Things, Memories, and Sparking Joy

I once read that there's a whole contingency of people who cannot get rid of an object that a memory is attached to. I don't remember where I read this or in what context, but the idea is that if an object disappears from a person's possession that they are worried that the memory that is attached to an object will disappear with it. Because of this, they keep the object as a reminder of the memory and cherish it with a certain amount of sentimental fondness. 

I am not wired with this particular characteristic. 

I don't know if it's because I moved a fair amount growing up or because I have an innate urge to offload things that I'm not using and that are taking up space, but I have no problem purging a closet or room and getting rid of things I no longer use or need. Haven't worn this dress in years? Gone. Not ever going to whip together anything out of this cookbook? Thank you, next. Scent of this candle I was gifted too overpowering and it's never going to get lit? Let's not keep that light buried in a basket. With only a few notable exceptions, I will offload pretty much any "thing" that isn't getting used. 

With this in mind, you would have thought I would have jumped all in on the Marie Kondo phase that went bananas during Covid. Purging all of the things, organizing all of the remaining things, and only keeping those things that "spark joy". But I didn't. I remember during 2020 my social media feeds were filled with people who were spending their newfound free time when their life slowed down by looking around and realizing that they didn't want or need all of the stuff that they'd accumulated. They sang the praises of the KonMari method and were feeling the freedom of getting rid of piles of stuff. 

That wasn't me. I was in the "How many different ways can I bake bread?" trend of that same era. You don't have time to purge things if you're drowning your stress as a parent who is supervising the remote learning of two young kids - one of whom is neuro-spicy - in carb-laden homemade comforts. My family does not share in the same zeal for the release of the things that I do, and so it was breads and brownies and cookies and King Arthur Baking Challenges instead. Had I attempted to have my two elementary-aged children thank all of their stuffed animals for their service and release them from their shackles, I would have had a mutiny on my hands. 

The kids are now middle-school aged and a lot of the toys and things that sprinkled their younger years are starting to make their way to more playful pastures. One of the last holdouts from the elementary era was the pretend food, a bucket of toys that for the last couple of years seemed to only appear on Thanksgiving Day as some sort of "make a fake meal" tradition they concocted or when a smaller friend was visiting that needed entertainment. I sorted through the bin, placed all of the food that was in good condition in a bag, and posted it on the online Marketplace for a lot less than we paid for it but enough to get the kids an ice cream or new board game. 

Within minutes, a dad messaged me with interest. Yes, please take it off our hands and into the hands of your little one. He drove to my house, handed me cash, and a brief story. 

His elementary-aged daughter had one wish for her birthday: a new play kitchen. My sale of a Trader Joe's bag full of pretend food came for them at the absolute perfect time. 

The paltry amount of cash in my hand does not cover the worth of the joy that pretend food brought my children or the joy it will bring that little girl whose one birthday wish was a play kitchen. I could have charged and received $1,000 and it wouldn't have amounted to the value of that joy. 

But the pretend food is gone from my house and space for a new round of memories connected to things has opened. 

There are times when a purge is necessary in order to move forward. For example, any time I have a move on the horizon I find this to be the prime opportunity to purge of things that have collected dust and taken up space long enough. No one wants to move things they don't have to; moving is enough of a pain in the backside without having extra boxes of clothes you haven't worn in ages, kitchenware you'll never use, and papers you haven't looked at in over a decade. 

Books move. All of the books move. Don't judge. And while you're at it, don't look at my "To Be Read" list on The Storygraph either. 

In the late spring of 2022, a house came on the market in our town that after 5 years of passively watching the market my husband and I agreed fit both of our checklists. We looked at it, put in an offer, and against every odd we had stacked up against ourselves in our head - it was accepted. 

I immediately went into action. I worked my whole life for this. I moved 9 times in my life before I went to college and countless times in and out of dorms during the course of my Bachelor's degree. No, family, we are not going to just throw it in a box and then sort through it when we get to the new place. That's how we never get rid of things and become keepers of boxes of unused things. I became a Tasmanian Devil of packing and purging, getting things squared away through the stages of first getting ready to stage to sell, then minimizing down to what we absolutely needed for the last few weeks while we prepped the new-to-us house, then the last things before we evacuated. I was a machine, constantly repeating the phrase "Trust me, fam, we're in good shape, I've done this more than I care to think about, it's a lot but we've got this" as each box gets packed and each room becomes less of a home and more of a naked shell. 

When you're moving and you're in this flurry of activity to get it all done, at some point you look around and the space you've occupied is now empty. In this case, the space was our first house. Our first space that was truly ours. We celebrated 12 years of birthdays and Christmases in that house. Both of our kids came home through the front door of that house, because we thought that they - like us and every friend and family member welcomed to our home for the first time before them - deserved a grand entrance through the front door and not the basement next to the garage. First birthday cake smashes. First steps. First tooth fairy visits. Snow days. The most amazing octogenarian neighbors who loved our kids like their own grandkids. 

We sat on the floor of the kitchen in our first house, eating takeout dinner and sharing our favorite memories. Our laughs echoed, the sad and excited tears of our kids fell to the floor. Cleaning up the vestiges of our last meal in the house, my husband took the kids outside to play in the yard one last time while I stayed behind in the kitchen to set up the small gifts and menus and brochures from our town I had gathered for the new family with the toddler that was moving in. 

I turned one last time to look at the empty kitchen that I had packed and purged and had made my home office for the last decade after leaving work to be home full-time. I looked out the back deck door at my family running around making one last set of joyful memories before we turned the page to a new chapter in a new house with a new yard and a new set of neighbors who would love my kids so well. 

A house is just a thing. I move on from things. 

But things serve us, and this house turned us from a couple of crazy late-20s kids into a couple of early 40s adults. This house watched us grow from a fairly newly married couple into a full-blown family. This house held us during a pandemic and was a constant when uncertainty ran rampant. This house showed us independence and helped us mature and grow. 

I looked at the plant and the sidewalk chalk and the folded menus and brochures on the island and looked at the space that had once been filled with things and was now empty. This kitchen, this house, this toy that I and my family had outgrown and were ready to pass along to the next family. 

I took a deep breath. And then somewhere, something, some well of suppressed emotion that I had put a cap on while I purged and packed and packed and purged and moved all of our things from one place to hold our stuff to another place to hold our stuff just erupted. I stood there, in the middle of the kitchen, the ugliest of ugly cries spilling out of my depths and pouring out, covering the walls with a dozen years of memories and stories and love. 

My husband through some cosmic spousal connection at that moment looked through the back deck door and saw me standing there, arms at my side like some sort of physically paralyzed yet emotionally collapsing doll, and ran into the house. He held me, he let me cry it out, sharing in the outpouring of emotion that somehow I had been the last one to grab the rail and jump on the feelings train as it pulled out of the station a minute after departure time. 

