing a concert is what the Lord is using to reveal an area of sin (that is, too high an emphasis on self-desire), then so be it.

My mom is right. "There will be more Jim Brickman concerts." (Though it'll probably be a couple of years...and who knows what family life will look like then. But, here I go getting all Grinch-y again. I'll stop.) Life goes on. This event just wasn't meant to be.

So! I'm moving on to 'Plan B'. Tonight, I think we'll get the girls dressed in cozy pajamas and load up in the van with mugs of hot chocolate. And then, as we drive around town looking at Christmas lights, you'd better believe we'll be listening to a few of Mr. Brickman's Christmas CD's.

It won't be the same as being at Hammons Hall.... It could be even better. Actually, because I'll be with the ones I love the most, it absolutely will be.

I like to think that's what Jim would want.

Family of Four

There have been so many moments I've wanted to capture in these early days at home with Brennan. Moments that I know I'll miss and will want to remember in years to come. My only complaint about this time with a new baby is that I have no way to bottle up this time.... These days are fleeting and oh, so precious.

But, I have made notes...words spoken, emotions felt, observations & reflections of this time. Here's hoping that they'll capture a bit of the beauty that we've experienced in welcoming a new life to our family.

Emerson's maturity....

We prepared Emerson as well as we knew how before Brennan was born. About how the hospital experience and time with grandparents could go (so many unknowns about the timeline of childbirth and all of the potential scenarios made that a challenge)...about what it means to have a new baby at home...about becoming a big sister. She was as ready as she could've been.

But, still, there were surprises. We asked a lot of her during a highly emotional time, and the girl responded with confidence & grace, patience & flexibility.

I could not be more proud of her....
As she stayed at home the night her sister was born, away from Mommy and Daddy for the first time.
As she came to the hospital to meet the new baby, unsure of what exactly was happening. (Oh, the thoughts that could've been going through her head. I can only imagine.)
As she went home with Daddy for night #2 away from Mom.
As she tenderly holds Brennan, genuinely concerned for her needs and lovingly offering her help as often as possible.

She is one special little girl, and is a natural in her new role. Being a big sister suits her, and I'm overwhelmed with excitement for the tender relationship those two girls will have.


Things Emerson said on the day we brought Brennan home from the hospital....

• Shaking her hand as she held her in the hospital bed..."Nice to meet you, baby sister."
• Proudly bringing a blanket with her to the hospital..."She will need it so she won't be cold."
• Seeing Brennan's bandage on her ankle from lab work..."I hope she be okay...."
• Hearing Brennan squeak..."She talking to me! You hear that, Mommy?"
• Driving home from the hospital..."It's your house, too, Brennan! You'll have so much fun with us!"
• Holding Brennan in Mommy and Daddy's bed while Mommy folded laundry....
• "You're amazing."
• "Is that com-bubble (comfortable) for her?" 
• "I love you, Brennan. I love you, Brennan.... We took you home, to your new home."
• "...it puts me in the mood...por food. You like that song? ABCD...."

Our first night at home together....

• Emerson had a couple of unpredictable and stressful days. Time away from Mom, a new baby.... But, she was resilient. And, after a successful "sleepover" at home, just the two of them together, Daddy was quite proud! As he should've been. I will never forget the joy I felt looking out the hospital window just in time to see the two of them walking in the parking lot, hand in hand. When Emerson came to my room, she was refreshed and content and secure; all was well in her world again. What a happy morning! 
• There were two car seats in the van on our way home from the hospital. Two. One for each of our children. Of which we now have two. TWO. 
• As I unpacked the suitcase, Emerson wanted to hold Brennan on the Boppy in the bed. That was such an incredibly precious scene. Some of their first moments together, just the two of them as I watched from a distance. I couldn't type fast enough on my phone as I tried to record the tender, heartfelt conversation. The first of many such visits, I predict. Emerson is in love...a natural...so full of compassion and patience and tenderness. I had no doubt as I watched them that Brennan would be safe in her big sister's arms. They take my breath away.
• The house was a mess when we came home, and there was lots of laundry to be done and suitcases to unpack and dinner to cook and two children to tend to. And I used the still-flowing adrenaline to my advantage and was bustling around the house trying to get it all done. (Plus, it felt great to be back home, as opposed to stuck in a hospital room.) I decided then and there that I was really going to like the scurry, the busyness and the projects that two children would bring. It feels right to be a mama of two.
• I saw Emerson in Brennan. Particularly, her expression as she lifted her head off of my chest, pursing her lips with a furrowed brow. What fun it is already to enjoy memories of Emerson's infancy as I watch Brennan.
• Emerson has been nothing short of a rockstar with the change and the unpredictability of the past 48 hours. And Brennan seems to be quite easygoing! Going with the family flow, fitting right in as we go about our normal activity. I'm so proud of both of these girls. And I don't think that'll be the last time I say that.
• While Bobby went to get our food, I cooked macaroni for Emerson. And as I juggled Brennan in one arm and mixed the butter and milk into the noodles with the other, I thought for the first time, "oh, yeah, mother of two...I've got this." It felt, for lack of a better term, "legit". And, I loved it.
• We had a steak dinner delivered to us on our first night home with Emerson. It was a feast and a real treat. But, this time, we had Sonic and macaroni on the couch, as we watched "monkey George" with our precious toddler, with our newborn sleeping peacefully beside us. Happy to all be together once again, home where we belong. That meal was just what we needed. I was teary and joyful. Steak dinners are great...but it just doesn't get better than this.
• It was a perfect first night at home together. It felt right and it felt comfortable. Every night won't be like this, but I couldn't have asked for more for our first night together, and I'm grateful.

