You Know You're Pregnant When...

Before you all get too excited [by "you all" I mostly mean my mom] ...I am NOT pregnant. 

But, I have a sweet friend who is...and she wrote a fun post I had to share. Swing over and read it here...and browse her other posts - she is a gifted writer. I love to read Jessica's blog, which she has titled Jessie's Journal!

Big Decisions, Turquoise Marble Laminate and Other Mushy Stories

As I sit here staring at the offer on the table before me [quite literally], a flood of memories has rushed into my mind and sentiment fills my heart…suddenly what seems as though it should be joyful and exciting is becoming increasingly melancholy. It’s not that I’m unenthusiastic about the papers lying there…waiting for our signatures…I am excited. My sorrow is at all the memorable moments this sweet little home has been a part of.  And as the reality of possibly soon parting with it sinks in, it is a little sad.

I know it’s kind of silly; after all, the house is nothing spectacular. It’s small, it’s old, the floors are slightly uneven…but it is familiar, and comfortable. It is has been home for practically all of my adult life.

As I type here, in the living room, I remember the evening J. proposed to me…right here.

We had the place torn apart. Everything was being remodeled…we gutted the place from one end to the other. Electrical, plumbing…all of it! We had finally arrived at the very exciting point of attaching sheetrock to the walls, and choosing colors, light fixtures, countertop, cabinets…etc.

J. picked me up and our “plan” was to swing by the house to measure something and then head out to the hardware store and decide on lighting. When I stepped inside the house, I realized, the “plan” wasn’t really the “plan”.

A small round wooden two person table was set up in the middle of the living room, surrounded by sheetrock…the bare wood floor exposed with bits of black paper still loosely attached. Rose petals were sprinkled across the unsightly flooring and atop the beautifully arranged dining table. A vase of roses adorned the center of the table. Off to my right, sitting on top of the stove [by “stove”, I do not mean kitchen stove…I mean our heating stove] sat a pot of spaghetti; I later found out he had prepared the pasta himself at his parent’s before driving to my place that night. And soft music gently flowed in from the small bedroom beside us.

He smiled. We had waited a long time – and it felt so much longer to us than it actually was. I remember staring at my ring often throughout the weeks to follow…it was beautiful, and it was mine…from him, what more could I want? That night was like a dream…and here I am today…in the very same place, nearly a decade later…still just as uncertain of what lies ahead, and equally as thankful to know that whatever it may be, we will face the future together.

To my left is the kitchen. I have a clear view of the countertop; I can vividly recall sitting there and crying the first time J. brought me here to see the place. I assure you…it is NOT the same countertop he showed me. It is different, but in the same spot.

The house was a little bit hideous when I first saw it. I exaggerate sometimes, but it really was not attractive…at all. The living room wall was covered in cedar shingles. Gross. Who would cover their wall with roofing?! The carpet smelled. The place was covered in spider webs. I can’t even begin to talk about the bathroom. The dining space was decorated with faux brick wallpaper and a rusted rectangular ummm, well, for the lack of a better term “chandelier” hung about 5 ft from the ground from dirty old metal chains. In the kitchen, all I could even focus my eyes on was the turquoise marble laminate countertop…it was everywhere…and screamed, “Look at me, I’m hideous!” The cabinets were actually ok-ish. They were white, which I love…and hope to someday have white cabinets again…and a few even had glass fronts, which I also love, however, they were painted so thick, they couldn’t even close properly anymore and were old and falling apart.

After J. gave me the “grand tour”, he asked what I thought about the house, and right then I lost it and began bawling. I began to re-think my decision to be seriously involved with this man…how could I possibly live HERE?!

He laughed. It was a kind, “you poor silly girl that I love” sort of a laugh. Then patiently and graciously he explained to me that it was more than what we could even afford and the best of any of the houses he had previously looked at. He convincingly explained that he would “fix it all up” and make it just perfect for me. And being so desperately in love, I choked back the rest of my tears, determined to pretend not to see the horrid turquoise counters anymore, and wishing I had a better imagination, but resigning myself to the fact that I simply did not, I decided I would trust him when he said it could be “fixed up” and “pretty” even.

He definitely followed through. My house isn’t “everything I’ve ever dreamed”, but it has been just perfect for us. It is warm, and inviting…and I am still amazed at what a wonderful job he did making a home for us.

Our yard is full of memories too. It is a big, beautiful yard, fully fenced. J planted a garden off in the corner, where we’ve been growing all kinds of vegetables: beans, zucchini, carrots, squash, and tomatoes. We also grew cilantro and lettuce. Peas are one of our favorites, but sadly, they didn’t produce this year. And we’ve also tried corn, melon and radishes, peppers and strawberries…those too were duds.