The money that exchanged from buyer to seller in the closing of the sale of our first house, one that became our home and saw us grow into a family, was paltry in comparison to the memories we made and took with us. It's nothing compared to the couple who bought it and who are now making their own roots and memories and growing their own family within its walls. 

I never did follow Marie Kondo or jump on the KonMari bandwagon. 

But things serve us. And though we may purge them and send them to the next person in a cycle of usage that lasts as long as the object does, the memory impact is much longer. The memories are part of our story, part of what makes us who we are. 

Thank you, Pretend Food. Thank you, Mint Green Colonial. 

We are grateful for how you served our family. 

"There is No Life I Know..."

Slugworth.

When I was 7 or 8 years old, hearing that name and seeing the face of Slugworth would send chills up my spine. Slugworth was the Severus Snape of my generation; the man in the glasses who got in the face of children and attempted to bribe them in order to get them to turn over the secrets to the wonders of the Everlasting Gobstopper. I felt like he was pressuring me when I watched "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory"; I could have been in the shoes of Charlie Bucket in that alleyway, having those beady eyes, that sharp voice, and that pointy chin getting in my face attempting to bribe me to turn over one of the candy industry's most mysterious secrets.

And much as you struggle internally that ultimately Snape is good, so it was with me for Slugworth when you discover that the eccentric Willy Wonka has actually hired this man to discover which of the children was the most pure, the most able to take over the world of whimsy and deliciousness when he passes on. The point of the Golden Ticket contest was a hope for Mr. Wonka, a hope that he could find the RIGHT person to take over for him when the time came for the maker to meet his Maker.

Because you see, being "The Candy Man" wasn't about making money to Willy Wonka.

Being "The Candy Man" was about bringing joy, about bringing warm feelings, about allowing your imagination to run free. The keys to the kingdom could not be just handed to anyone who wanted to make money, to someone who was good with business, or to someone who thought they knew what was best for a company. It had to be given to someone who saw the good, someone who wanted to bring light to the world, someone who knew the value of joy.

This afternoon I opened up Twitter and the tweet fourth from the top read "Gene Wilder, Star of 'Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory', dies at 83".

Suddenly, in that moment, I was sitting on the floor of the living room staring wide eyed at the television as Gene Wilder sang to me about a world of Pure Imagination.

"There is no life I know to compare with pure imagination..."

My sister Dawn especially loved Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory when she was a kid. She never tired of the movie, and as she grew older she held on to oft referenced quote:

"We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams..."

Those who have known Dawn a long time know that she has strived to overcome anxiety and is now - in my proud, big sister opinion - a rock star. She is an artist, she is a writer and a published author, she is a production coordinator and helps other artists display their work proudly. It has taken her a long time to get to where she is and she works hard to keep going and trying to continue to better herself, gain confidence, and above all else - never stop dreaming.

When she was in her late teens she had an opportunity to meet Gene Wilder. I remember her excitement leading up to the event - it was infectious. You couldn't help but be excited for her as the days ticked down to the day that she would meet the man who played a whimsical character on a screen and present his book for his signature. She wanted to thank him for playing the role of Willy Wonka, for the way he looked into the eyes of Veruca Salt and seriously told her that WE are the music makers and WE are the dreamers of dreams.

For much as Slugworth could have been talking to me in those moments - Willy Wonka might as well have been talking to Dawn.

Just this past Saturday, Dawn was going through some old things and came across that old copy of Mr. Wilder's book. She posted it on her personal Facebook page (this is her art page) and said "Oh, Mr. Wilder, you will always be the most beautiful sparkling soul with whom I've held hands. Perhaps the most surreally moment of my life. Will never forget what you said to me while I teared up trying to speak."

When I asked what it was that he said (because it was not my life-altering moment to cherish), Dawn replied: "It was about the 'dreamer of dreams' quote. I was trying to say how much it meant to me. But I was really anxious back then & couldn't quite talk over my shaky tears. He held my hands in his hands and told me I was the dreamer, he could see my dreams, and that I shouldn't be scared anymore."

Two days later, Mr. Wilder passed away.

At the end of the movie as Charlie Bucket gently places his Everlasting Gobstopper on Mr. Wonka's desk. Quietly, and almost imperceptibly, Willy Wonka says as he placed his hand over the Gobstopper, he says "So shines a good deed in a weary world."

Without a simple sentence - a good deed - my sister Dawn might not be who she is today.

It is rare, so rare, that the simple kindness of a celebrity can make a difference. What Mr. Wilder did for my sister that day, with that one simple act of patience and kindness, made an incredible impact on her life. When Robin Williams died, I was shaken because his movies and his characters were so a part of childhood. It was a strange feeling to me to feel that way when he died.

Today I shed tears at the passing of Gene Wilder, a man whose good deed indeed shone in the weary world of someone who I love and care for, a world that is shining today because of a candle he lit so many years ago. Scripture tells us in Matthew 5:15 that people, when they light a lamp, put it where it can light up the whole house and do not hide it under a basket. I do not know how Gene Wilder was in his day-to-day life, I do not know his faith, and I did not research him for the purposes of this post. What I know is that in a moment where he could have passed over my sister as a star-struck fan, he saw her nervousness and chose kindness, patience, and forever made a difference in her world.

That is truly the light we need to be to others.

Thank you for caring for my kid sister, Mr. Wilder, if even for just a moment. May your elevator ride to heaven be as beautiful as you ever imagined.

(Un)realistic Expectations

I remember my first mother's day 4 years ago. Will was only a week old and was such a snuggly little baby. He rarely fussed and was content just to be held. Steve was a nervous first time dad and I was still recovering from my c-section - only had been home for a couple of days - so he was all about making sure I was comfortable and borderline waiting on me hand and foot. I'm fairly certain someone brought us a meal that day.

It was blissful. It was wonderful. It was right out of a Hallmark commercial. Smiles, cooing baby, bliss.

My second I don't really recall, which makes me think it was similar to most other Sundays. But my third... oh good grief my third...

The kiddos - taken May 2014, right around Mother's Day

It was my first Mothers' Day with 2 kids. Steve had asked a couple of weeks in advance what I wanted to do and I replied that I wanted to get some Top Donut - donuts and iced coffee - and take a walk by the river. I was a month off of my c-section with Evie and I wanted to move around and enjoy the outside. I didn't want to cook, I didn't want to stress - Evie had been born in the midst of a housefull of sickness and I was glad to be out of that hump.

Well... as luck would have it, Evie was entering her 6-week growth spurt, eating like crazy and as a spitty baby does - was spitting up like crazy too. We were just figuring out that Will has seasonal allergies - his Zyrtec hadn't kicked in enough to protect him, he was prone to throw up with too much post-nasal drip, and so was sneezing and vomiting everywhere. Steve was just coming off of a pretty bad cold and while he was also anxious to be outside - he was cranky from being sick for a week.