Reflections from the first few days....

• Bobby and I know our individual roles as parents, and we have better expectations about what each of our children need from us.  We're functioning as a better team, with a more clear understanding of what we need from each other, too. 
• We also understand our individual sleep needs, and the realities of nights with a newborn. The "shock" factor hasn't existed this time.
• We are, simply, more confident and more self-assured than last time. And, we're enjoying the experience differently than before.
• Bobby's role with Emerson has changed form, and they have been such wonderful playmates during his time at home. This is a shift that has been long-anticipated and highly-desired...and although it's so precious to see the trust & fun & companionship between them grow, it's admittedly a little hard for Mommy. I've had to miss out on their daily "adventures" to the zoo or the library or the park, which has made me sad...wishing I could be out of the house, and also knowing that I'm missing special time with Emerson, and one-on-one time with her. As her relationship with Bobby changes, my role in her life is changing form, too, and that's bittersweet. 

The verse mentioned during the church service we watched on our first morning at home with Brennan that made me teary....

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, 

who have been called according to his purpose. 

Romans 8:28

Perhaps the sweetest thing Bobby has ever said to me....

"I'm going to try to remember, and not take for granted, 

the fact that you just had a baby two days ago...

since you look like you're back to 100%."

Refreshing

Today is Bobby's first day back to the office after nearly two weeks at home for paternity leave. And, I'm sad that he isn't here.

Not because I'll have less help with dishes and housework. (Though that's certainly true, and his help in those areas over the past couple of weeks has been substantial. He's amazing, and I'm grateful.)

Not because I won't be able to rest so easily mid-afternoon.

Not because I'll be on my own with two little girls during the day.

I'm bummed because this is the end of what has been two incredibly refreshing weeks at home as a family.

"Refreshing" is hardly what I envisioned when I pictured our first couple of weeks with a newborn. I imagined being in "survival mode", needing Bobby to deliver coffee to me each morning (which, admittedly, he has done quite regularly) just to keep me functional. And yet, this time was quite the opposite. Sure, we've been tired, but this time at home was more about enjoyment & togetherness & rejuvenation than mere survival.

Bobby's time off-work was shorter when Emerson was born, and between fewer days at home and the unfamiliarity of being new parents and the mental weariness that brings...it was a different experience. Beautiful and uniquely wonderful as we learned about parenthood! But, different. Those days were certainly precious, but they weren't what I would call "refreshing".

This time, besides the benefit of having sweet Emerson to entertain us, I think we both came into the experience with far more realistic expectations. Going in, we understood the reality of lack of sleep, and that spending the night in the nursery recliner is part of the game. (Which hasn't made being away from the flannel sheets in our bed easier, necessarily, but we haven't been shocked by the exhaustion that comes from many poor nights of sleep.) Our parenting roles are more clearly defined, and we are working better as a team. Bobby is more confident with a newborn this time around, and I think he better understands the reality that Brennan primarily needs me (read: my milk) in these early days. He's been able to focus his energy and attention on Emerson, and they have truly connected during this time. Daily "adventures" out and about together, and that night spent at home together while I was at the hospital, have been especially huge bonding experiences for the two of them. It's a big (beautiful) deal!