Our garage borders the garden and the yard. Along the side bordering our yard, J. planted some ivy we had used to decorate our guest tables at our wedding reception.

This picture was actually taken several years ago...it's grown all the way up now.  We weren’t sure if the clippings would take, but now the entire wall is covered in greenery. I am amazed sometimes that those plants have made it so long. A few years they turned brownish in spots and we thought they might die…but they pulled through. It reminds me that our relationship has endured some “dry” seasons…times when life and love were not always as easy as it was when we were younger…but we were determined to love, and here we are.

Or, I think of the day I found out I was pregnant with our first child.

It was an average summer afternoon; the sun beat hot through the passing clouds, the air was a hint thicker with humidity, and the neighborhood was singing with noise. I could hear the train whistle loud and strong as it passed by near our home. The children next door threw their ball back and forth across the yard, occasionally a kid would miss the catch and the fence would tremble and then moan at the impact, like an old man. Our tall walnut tree was full of sound; squirrels chased one another, climbing in circles up her tall, thick branches, and occasionally a bird, perched on an outer limb, sang out some cheerful announcement across the air before stretching her wings and taking flight.

My husband was outside doing something. I’m sure that even if I had asked what he was doing, the explanation of it would cost him more time than it was worth for either of us, but I doubt I bothered to question him. I recall him using a ladder.

I was inside our little bungalow of a home, in the bathroom, off the kitchen [yes, you read that right…you walk through the kitchen to get to the bathroom…that arrangement unfortunately could not be efficiently remedied during our remodel] *ahem* there I stood starring at the object before me in disbelief, unable to discern my emotions, unsettled, uncertain and understandably so.

How would I tell him? How could I go and explain this news to the unsuspecting man outside on that ladder? What would I say?

I wanted to cry. I wanted to laugh. I felt a little bit numb, but not so numb that my internal turmoil went unnoticed…just numb enough to no longer notice the dishes in the sink, or to pay much attention to Sobi as she smacked me with her thick, black tail in excitement when I stepped outside.

“Hey, J…could you come here for a minute?” I called out.

“What d’ ya need?” This was his sensitive reply. [He often uses lazy English when he’s focused on a project. I think he inherited it from his dad.]

“I need you.” I answered, vaguely.

“Honey, I’m in the middle of something. What is it - a spider?”

No. It was not a spider. A spider would be easier…simpler, and far less invasive.

“Uh…noooo.” By this point, I had become more than slightly irritated. This was not how I envisioned our conversation going. I’m not certain I had much of a “vision” for the exchange, but I knew that THIS was not it. Why didn’t he just put the hammer down and run over here to squish the assumed spider for me?! Why were we having this dialogue across the yard? Didn’t he know I have something very serious to discuss?!

“Of course not…how could he?” I reasoned with my self. Then I regained my composure and marched down the steps and through the grass to meet him. He obviously wasn’t convinced by the urgency and seriousness in my voice and intended to continue hammering.

Once I finally blurted out the news, pregnancy test in hand, he responded entirely unalarmed, or emotional, “Ha-ha. Funny Heather…” It took some time for me to convince him that I was indeed serious. [Let that be a lesson to you…it’s like a suped-up version of “the boy who cried wolf”. I think I may have played one too many practical jokes on the guy.]

Oh how our world was forever changed!

Now here I sit with not one, but three little ones around me. My son, [the one who rocked our world a bit] is now five, and is sleeping on the floor in the bedroom. My oldest daughter, three years old, is crashed on the couch across from me…and my youngest little love is resting peacefully and happily in my arms.

Our house is full of memories.

Most of them are sweet…a few are agonizing to recall. So, I won’t.

But the beautiful thing about memories is that we don’t have to leave them behind with the house…they are OURS. I am thankful for the moments and years God has given us here. And although, I really do not know what the future holds for us, I know Him who holds it.

And today, instead of looking around me and crying, [like I did when J. first brought me here so many years ago] I will fix my eyes on Him and know that He loves me and regardless of whatever my present or future circumstances may be, He has promised that He would go and prepare a place for me. And because I am so crazy in love with Him, I will determine to ignore whatever “turquoise marble” I may encounter, and trust that He will take care of me. He may just even be able to make something beautiful out of the messy, filthy, ugly – worn out world we each are all too familiar with living in […and contributing to if we are willing to be honest about it].

Not to say I feel like my current situation is a hardship or difficulty, I just know that life isn’t always easy or glamorous; but I get to share it with Him. THAT is worth overlooking life’s “turquoise marble”.