But I had my expectations of a wonderful family walk with iced coffee and donuts and a breakfast picnic on Mothers' Day. I had set this beautiful picture in my head and was determined to follow through with it. We would do it. It would be amazing. We would overcome risks and have a beautiful morning together.

The actual picture? It was... less than beautiful.

I will never forget that at the end of that day I was sitting there almost in tears. I was covered in puke and snot and poop and didn't want to think about what I wanted for dinner. Steve and I were both frustrated with how the day was turning out, concerned about a relapse into post-partum depression like I had experienced with Will, and we were disappointed with the day overall. 

All I wanted was Mothers' Day to be over. I declared it a sham, a falsehood, a day like any other day - only possibly more stressful because of unrealistic expectations that I (and the rest of the world) had constructed at the outset.

Have any of you ever had this experience of unrealistic expectations that get completely shattered? I feel like these expectations that we construct for ourselves (whether it's Mothers' Day or something else) have huge potential to add to our emotional clutter and baggage - especially during busy times of year like the spring with banquets and graduations and events and parties. They can add additional work we can't handle in our lives, they can give us a false picture of reality, and they can make us feel that if things don't go as planned they are an utter failure and the pressure of that need for success adds unnecessary stress.

Life has been crazy in our home over the last several months, and so I didn't set up expectations this year. The only thing I really wanted were donuts for breakfast, to not have to worry about dinner or subsequent clean-up, and to get 30-60 minutes to myself (if at all possible) in a Starbucks with a book and a cup of coffee. Not only did I get all of those things (even if dinner was out at a restaurant with 2 overtired toddlers - one with minimal nap, the other on the back end of a chest cold - and my in-laws), but I even got to spend 30 minutes talking to my own mother while folding 3 loads of laundry (less to start off the week with!) and space to myself to work on a crochet project until Steve came up to bed at 10.

Was it a perfect day? No. But I didn't set up any expectations. I had desires, but didn't make them needs.

So when our good friends texted me last night and said "D, how was your Mothers' Day?" - my answer was "Well... no one vomited on me. So it was pretty good."

God has given me these gifts of motherhood and marriage - and that means the good and the bad, through sickness and health, beautiful and ugly, laughter and tantrums. Motherhood is a mess and fatherhood is a mess and the jobs are nonstop, constantly demanding, and the kids don't stop being kids for a day just because of what the calendar has decided the day will be. As such - celebrating motherhood and fatherhood is inevitably going to be messy too. To expect anything different from that is just setting ourselves up for disappointment - instead, we should expect the normal chaos, the normal skinned knees, the normal sniffles, and maybe even a quarrel or two. After all, those are the things that we're celebrating anyways. 

No one vomited on me. That's a successful day of motherhood in my book. 

Leave My Dreams, It's Not Your Heart

"Why are you here? Why won't you leave me alone?"

"I just want to make things better between us. Can't we be friends..."

He leaned in closer to my face and I could feel every hair on my body stand on end with fear. The last thing I wanted in that moment was for him to kiss me. Why can't he ever just disappear forever? Why does he keep coming back? I took several steps backwards and could feel my stomach wretch with anxiety...

"Please..."

"I am married. Why can't you understand that? Just leave me alone. Please!!!"

"I just..."

I reached out and shoved him away, feeling the anger and fear and anxiety dripping along with the tears that ran down my face.

"We can be friends... it's OK..."

He walked closer to me again... Why won't he get the danged picture??? "JUST GO AWAY AND LEAVE ME AL..."

My eyes jerked themselves open as I heard a sweet voice say "Hi, Mommy!" through an inserted pacifier. I was back in my bedroom, my bubbly daughter awake next to me. I looked at the clock - 6:18 AM. Steve must have already gone to... wait. Steve wasn't there, he was away at his annual conference.

Me and my mini-me, having some morning snuggles...

The dream. That's why. I rubbed my eyes and breathed slowly to reset my quickly beating heart, snuggling my giggling daughter and remembering all that God has surrounded me with. I reminded myself with each inhale that it was just a dream and with each exhale that it wasn't real. The recurring dream that I have each time that Steve is away on business - the one where my ex-boyfriend from 20 years ago shows up and tries to be a part of my life again. Sometimes he's trying to woo me, sometimes he's trying to just be friend, but always the sentiment is the same.

That he loved me. Never meant to hurt me. That he wants to reconcile. That he wants that part of my heart back. That I was his only love.

In every dream he is the 19-year-old that cheated on me not once, but twice. In every dream he is every bit the sweet-talker that my 14-year-old self couldn't resist and that my 17-year-old self took back and that my 19-year-old self believed his words that he would leave his then wife for me.

In every dream I want nothing more than for him to disappear. In every dream I want to know where my Steve is, because he is never there in these dreams but always missing. In every dream I can feel walls closing in around us, in every dream I am desperately fighting to get back to my present-day reality and begging through tears for my past to go as far away as possible.

After every dream I wake up uneasy. I wake up questioning things I never should be questioning. I wake up with faster heartbeats and quicker breaths, wanting to run back to where I wake up. The place that God has surrounded me with love and reassurance and His grace.

But I can rarely shake that feeling. That feeling that no one can be trusted. It takes days, sometimes weeks. Always Steve is reassuring, because he knows that this part of me causes deep insecurities and he wants me to be whole, to let this part of me die, to be released from it.

Last year after having this dream, I woke up and turned on Steve's iPad to watch some Netflix and try to get back to sleep. It was only 10:00 PM where Steve was, and iMessage sent across a text from a colleague that they should meet up for fries.

The bells went off. Who meets for fries at 10:00 PM? What the heck?

I called Steve and through tears told him about my dream, that I saw the text, and I just needed to hear his voice and know we were OK. Know that my fears were unfounded. Because God has blessed me with a husband who is willing to understand this part of me and help me through it - he stayed on the phone with me until I calmed down.

Then - and those who know my husband's love of condiments will understand this - he went and met some colleagues for fries with blueberry ketchup. Because that's what a condiment lover does when he and his colleagues don't want to get drunk at the after party during a conference.

My awesome, caring husband at his annual nerd conference.

So I lay there with my daughter listening to the hum of the fan and her adorable sweet voice through her pacifier and reminded myself that my husband is faithful. That he promised he would always be faithful from the first time I confessed this part of my soul to him and he has never done anything to demonstrate anything other than fulfilling this promise.

I said a prayer, asking God to help release me from these dreams. To help me finally remove 20 years of scarring and tell that 16-year-old in a heap on the floor of her kitchen, holding a phone in her hand and pouring tears out that it all turns out okay - better than okay, actually.

God, I begged, please... please... please kill this.