Bobby said it well when he expressed to my dad that, as much as we (really, really) enjoy our summer vacations and getaways, there's something to be said for having had this time at home, doing very little other than just enjoying the company of one another. I suppose that's where the idea of "stay-cations" came from. (Although, I don't know that that concept is necessarily appealing to us. Even if we were to stay home during vacation time, I think we'd be liable to want to DO things, out and about, and make it a "productive" time.) But, being at home with a newborn, whom we very much want to avoid exposing to germs unnecessarily, somewhat forced us to just BE...be home & still & together & rested. This was a time unlike any other that we've had as a family, and it was nothing short of refreshing.

Weekends are wonderful, but they are, as we all know, far too short. There are, more often than not, chores & errands & things to do that don't allow for much in the way of rest, much less uninterrupted family time.

So, the obvious answer to continue to enjoy these periods of rest is to have another baby right away so we can regularly have weeks of FMLA paid time together.

Kidding. (Sorry, Mom.)

In all seriousness, though, I do believe we'll be making a more conscious effort in the months ahead to be intentional about Bobby taking time-off on a regular basis, for the sole purpose of family togetherness.

We need to make it happen. It's absolutely worth it.

Bobby, I'm so grateful for the past two weeks. You are a rock, for me and for our girls. 

So much of Emerson's positive adjustment is a credit to your efforts and time with her. 

You are an incredible daddy; these girls don't yet know how blessed they are, but their mom does. 

I will treasure these precious days we've spent at home as a new family of four. 

Thank you for helping to make this time so special, and for loving us...for loving me...so well. 

Your THREE girls love you so very much! xoxo

Watching

It wasn't my best parenting moment. In fact, I was losing patience. I wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary for us; my exchange with Emerson wasn't unlike our conversations that take place all day long. But, as I worked to get her into her carseat in the library parking lot, I was, evidently, being watched.

She may have been a young high school student. She was wearing braces, riding in a vehicle driven by someone else. I didn't realize she was there, but as she waited (for me to move out of her way) to get into her van, she saw, and heard, my interaction with my little girl.

And then, "Is that your daughter? You sound like you're a really good mom."

She didn't have to say that. And, I suspect she has no idea about the weight of her encouraging words.

As often as I hear compliments on my mothering from my parents or my husband (and that is truly meaningful), there's something powerful about the words from a stranger that give such affirmation to the job that I'm doing. Those that know me, know me. I would hope that when they see my love for my daughter, it doesn't come as a big surprise. But, for strangers who know nothing about me, to witness love displayed through my words and actions in the brief time we cross paths, and to know something about me through that experience is uniquely special.

I don't know the girl's story, or what led her to comment. Did I remind her of her loving mom? Or, was she struck by the difference of my behavior compared to the example in her life? I know there are so many loving parents...but is harsh, hateful parenting what she is used to seeing in public? Based on my experiences as I watch other children and their parents at the park or at the store, I worry that that's perhaps the case.

I was caught off guard by her simple comment. I smiled and thanked her as she got into her car, but I wish I would've had my thoughts put together enough to explain that I'm only doing my best to try to show my daughter God's love, or at the very least, let her know how sweet that was of her to say and how much it meant to hear.

I didn't know that that young lady was watching, but I know Emerson is. I think often about the lessons she's learning about motherhood as she watches me. I know those lessons will only become more evident and pronounced in the years ahead. But, this encounter was a reminder that the way I parent is visible to more people than I may realize, and on the days that it seems that I'm not having a significant impact on making the world a better place...well, perhaps maybe I am.

Five Years

It isn't as though the arrival of our five-year anniversary comes as a shock. When you commit to spend your life with someone...a vow that, when made in your early-twenties, you expect and pray will last for several decades..."making it" to five years hardly seems surprising.

Still, I remember thinking as a newlywed that this milestone seemed like a lifetime away, especially given all the uncertainties about what our married life would look like.

Are we going to be able to financially support ourselves? Is our budget going to work out the way we think it will?

What kind of job will I have? How secure is Bobby's employment? 

Will we be living in St. Louis permanently? How soon could we move back home?

When will we be able to buy a house? How does one even begin to go about doing such a thing?

Children? Of course! How will we know when the time for parenthood is right?

We had vague dreams for what was our not-so-distant future, but the how and when we'd be able to achieve them was hardly certain. There was much to figure out first about how, exactly, to grow up. And that is, truly, part of the beauty of marriage...figuring out "life", and making "grown-up" decisions, together.

Five years later, although I'm sure we still have much "growing up" to do yet, we have had so many of our uncertainties resolved. If I had been able to see a glimpse of my life now as I walked down the aisle toward Bobby, it would've been better than I was even able to imagine at the time. This life with him is exactly what I'd pictured it would be, even if the specifics were unclear. I'm so grateful to him for helping to make these dreams come true.