Now enough storytelling, I’m off to crunch some numbers and pray about big decisions to be made…

Shed

I am shedding…lots.

I always keep my hair in a ponytail now, because otherwise I end up leaving a trail of hair behind anywhere I go. The shower drain needs to be unclogged often...and I can barely keep up with the sweeping and vacuuming necessary to prevent a layer of my locks from coating our floors.

It is disgusting.

At least it's my own hair...but I still think it's gross. I often get that tickly feeling, as though a tiny creature of the six - or worse - eight legged sort is crawling down my back or arm...only to realize it's just my hair, which is a relief, but still...eww.

And as practical as a ponytail may be...some days I just want to wear my hair down...this “ponytail-for-6-months” thing is getting old.

It's L.'s fault. Her delightful arrival has initiated this shedding of my hair. And hair is not the only thing being lost and left behind.

I'm shedding pounds too, which is great. I like that kind of shedding. I'm nearly back to pre-pregnancy weight, although I don't think I'll be returning to pre-pregnancy shape for awhile...either in appearance or physical aptitude.

Modesty is shed quickly when giving birth.

"A few strangers want to watch me push a baby through my hoo-hah?...Oh, that's fine, come on in!" [Turned out mine was the only natural birth those students had ever witnessed.]

"Excuse me, nurse...um, I'm peeing in the bathroom, could you please bring me another iced diaper."

"Hello, man-I've-never-met-before...sure you can bring my lunch in. Don’t mind my lactating breasts hanging out while my baby and I are trying to figure out this nursing thing."

I've shed a few tears. Some were reasonably shed...most were likely hormonal, or due to the excessive amount of sleep I've shed.

And parenting these three children has shed some light on a few things; mostly on God's greatness and my own inadequacies. These have developed in me a more grace-filled perspective of my own parents and of parents in general.

Back to my hair, though...

So, I learned that hair follows a natural cycle of growing, becoming dormant, and shedding. During pregnancy, the increase of hormones in a woman's body prohibits the hair from being shed, as it normally would be. So generally about 1-3 months after delivery, as her hormone levels return to "normal" [pshhh, yah right, like our hormone's are ever "normal"], the hair that was previously prevented from falling out, is shed over a relatively short period of time. And the hair rejuvenating process continues as before.

The peak of this massive post-pregnancy hair shedding is typically 3-4 months after delivery, so I should be just about through - I seriously hope so!

This whole shedding thing made me think about how the Lord is always purifying our hearts.

The healthy things in our life continue to grow. The things that are dormant, useless, and dead, fall out. It's a cycle. We are constantly being renewed as believers in Jesus. But when an imbalance in our spiritual lives interferes with that "shedding" process, what is dormant and dead is prevented from being removed...until He delivers us. And then the icky, messy, gross process of shedding all that is lifeless begins. The sin is going to be dealt with - one way or another it will fall...but I tell you what, when it's held onto for a time, the shedding of it is a much messier ordeal.

So, there's a weird analogy for you...

…and possibly tmi.

But hopefully He can redeem my ramblings and bless your heart in some way through them.


"You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; to be made new in the attitude of your minds; and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness." - Ephesians 4:22-24

A Mother's Day Story

I was busy cutting veggies and arranging trays of fruit when my life was on the verge of forever being disrupted; my perspective about to be significantly challenged; and God was preparing my heart for a love that was unlike any other I’d previously known.

My family was coming over for dinner that evening. It was Saturday. Since my family and my husband’s family live near us, we try to spend holidays with both families when we can. This particular year, Saturday night was to be spent with my family, and Sunday, the actual holiday, would be spent with his.

It was an exciting time for me. Nearing my due date, I was full of both joyous anticipation and, to be perfectly honest, unspoken terror. [Ok…well, mostly unspoken. I spoke of it to some…to the few who would endure my irrational panic.] The news that our first child was on the way was a delightful and frightening surprise for me. Although, my husband and I had discussed the possibility of children, our conclusion had always been: we are SO not ready.

My biggest “not ready” complaint? The process. Yes. The fear of the unknown was enough intimidation to quench any ambition of mothering a child in the near future. Maybe I would be ready someday when I was older and braver, I reasoned. [Because, naturally, I would just become more courageous with age, right...?] But in this instance, unfortunately for my ambitions, the scenario was worse than unknown. I had vague ideas of what carrying and delivering a baby might be like. My imagination, fueled by what little I did know, was even scarier than simply not knowing. I just couldn’t bring myself to intentionally put my body in a situation where it would be required to endure the agony I so vividly envisioned in my mind. But, thankfully, I’m not so in control as I might like to think.