A couple of hours later I pulled out my phone and opened my devotional app while the kids finished up their breakfast on the porch. The topic of the day? "The Enemy's Tactic Against You." As I read through the devotional that focused on Genesis 3:1: "Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the LORD God had made. He said to the woman, 'Did God really say, 'You must not eat from any tree in the garden''?"

I read on and could feel my pulse quickening as the images from the previous night's dream flittered across my memory. I devoured every word of the devotional, and inhaled through my teeth as I read these: "He uses four words: 'Did God really say...?' Maybe you haven't had the enemy slither up next to you in the form of a serpent and speak these words out loud. But I bet he's whispered them into your ear. After all, the enemy's greatest desire is to separate you from God."

I looked out across my yard to the breeze flitting through the trees and up at the outline of morning moon my son was excitedly pointing out. I could feel God's sentiment on my heart: "Danielle... I delivered you through that old life and gave you this life, these kids, your husband. The enemy has taken over this part of your heart - take it back. Do not listen to the whisper of the enemy anymore."

I closed my eyes... "In the name of Jesus... give me my danged heart back. In the name of Jesus, that belongs to my husband, that belongs to my family, that belongs to me, and most importantly that belongs to God. Give it back."

I opened my eyes and my daughter said "Pee-it-boo!" through her wide mouthed grin, and my son laughed.

I felt... relieved. I felt... at home again. I felt... empowered. I felt... full.

That morning when my husband had his video chat good morning with us, it was like fresh air filled my lungs. When he returned home that Friday, it was the first time I didn't feel relieved that he was home but rather felt fully and richly blessed that he had the opportunity to take advantage of this part of his career. I didn't feel on edge and looking for reasons to suspect, and instead have felt nothing but love and happiness and grace and the fullness of God's blessing on my marriage.

Watching for Daddy's car to come up the hill when he got home from the trip.

A few days after Steve got home, this was the key verse in my morning devotional: "Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the Devil, and he will flee from you." (James 4:7)

For at least the time being - and for the first time in a very long time - I have felt the Enemy release his grip from the part of my heart that was still crying on the kitchen floor of my parents' house hoping her sobs wouldn't wake up her sisters. I have been able to breathe easier for the first time in almost 20 years, having resisted the Devil and watching him flee.

"Therefore, put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand." (Ephesians 6:13)

There will come a time when the Enemy will come back, when he will try to take that part of my heart back again, when he will push down that insecure teenager to the floor and laugh as her tears flow. When he will remind her that she's not good enough for a guy to stick around, and that will always be the case.

It will be when that time comes that it will be up to me to put on the armor that God has given to me. It will be up to me to call to Him, to reach up in prayer and use the power that I have been given in the name of Jesus to resist those whispers.

Because the self-destruction of doing anything else just isn't worth it when compared to the beauty that lies in the life that God has gifted to me.

When the Arrival is Different

It seems that there's a month, a day, or a week for everything these days. National Siblings Day, National Hot Dog Day, Talk Like a Pirate Day, Wear Green Underwear Day... well, that last one I made up.

Maybe it exists though.

A friend of mine recently posted on Facebook that April is National C-Section Awareness month, and while I'm not usually one to really line up in solidarity or support or whatever of these sort of things - this one is very near and dear to my heart. 

Both of my children were born via c-section.

Me pregnant with Will, 3 years ago yesterday, just about 38-39 weeks.

Even though I've said that out loud dozens of times, somehow typing it in the context of this post just made me pause and choke up a little bit. 

When we were pregnant with my son (and yes, I said "we" - my husband suffered through the pregnancy and don't kid yourself ladies, your spouse suffered too), I remember distinctly having this feeling on my heart that it was going to end in a c-section. God knows the whole story, the whole picture, and even though I sat through birthing classes and took notes and practiced breathing and did all my kegels... He was emotionally preparing me for what the end was really going to look like. 

At my 39 week appointment, I found out that the swelling I had been experiencing was due to a sudden spike in my blood pressure. I didn't have pre-eclampsia, but it was still alarming; I had put on 25-30 pounds in 3ish weeks, all water weight. After two non-stress tests and an overnight urine collection (that was fun), we were induced on our due date. 

I wasn't even a little dilated. The word my OB used was "pristine" to describe my cervix. 

24 hours passed and I still hadn't started contracting. I was barely dilated. The pitocin drip was started. After several more hours my water still hadn't broken; it wasn't until my OB threatened to force the issue that my water broke on its own around hour 36. An hour later I had my epidural. By hour 48 I was still only 4-5 cm dilated and it had been about 8 hours since Will's heart rate was recovering post-contraction they way that it should have been. 

50.5 hours later, Will received his official eviction notice. 

I was wheeled into the OR and I was scared. I had never had a major surgery before and even though God had been preparing my heart for this since the first time I had heard my son's heartbeat - I was still scared. I'm not sure if it was the chill of the OR, the anesthesia/morphine mix, or my nerves that had me shaking so badly on the table... probably all three. 

My husband just kept whispering Joshua 1:9 in my ear while squeezing my hand, a quiet and calming reminder from my teammate: "Be strong and courageous, God is with you... be strong and courageous, God is with you..." 

At 11:08 AM that day, Will was born.

In the recovery room with my little man Will.

I didn't get to push. He wasn't placed on my chest for immediate skin to skin and he didn't get his first milk against my bosom until about an hour later in our recovery room. 

I wasn't the first non-medical person to hold him. The first glance I got of my son was two nurses holding him towards me while they rushed him to get cleaned and warm and washed up. And while I am SO glad that Steve got the opportunity to be in the room while he was getting prepped and washed and got to help the nurses and give them his name...

...for about two years, there was a part of me that always mourned my textbook, perfect birthing momma moment that never happened. 

In my story and in every story I've heard of a first c-section, no one ever says that they wanted it to be that way. Even though God prepared my heart and I knew in my gut that it would be my story, a part of me was really looking forward to pushing, to having that moment of messy baby on my chest right out of the birthing canal. To have Steve cuddle into us and put his arm around me and our son and to have that be our story.

Instead my story was a cuddle on my net-covered head while I awkwardly held my son on the OR table for a brief moment until I was ready to be moved. 

A new baby and my first major surgery all in one day.

I couldn't stand up and change those first meconium diapers of grossness that they tell you about. Steve got the pleasure of changing those. It was almost 2 days before I was able to stand up over Will's crib and 3 days before I had the confidence to pick him up out of it myself without dropping him. Walking to the bathroom and showering were pains worse than the contractions before I got my epidural. 

Daddy and his firstborn son snuggled up in the hospital.

Two years of mourning what wasn't. My friends were having their babies and coming home and while they were sore, they weren't under the same doctors orders I was of no lifting and not being able to drive. They didn't come home with scripts for narcotic pain killers. They didn't have scars across their abdomens, a reminder of those moments I had yearned for and missed out on. 