The plan (for years!) has been to take a tropical vacation to celebrate this anniversary. We so enjoy time on the beach, and this milestone seemed worthy of taking a big trip. But, between unknown scheduling for Bobby's work trips & this pregnancy timeline & uncertainty about toddler travels, our plan fell through.

But, that's okay. As much I would have enjoyed time on a white sandy beach somewhere, in some ways it seems more appropriate that this anniversary is being acknowledged in a much more quiet way. It's because of all these dreams that we've been able to see become reality in the past five years...all of the answers to our uncertain questions...that we're staying home. Those are the very things we're celebrating, really!

The financial comfort we enjoy. 

The gift of my being able to stay home, and Bobby's growth and success in his career.

Living in Springfield, surrounded by those we love.

Creating a happy home in the house that we own.

Raising our daughter, and anxiously awaiting the arrival of her sister.

Building a life together, secure in each other's love, support, and faithfulness.

Our marriage isn't about the grand gestures or the extraordinary events. Our romance has really always been, instead, about the day-to-day simple gestures and memorable moments that make life so sweet. For that, I'm grateful.

Of course, our dreams for the next five years are vague, too. There is uncertainty about what our family will look like in a few years time, and there are questions that surround getting from here to there. But, I am even more confident than I was as a new bride that, with the Lord's blessing and Bobby's leadership, we will be, as we are now, exactly where we are meant to be.

(Which could be, perhaps, on a beach for our tenth anniversary. Or, our sixth...?)

Happy anniversary, handsome. 

Thank you for a beautiful five years, 

and for sharing this life with me.

xoxo

Ready or Not!

A few weeks ago, Emerson woke up from her Sunday afternoon nap, stood up, and said "Mommy, Daddy, take off rails? That be fun!"

We've been talking with her about the possibility of taking off the crib rails for weeks now, giving her a chance to think through that idea. The plan had been to hold off until the crib for the new nursery came in. (Something new for the baby, a new room update for her, too....) She's been sleeping so well at night and has only made limited and feeble attempts at climbing out, but seemed "ready"...and if there were going to be sleep interruptions, I'd hoped to address them now, instead of months down the road when there's a new baby in the mix, too.

I've been preparing myself, as well. And, in my heart, I knew it was almost time to make it happen. I "supported" the change, so to speak. I did buy new toddler bedding for her birthday in anticipation of the move, after all.

The new crib had been set up for two days. She had unwrapped her new bedding two weeks prior. So, when she woke up and suddenly (and albeit, quite randomly) declared herself in the mood to remove the rails...I had no good reason to say "no".

Daddy got the wrench, and after a few quick photos of Emerson in her baby bed for the last time, the rails came off. Emerson immediately loved her new "big girl" bed, giving us lots of big smiles, and she has slept like a champ ever since. (Update: Since I drafted this post, we're back to some nighttime sleep struggles. She seems to be dealing with some nighttime fearfulness, and needs Mommy to "sit in the dooooorrrrwaaayyyy!" at bedtime and when she wakes in the night. Unrelated to the crib rails, I'm quite sure, but a new challenge to work through together, nevertheless.) It suits her, and her absolute delight in her new bedding and her new ability to get in and out of bed herself has made it entirely worth it. She's growing up, and suddenly, with this latest change, seems to be even bigger, still. (Incidentally, this change to her "big girl" bed has coincided with her lack of interest of nursing right before bedtime. We haven't nursed for the past couple of weeks since. It's a strange thing to let go of, but she may finally be ready. I am so grateful to have chosen to allow her to decide for herself when the time is right.)

It's a funny thing, watching her grow. While I'm trying my best to mentally and emotionally prepare her for changes and new experiences (talking about everything she might encounter on her doctor visit, for example), giving her time to thoughtfully process these things (which she seems to do best with)...she just rips the Band-Aid off when it comes to forcing me to face them.

That's probably for the best. I may have postponed taking off the crib rails for weeks. But, she was ready to grow, and she let me know; I needed to let her.

She's going to keep growing, keep taking steps before I'm entirely ready for her to take them. I'm probably going to need her to keep ripping off the Band-Aid.... Some growth will come when I'm expecting it; other changes will come without warning. And, as hard as some of it may be, I'm going to try to keep in mind the joy that I know so often comes with growing up. There was much joy for me. And, I know that, as I grew...with every change...my mom probably faced it with a lump in her throat, at the same time celebrating with me as I embraced growing up.

Ready or not!