I remember telling a co-worker the afternoon before I took a pregnancy test that we would want to wait at least 3 more years. [What did I think would change in 3 years? Why 3 years? I don’t know. I just remember offering that number after she asked when we planned to start having children.] I took the test assuming I would alleviate my suspicion…not really giving much thought to the remaining option that I may actually prove my inkling true.

The odd thing to me, now looking back, is that my concern was not so much that we did not have the space…which we did not, by the cultural standards. Nor was I too concerned that we would struggle financially, especially if I quit work and stayed home with the baby, like we wanted to do…and we definitely faced financial challenges. Nope. My big worry was short term, self-centered, and simple; I did not want the pain.

Ironically, I have since delivered 3 children naturally. Amazing that she who is one of the whiniest, wimpiest people I know, actually did it…3x! We also still live in the same home…now with not just one child, but three. AND have made it on one modest income since the day we felt convicted by the Lord to trust Him and I quit my job [forfeiting over half our income…] to stay home with my baby. He has never once failed to meet our needs, and at times, we have just been so in awe at the ways He has chosen to provide for us.

So, on that Saturday, not knowing what the future held…and not wanting to think too much about it, I prepared and hosted dinner for my Mother and the rest of my family, all the while feeling, but trying desperately to ignore, my contractions as they grew stronger. By the time the last guest walked out our front door, I had to sit down and finally tell my husband, “I think I might be in labor.”

The contractions were not very close together yet. I took a shower and finished gathering items for the hospital. We called and headed out. I labored all night, walking up and down the halls of the hospital…while my husband slept on a bench nearby. I envied him.

I was so young, and unprepared, and afraid, but with my husband [finally awake] and my own Mother by my side, I welcomed our first child into the world – on Mother’s Day. And by the strength and grace that God provided, I endured the dreaded pain.

I have to say that the experience was empowering, in a way. I had no idea I was strong enough to go through that. I truly believed at one point that I was quite possibly going to die. [I was nowhere near death; I’m just a dramatic big baby – although in my defense, I was in a heap of hurtin’ this time.] But all of it…the pregnancy, the labor, the birth – the learning to mother a baby…it all made me realize that I was stronger than I expected myself to be. And that the Lord was able to carry me through what appeared to be insurmountable obstacles, with surprisingly little effort. [Hello?!? – a baby should NOT be able to fit through that space!!! – That’s just weird! AND…how in the world does a woman’s abdomen, first of all, stretch out that far…and secondly, ever return to any sort of normalcy…it’s ridiculous. I’m impressed. Nice work, God.]

One of my sweetest first memories with our son was either the first or second day we were home with him. I was sitting in our recliner holding him while he slept. And I suddenly was just overwhelmed with love for him. I started to cry. [See, I told you before, I’m a crier.] And the Lord spoke to my heart, “I love you. I love my Son, and I allowed and chose for Him to endure great pain for you.” I could not imagine allowing anything painful to happen to my son. I looked down at his leg. [My son had been accidentally significantly burned by hospital staff while being prepped for his PKU. This is another story altogether.] I felt his pain with him. I was so angry that this had happened…I would have never allowed it.

I can’t say that I am completely over my fear of pain, although, I think I have a new perspective. I realize that I can endure more pain than I think I am able to. I realize that pain can produce something wonderful and miraculous. I realize that love required my Savior to endure more suffering than I will likely ever come near to facing, so I might not be held captive to sin and death.

         “Who for the joy set before Him endure the cross…”
                                                                 Hebrews 12

He endured it "for the joy set before Him".  I only endured because there was no other option.  If I had a choice, mid-labor, to continue "for the joy set before me", I may very likely have decided I actually didn't want a baby that bad.  [At that point I didn't even understand the joy that I was about to experience - or how intense my labor would become.]  Yet, there was no other way...that baby was going to come out somehow...and it would be painful. But, unlike me. Jesus endured His suffering willingly, knowing both the cost and the reward, for the joy of loving us...for the joy of pleasing the Father. 

I’m thankful my Mother endured pain to deliver me.

I feel blessed to be given the opportunity to endure the pain necessary to deliver my 3 children.

I am overwhelmed that God would endure pain to deliver us.

That Sunday was a very special Mother’s Day for me; it was my very first; my son was born; my Mother was by my side. It was just special. And my life has since been certainly altered, my thoughts completely refocused, and my heart has been invaded by that tiny, beautiful creature I had endured such pain to meet. I am so glad for it all. I’m thankful for the lessons I am learning. I’m thankful for each day I am given to love and be loved by the children God has placed in our care. What a privilege and honor. Happy Mother’s Day!

My sweet things.