It didn't matter that God had prepared my heart. I wanted normal. I forgot for a minute that my son was a miracle that wasn't supposed to happen, and mourned the loss of my textbook delivery that I knew wasn't to be.

When I was pregnant with Evie, even though our doctor said I could be a good candidate for a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After C-Section), we decided that the blood pressure and induction process were too great a risk and that we would opt for the c-section again. 

I'm glad we did. My blood pressure spiked again, this time a week earlier at just about 38 weeks and with proteins indicative of early pre-eclampsia. One week and one day before our scheduled surgery date, we found ourselves scrambling to get a place for Will and mentally prepare ourselves for the arrival of our daughter a bit sooner than we thought. There as no deliberating about whether or not we should induce; because I had already chosen surgery - surgery was the answer.

It was as my doctor and I made the decision for Evie to come early that I finally found the peace from the guilt and sadness I had been carrying with me from Will's delivery. In that OR as Evie was delivered, I wasn't scared anymore and I wasn't upset as I heard her cries, watched her get cleaned and wrapped, and that first awkward hold with those bright eyes was my beautiful moment instead of a guilt-filled one.

Welcoming baby Evangeline to the world... chubby cheeks and all!

This was to be my story. God had prepared my heart for it, and it's OK that this is my story. 

My children were born healthy. I survived the deliveries. I am not convinced that would have been the story of my first pregnancy if it had played out "naturally". 

My friend that wrote her post acknowledging C-Section Awareness month and sharing her story noted that c-section mommas are - among other things she said - brave. 

Brave. 

I never really thought of it that way. But I guess it's true. Brave people look at a situation that could be full of fear and they conquer it. 

When I think back to that first surgery with Will, lying in the OR... I can tell you that the last thing I felt in those moments was bravery and courage. I didn't feel strong. I felt exhausted, I felt scared.

My husband was the brave one that day. He found himself in an OR with his wife on the table praying that his unborn son would be okay and healthy after 8-10 hours of his heart rate not recovering properly. He had to hold himself together while I had my eyes closed just praying that God let my son be OK and trying not to lose my mind. 

He was the brave one. 

I had no courage. I had to have God give it to me. And He did. But it wasn't mine, it was His courage and bravery I had that first delivery. 

With Evie, I was much more confident. I was much more "Let's conquer this thing, bad blood pressure will not win!" and determined. I wasn't scared that day. That day I could argue I was brave. 

"Be strong and courageous, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go."

Will meeting his baby sister for the first time. 

It's the 27th of the month and it's taken me this long to be able to write this post. There are so many emotions that come up when I think through the births of my children, as is the case with so many moms out there. Everything I've read about the reasons for this month existing is to bring awareness to the rising rates and how we can avoid them and head towards a target c-section rate... and I think that looking at it in such a sterile way bypasses the hearts of the women who have had c-sections and are thankful for the surgery.

I am grateful for the doctors and their expertise and judgment. While they never said that we were in a life-threatening situation, I know it wasn't an ideal one and I know other moms who most certainly WERE in life-threatening situations that they - and their babies - would not have made it without having emergency c-sections.

I would say that I am sufficiently aware, and I hope that most other people are too. I am glad there is a time to highlight this though, and I hope that others feel the freedom that I now feel almost 3 years after the birth of my son.

My scar is no longer something that I look at with sadness or guilt. When I see my scar now, I see the pathway my beautiful children took to get into this world. I see the wisdom and skill of doctors who think of the best interest of women and babies day in and day out.

I see the bravery of my husband, I see the growth of bravery in myself.

I see our family.

I see love.

I see God.

Our little family - January 2015

The Woman in the Parking Lot

When you have two small kids and you're out doing errands trying to beat an incoming Nor'Easter the morning before Thanksgiving, making small-talk with a stranger in a parking lot is not the event you'd like to have happen.

But yet, there I was yesterday morning hurrying back to my car after grabbing diapers when a woman saw me pushing my tandem stroller back to the mom-mobile when she called out "Happy Thanksgiving!". Not wanting to be a Grumpy Gus, I smiled and said "You as well!" to which she replied "Thank God this only happens once a year... right?". I then laughed in kind and heard her mumble "Oh, but then there's Christmas... and New Year's".

There was something in the way that she said those last words that gave me pause. This was not a woman who had joy on her heart, but rather seemed overwhelmed. I turned around as I loaded the second kid into the car to give her a smile and said "Happy Thanksgiving, again!".

She stopped and smiled. "Oh, yes. You too. I'm so... there's just so much to do..."

I closed the door to the car after making sure both kids were snug and secure in their carseats, and turned back to the woman. She was maybe in her mid-50's, sweatshirt and jeans, blonde-grey hair quickly styled. She looked overwhelmed and concerned. I made eye contact with her and smiled.

She put her hand to her forehead and sighed. "I work in a nursing home and I have to work tomorrow," she said. Then she looked at me as if wondering if she should continue or not. I could tell that she wanted - no, needed - to, so I acknowledged what she said. "Well, I can tell you that if I had family in a nursing home, I would be more thankful than I can express that someone would be there to make sure my family member had a good Thanksgiving. It's better than retailers making their cashiers work just to make a buck."

Market Basket - More for your Dollar (and heart, apparently)

I could see her shoulders relax as she continued to tell me the rest of the story. She wasn't just working in a nursing home on Thanksgiving. She had to get there and organize the meal; this meant she had to organize the team cooking and serving the meal as well as making sure that the reservations/serving times for each family were in order so the holiday could go without a hitch for the residents and their families.

She had to arrive at the nursing home at 2:00 AM to start this process. Then after that was all done, she had to go to the airport to see if her brother had arrived from Switzerland for the holiday.

As she wrapped up her story, the look of worry took over her face again as she sighed and rubbed her temples.

It was then that it hit me... the Nor'Easter.

She had to drive to work in the middle of a snowstorm predicted to bring snow, sleet, and rain. She wasn't just overwhelmed - she was nervous. And I could relate, because I hate (and I mean HATE) driving in those conditions.

I decided in that moment that I didn't care about personal space or the fact that this woman was a complete stranger. I walked over to her and gave her a hug. Suddenly she was laughing and I said "Have a wonderful Thanksgiving... be safe, have fun" and rubbed her arms before letting go. She smiled and said "Oh, thank you! You too!" and walked back to her car.

I slowly got in mine and put both hands on the steering wheel when I realized I had a huge lump in my throat and that I was holding back tears. I took a few deep breaths and as one of them let go from the corner of my eye, I said a prayer. I asked God to help calm her heart, to protect her on the roads during the storm, to let her find joy in the moments of service and to enjoy the holiday.

As I said "Amen", I heard my son's little voice from behind me. "Mommy, otay? Wanna go home now. Mommy otay?"

"Yeah, Buddy. Mommy's OK. We're going home right now."

I share this story because I want to encourage you today too. I want to encourage you to open your heart to let God move in and use you. Use you for big things, use you for small things, but to use you. I find that He tends to use me for small things, but I know that those small things - those "lead from behind" things - make a difference to His people. I encourage you to pray that He help you to hear His voice. I don't always, but I find when I do it's for something that requires love.

I don't know why I was moved to cry. But I do know that God moved me to love on that woman yesterday. To be there for her  - maybe because no one else was. Maybe because if she didn't have release in that moment she would not have been able to release some of the nervousness. Maybe because sometimes people just need to vent to feel better.

Maybe because she just needed a hug, and God knows that I love to hug.

I don't know the why, but I know that God used me yesterday.

He wants to use all of us.

Today - Thanksgiving - I am thankful that God uses His children to do things. To do big things. To do small things. But all of the things that He calls us to do... all of the things matter.

Ask Him to use you too.

Happy Thanksgiving.

With a Thankful Heart...

During the month of November, I took part in a sort of meme that I had noticed people were doing leading up to Thanksgiving. Each day, I posted a picture and note of something that I was thankful for. Some of them were relatively inconsequential - like sales on kids clothes - and some of them were a bit deeper - aspects of my faith or family and friends. Originally, I wasn't going to participate in this meme and then I thought about it a bit before I jumped in. There were a couple of reasons that I decided to go ahead and take part.

30 Days of Thankfulness - Days 1-6
Running water, imagination, ability to cook, kids' sales & coupons, childcare workers, our family photographer

The first reason is that while I am always grateful for the things in my life, there is something about intentionally thinking about the many ways that I am either blessed or touched or impacted that really helps me to persist in being genuinely grateful. From my husband to my kids to running water to the minds that invent washable crayons - there are so many things both big and small that I can be thankful for at any given point in the day. If I ever stop being thankful, I might start to take my blessings for granted and not see them as gifts given to me and others by God. And so, every once in a while I think it's a worthwhile exercise to stop and reflect on the various things I am thankful for in my life.

30 Days of Thankfulness, days 7-12
God's promise to be there, great minds, answered prayers, our veterans, our new baby's health, and my husband

The second reason I went through this exercise was that I had a small hope that I would also inspire other people to pause and think about the things that they are thankful for in their lives.

30 Days of Thankfulness, days 13-18
My parents, great medical care, people who invent recipes, our pediatrician, my moms group, & being a stay-at-home mom.

Why now? Because I feel like the real reason for the Thanksgiving season is often lost in a shuffle of giant feasts and food comas, family obligations, high expectations, football rivalries, and preparations for intense shopping expeditions. While I think that any of those things can be an extremely fun experience, I also think that it's important that we take MORE time during the Thanksgiving holiday weekend to pause and be thankful for what we have in our lives - no matter how little or how plentiful it is.

30 Days of Thankfulness, days 19-24
Our Will, his relationship with his Daddy, our friends, my siblings, our church, and NAPS!

My posts on "30 Days of Thankfulness" technically ended yesterday, but I feel a renewed sense of gratitude for the many ways God has provided for my family, answered prayers according to his plan for our family and friends, and just cast His love out in so many ways. I am thankful for the various ways He has gifted people that make our world such an interesting plays. God is so, so good. I am thankful for His plans, I am thankful for His love, and I am thankful for his blessings.

30 Days of Thankfulness - Days 25-30
Children's perspective, my extended family, our Journey group, critical folks (PD, FD, EMS, etc.) working on holidays, God's abundant provision, Jesus' death on the cross

I'll close with a wish of a wonderful holiday season to everyone who reads this and their families. May you enjoy richly all the ways you've been blessed.

"Let me shout God's name with a praising song, let me tell his greatness in a prayer of thanks." (Psalm 69:30, The Message)

Having Faith, Always Praying

We sat with Nana in her dining room, all looking quietly at my newborn son. She shook her head, sighed, smiled, and looked at me like she was going to say something before stopping to look at the baby again. 

"You know," she said after a brief moment passed, "I just don't understand how people can look at babies, new babies, and not believe that there's a God."

Steve and I looked at each other before responding; she had no idea what truth she spoke in our lives that day. 

"Yeah, Nana. I know. Babies are miracles," I quietly said. 

Steve nodded in agreement before also responding. "That they are..."

What she didn't know was that for us, William was an answer to prayers. Prayers spoken, prayers unspoken, prayers on our hearts and minds for quite some time. I had been told that due to a medical condition I had, the best chance we would have of getting pregnant would be immediately after coming off of birth control. When it didn't happen in the first two months, I assumed that God's answer was that we would not be having children and I quietly came to terms with that. After all, sometime's God's response to our prayers is a no.

But then two more months later... we saw two lines on our pregnancy test. 

Will & Mommy (Photo credit RLPhoto, 2012)

I found out several months later that while my husband sat in a lecture at a conference about a professor that videotaped his son's first two years of life to analyze how we learn communicate, he prayed that someday - despite the odds - that we could experience that wonder ourselves. That we could watch our own child learn, grow, develop, explore in those early years. 

I had written off the idea and silently dealt with my disappointment to a prayer I incorrectly thought had been answered no, trusting that God had plans. Steve held on to hope and asked God for a child. 

We were already two or three weeks pregnant when Steve prayed that prayer and had no inkling. Two weeks later we saw those two lines on our pregnancy test. 

For us, William was truly a miracle. William was a blessing that not only enriched our family, but expanded our trust in God's plans for our lives. William taught us to never stop praying boldly for those things we feel urging us strongly in our hearts. William taught us - and continues to teach us - more about God and faith than anything other experience we have ever encountered. 

"I just don't understand how people can look at babies... and not believe there is a God."

Steve and I are in a season right now where we have really felt God moving in our lives via answered prayers. Some of the answers haven't been immediate - but some have. We've had medical issues that looked to be very concerning in our house that have turned out to be minor and manageable after we've prayed endlessly to God about them. We have had decisions to make that after praying about them felt like we were being pulled in a certain direction, and have had situations appear that have confirmed we followed God's lead for where we were going. We have felt Him move in our marriage in ways we haven't before. 

We have friends who literally have hundreds of people praying for them after they went into pre-term labor 5 weeks ago at 28 weeks. At 33 weeks & 2 days, she still hasn't delivered and is leaving the doctors thinking she's a complete mystery. 

The works of God so often are just that - a mystery. And if the fact that she's still incubating isn't a powerful testimony to the power of prayer - I don't know what is.

This summer, Steve and I decided that we were ready to have baby number two. Sometime in mid-July, as we sat in bed talking with God in our nightly prayer, Steve said "God, I think we're ready for another kid. If that's Your will, we're ready for it." I squeezed his hand, and soon after we said "Amen". 

It was never mentioned again. We just let God know - we're ready if You are. Your call, God.

As the math worked out... not long after that, a week or maybe two, we became pregnant with our Little One. Twenty-three(ish) weeks from now, sometime next April, we'll be welcoming a new Baby Athanas into our home. 

Little One at 14(ish) weeks - Due April 2014!

Another miracle. 

Another answered prayer. 

Trust that God has our best interests, that He has plans for us. That He hears our prayers. Pray boldly, pray constantly, trust in His answers. 

"And we are confident that He hears us whenever we ask for anything that pleases him. And since we know He hears us when we make our requests, we also know that He will give us what we ask for." (1 John 14-15, NLT)

Traffic and Women's Rights

Every day I leave my house right around 8:15 AM. It takes me - on a normal day - about 30 minutes to get to work and since I have to arrive by 9:00, leaving at 8:15 gives me a 15 minute "traffic buffer" just incase I hit any snags.

Because you know, it's Eastern Massachusetts and I work "heading towards Boston". That's enough said.

As I leave my house, I can see the highway I have to get on so I am able to see what the flow of traffic looks like in the direction I'm headed. Typically speaking, it's flowing relatively freely though I can expect a slowdown one exit down due to solar glare in the winter.Today: I looked up and saw a tractor trailer. It wasn't moving. I looked closer and realized there were lots of cars. None of them were moving either. So I tried to be all slick and take the backroads to another spot to get on the highway. Those cars weren't moving either.

To make a very long story short... what usually takes me 30-35 minutes took me 1 hour and 10 minutes to accomplish from garage to parking lot. That's about twice as long as normal, and the "traffic buffer" that would normally suffice in the event of one snag (which isn't abnormal) turned out to be absolutely fruitless.

Here's where I learned a lesson in perspective today.

As I sat in my car constantly refreshing Google Maps for traffic updates and seeing nothing but red to blood red at seemingly every turn, I could feel my blood pressure rising. I was going to be late for work, I have a meeting, why am I not moving, this is so boring, I've already heard this song, why is @MassDOT not tweeting what's going on (I wasn't moving, believe me - I didn't look while I was driving), etc. etc. etc.

Then I looked over and realized something: hundreds of other cars were in the same position I was in. Everyone out on the road this morning was stuck in horrible traffic. It occurred to me that with that many people in traffic, there would be a good chance that not only would most of us be pretty late for work - it's entirely possible that someone stuck in that traffic might have been given a warning not to be late anymore or their job was on the line. And maybe today was the day that person left super early so they wouldn't be late, a day to make a fresh start - only to be met with traffic that doubled their commute time.

I said a quick prayer for that person - who I'm sure existed - that their boss be reasonable and understanding.

My brain didn't stop there. I suddenly felt this bizarre sense of solidarity - we were all in the traffic club! We were all in that mess together! All for one and one for all! Here here! This solidarity among my fellow drivers was reinforced when I realized that no one seemed to be doing that "my schedule is more important than yours" move to fly down the breakdown lane. See! We're all a traffic team!

Or something.

Last night I was purging my office to get rid of things so that we can consolidate to one office and make room for Baby Boy. As I was purging I came across my "thank you" copy of "The Vagina Monologues" that I received as being part of the performance when it was produced at UMass Lowell. If you've ever seen or heard of it, then you know that the premise of the entire thing is to bring awareness to women's issues not only in the US but in all parts of the world. It is meant to celebrate the beauty of women and unite us all globally to stand up for what is right. Performances are often sponsored by women's rights groups who fight for women to have the same freedoms in other parts of the world as they do in the US.

I remember this one monologue about what it was like to live under a burqa, and another about a woman who suffered from female circumcision and rape at the hands of soldiers in her own country. As I sat in traffic this morning, these stories came into my mind and took up space in my heart. Here I was letting my heartrate and frustration level rise because I was sitting in traffic, being inconvenienced... when really the fact that I was sitting in traffic would be considered a blessing by many women around the world.

Think about it - what led me to be sitting in the traffic in the first place? I was able to get a good education, put myself through college, choose whatever job I wanted, wear whatever clothes I picked out this morning, drive myself to work, choose what path to take - and at the end of the whole thing, arrived safely to be treated by my male peers with respect and viewed as an equal.

Without that sort of cultural surrounding - I wouldn't have been sitting in traffic this morning. Suddenly, the traffic didn't seem like a huge bother anymore.

Don't get me wrong - sitting in traffic is definitely an inconvenience, and is doubly annoying when my husband is home before me at night and I'd rather be spending time with him than sitting behind the back-end of a garbage truck staring at its taillights. It's not the traffic that I'm grateful for, especially when you consider that most traffic is caused by the misfortune of another driver. That's not it at all.

What I'm grateful for - and am actually incredibly thankful for - is that I've been blessed enough to be able to be a woman in the United States of America. A place where I can literally be who I want to be, can chase my dreams, believe in the God I choose to believe in, can be treated as an equal in the eyes of everyone.

The next time you're sitting in traffic... take a deep breath, and think about how you got to that point in the first place. If you're anything like me, it'll make the ride a lot less painful.

The Annual Post of Gratitude

Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and while this year I have found myself just generally more grateful for the blessings in my life - Thanksgiving is definitely a time to be intentional about that gratitude. After all, giving thanks for the abundance and blessing in our lives is the whole reason that the holiday was established in the first place (even though our culture would have us believe that it's about turkey & football).

"But Thanksgiving is more than eating, Chuck. You heard what Linus was saying out there. Those early Pilgrims were thankful for what had happened to them, and we should be thankful, too. We should just be thankful for being together. I think that's what they mean by 'Thanksgiving,' Charlie Brown." - Marcie from the Peanuts gang

 

So... what are some of the things that I am thankful for in 2011?

I am thankful for grace... When you allow grace to become a driving force in your life, it is amazing what can happen in your relationships with others. For example, a little while ago Steve came to me to talk about something that he knew would bother me but that had to be addressed. Under normal circumstances, I would have freaked out and let my emotions get the better of me. How dare I not be taken into consideration! How dare he not put me first! But I looked at Steve and saw someone who was humbling himself and coming to his wife in a step of healing and hope. Selfishness and anger would have just damaged our marriage if I had reacted so poorly; to react without grace would have made Steve think that he could not come to me to discuss things that need to be discussed. I intentionally allowed grace to rule my actions... and the result was understanding, discussion, healing, and love. That is just one example of how I have seen grace transform a situation from something potentially awful to something potentially beautiful. I am thankful for grace.

I am thankful for access to great healthcare... I think that in the US, decent healthcare is something that we can easily take for granted. However, being pregnant has given me a renewed gratitude for the level of healthcare that we have in our country. At nine weeks, I called our OB and left a message with the nurse because of some symptoms we were having. After a brief conversation, they brought me in for an emergency appointment, examined me, discussed what they saw, answered our questions, and issued instructions. Things were fine - but any time I've had a question or concern I can just call up and they are there to respond. There are so many countries in this world that do not have this easy access to good healthcare... and we should not take it for granted. Not for one second. And if able, I would encourage you to find an organization that provides healthcare to less fortunate regions of the world and support them with financial resources, supplies, or your time.

I am thankful for my wonderful husband...  The other night after getting back from signing our will/health care proxy/power of attorney papers and then finishing the update on our family finances, Steve looked at me and said "See? Didn't I tell you I would take care of you?". I looked back at him and said "I married you because I knew you would". Let me make this clear - it's not just our finances where he takes care of me. Steve is there every time I have a success to cheer me on, a failure to help me see how to improve, a bandaid when I cut myself (usually cutting veggies...), and to catch me when I fall (usually quite literally). He listens to me talk through things, holds me when I cry, laughs at my stupid jokes, is willing to work through both of our shortcomings, and tries to protect me from things he knows will hurt. Now... he's not perfect, and neither am I. There's no such thing as a perfect person. But he's pretty darn good to have as a husband and best friend; we could lose all of our "stuff" and money tomorrow... and we'd still have each other, and he would still take care of me. I am grateful for him every day.

I am thankful for our Little Person... As of today, I am 16 weeks and 5 days pregnant. Not a day passes that I am not incredibly grateful that God has blessed us with a child and that I pray for our child to continue to grow and be healthy. It is absolutely insane to think that Steve and I are going to be parents, and it's crazier to think that God is trusting US with the duties of parenting. I am so thankful for the opportunity to love on this Little Person, help them to learn the ways of the world, and just grow our little family. I love the moments when Steve gets close to my growing little bump and starts talking to him/her... "Hi, Baby!". It is such an amazing time for us right now, and I am cherishing every moment of it.

Those are just some of the highlights of the things that I'm grateful for this year. There are others, of course, but I only have so much room in a blog post.  

What about you? What are you thankful for this Thanksgiving? Make sure to take the time and reflect on the blessings in your life this weekend!!!

"Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus." - 1 Thessalonians 5:18 (NLT)

It's Been a While...

I realized this morning in the shower that it has been quite a while since I posted on my primary blog.

Why is that?

Well... it certainly wasn't that I didn't have anything to say. In fact, I had quite a bit to say. It's just that I wasn't saying much of it out loud. And it was hard to do that. So I just avoided it all together.

You see... the thing is: We're pregnant! Last week we released the information publicly as any modern-day couple would by posting the ultrasound picture on Facebook. It certainly was an easy way to get the word out and an exciting way to get lots of encouragement at once. In fact, even as an outside observer to other people's lives on Facebook, I love celebratory announcements. Pregnancies, engagements, promotions, weddings... if it's worth celebrating, I love when people are bold enough to put it out there and invite others to cheer alongside them.

Celebration is good.

At any rate, as of today I am 14 weeks, 5 days pregnant with our Little Person and I wanted to share with you a few of the things that pregnancy has taught me (so far... I have a long way to go and much more to learn). Some of these things I knew and pregnancy just made real, others I'm learning as I go.

Little Person at 9 weeks, 3 days old.
You can't tell from the picture, but he/she was a tiny dancer the day this was taken too.

Grace is Essential: When people find out that you're pregnant, they immediately get excited. When are you due, how are you feeling (with dirty looks or "you're so lucky") when you haven't gotten sick, are you finding out the gender... all sorts of typical questions. At that point in the conversation once the basics have been reported and excitement has been established, either the conversation continues in a normal fashion or some sort of borderline inappropriate behavior happens. Sometimes this takes the form of an unwelcomed stomach rub, uninvited pregnancy advice (that doesn't apply to your pregnancy), or an order about what you should or should not be doing.

Here's the thing - people do these things because they care. Responding in a face-ripping manner cuts their heart. If something that someone does in their care and excitement bothers me, then I need to have grace with them. I need to calmly explain why it bothers me, politely ask them not to do it again, and express my gratitude for their excitement.

Confession here is that this is totally against my sarcastic nature, but I recognize that and am working towards the graceful response rather than the snarky, cutting response. Pray for me.

Patience is Required: I want to meet my baby NOW. I want to feel his or her soft skin and fuzzy baby hair and yes - even change the first diaper. However, God has designed us so that the miracle of life takes up to 40 weeks to happen. This means that I do not get to meet my baby now - if I do, the baby is not in a good place and of course I do not want that to happen. And so, I must be patient. I wait patiently for the first kick, the next doctor's appointment, and that magical moment when I give birth to our Little Person sometime next spring. I rest in God's plan for pregnancy and know He designed it this way for a reason. Besides, if I can't be patient now - how am I ever going to manage parenting?

Husbands are Amazing: Not that I didn't already appreciate Steve, but there's something about having his wife pregnant that has transformed something in him. Maybe it's because I'm carrying our child, but he is really shining as a partner in the marriage since we found out we're pregnant. In listening to other wives talk about how their husbands were, I know that this is not a unique thing to just Steve. Husbands are wonderful; they are strength when we fall apart, they are a hand to squeeze when things hurt, and above all they want the absolute best for you and the child you are carrying. Steve has been to every doctor's appointment we've had (even relatively inconsequential ones), has jumped at opportunities to do every small thing related to baby, serves me at any opportunity, watches out to make sure I'm taking care of myself, and even took the initiative in getting us pregnancy books. He is my partner, lover, best friend, companion... he is amazing.

BFFs - Jamaica 2011

Reliance on God: Nothing in my life has taught me about the importance of relying on God the way that pregnancy has. I can fool myself in all sorts of areas that I can solely rely on me; financial success, reaching goals, and gaining knowledge and wisdom are just a few of the areas where I can make myself believe that I am completely in control. In those areas I can think that I earn my money (rather than God blessing me with resources), that I create my own destiny (rather than trusting in God's plan for my life), and that I can seek and gain wisdom & knowledge (with any guidance from the Holy Spirit) all by my onesies. However - only God can grow, develop, and perfect the little miracle that is growing inside of me right now. Are there things I can do to assist because the folks that God has gifted with medical knowledge have done the research and know the "right things" for pregnant ladies to do? Sure. But at the end of the day, Little Person is in the hands of God right now. He is knitting our Little Person as I type this (Psalm 139:13-16).

I know I have a long way to go before Little Person arrives and several milestones to hit, but I feel incredibly blessed with the lessons that I have already taken from this experience. Before we became pregnant, I was just excited to have our first child. But now that we are - I am excited at the experiences and growth that come along with being a parent, start to finish.