F is for Fletcher and Faith

It’s Fletcher’s first birthday, but I’m the one who got the gift. He is the most amazing little child, and in his infectious smile I see the gift of faith. I had never questioned or doubted or feared the way that I did when I found out I was pregnant with him just four months after having Lily. I had trusted God with my life and knew he was good, but until that point His plan had matched up with mine pretty well. But not this time. This time I was confronted with a question: “Do I believe that God really knows what is best for my life?” I don’t think I did. It seemed impossible that having 3 kids under 3 would be a life that I’d love.

I’m so gloriously glad that I was wrong. I was so wrong. Fletcher is the happiest, sweetest, most adorable and loving gift. He shows me every single day that it truly is best to throw myself into the faith that God has wonderful things planned for us. His little life symbolizes just how fervently I can trust God with my future. He shows me how wrong and how ridiculous it is to worry. He shows me that through Christ all things are possible, even happiness in a life with 3 toddlers. He shows me that God won’t abandon me, even when I’m at my most entitled and selfish. Fletcher broke down the walls of my heart and opened me up to gratefulness and freedom. Fletcher showed me how wrong the world is about children and never to give ear to scoffers. He revealed that even with the best intentions, advice or counsel apart from the (sometimes hard) truths of the bible are lies. He showed me that “I’ll be glad they are so close one day” is a belief that cheats me out of the joy I have in our kids being so close in age right now. There is not a member of our family whose presence did not change me for the better. I’m a rich woman.

           

Fletcher is literally the happiest person I have ever been around. He is so smiley and sweet and loves to make eye contact and then just giggle or wiggle. He has the most chubby little cheeks even though he barely has one tiny roll on his ankles and wrists. He loves to wave with both hands and clap. He already has some pretty cute little dance moves and takes a few steps. I love watching him follow his brother and sister around and he usually doesn’t cry when they try to force him to walk.  He is our sweet, happy, playful puppy boy.

Lily in Winter

There are three winter things I am more thankful for than anything else in the world. In sequential order: my marriage (December 13), then Lily (February 15), and then little Fletch (February 19). And today I’m most thankful for that sassy pants sweet girl since after all, it was two years ago today that she made her way in typical Lily fashion. She is the only child that gave me totally debilitating migraines for three months of my pregnancy, the only child who broke my water at home, and she was the easiest and sweetest delivery. Very Lily of her. She caused a stink, made herself known, and then was so sweet that we didn’t mind at all. Because of all the migraines I had very strongly suspected that she was in fact…a she. Since I had only a handful of “normal” migraines in my pregnancy with Lyric, I just knew that there had to be a gal in there messing up my already fragile hormone/headache situation. As soon as our ultrasound showed us her little lady parts I started crying and said “I knew it was her. It’s Lily.”

My sweet and sassy (I’m not just saying that because it is a common pairing of characteristics, this girl is 100% sweet and 100% sassy) little girl has changed our family beyond what words could describe. In her I see my own strengths as well as some future “growth areas” for Lily and past/current areas for me to grow in. She is thoughtful and cautious, but still brave within her own timing. She is funny, but unaware of how funny she is. She is sweet and such a little cuddle bug and quality time girl. She is stubborn and sure of herself, but takes time to warm up to new people. When I look at Lily, I see a tiny peanut who loves the girly girl things of life: getting nails painted, having her hair done at my vanity in front of the mirror, dressing up like a princess. But she makes the best little sound effects for cars, trains, rockets, dinosaurs, and monsters. She keeps up with Lyric playing rough and tumble in the playroom, all while mothering baby Fletcher and keeping a close eye on him. Once I even caught her pointing her finger at both brothers who were sitting on the ground as she towered over them (all 2 inches of her) saying “Obey me. OBEY….ME!” I have no idea where she got that phrase as my children obey perfectly and by instinct, I never have to remind them to do so.

Lily has enriched our family, while bringing a little delicacy to the scene. When I picture her saying “Yeah” and her little grunty elongated giggle I can’t hide my grin. She is a precious and unique little girl and she is my very very favorite thing on this cold February 15^th.

Winter Is Reflective

One of the weirdest things I’ve ever experienced is the bright reflection that shines off the snow and illuminates everything…even in the middle of the night. Yep. It’s SO weird. The snow reflects even the softest moonlight times like a bazillion. It still kind of freaks us out. But one thing I kind of love about it is that I can see my favorite person lying in bed next to me, pillow talk is so much sweeter when I can dimly see his smile.  And on the days where the sun is out, the reflection from the snow makes the sunlight in our house all the more bright. I love that we get natural lighting from sun and earth during the winter.

I find myself reflecting on times in the past, the winter seems to illuminate them and makes me keenly aware of both past happiness and past sadness. Just today I was gazing out the window and remembering when body image was a daunting shackle for me, and when I discovered that green stuff was still growing even in winter, the time when I achieved my goal to run a 5k, and when I was blown away by a surprise pregnancy, and of course I can't forget all the Easters we have spent together as a family. There has been so much richness in our life. For the hard times and for the sweet times, I’m grateful.

This is 11pm

Stories: The Tale of The Many Mini Candy Bars

 **This is a funny story. If you find yourself in a deep in reflective place, you’ve gone too far and missed the turn.

We used to do this ministry thing in the apartment complex where we lived in our early days. Basically, we planned and carried out events for our complex with the intention of building relationships. I was pregnant with our first, Lyric. But for the sake of this story you should know that I was almost equally pregnant with a very large….sweet tooth. A sweet tooth like no other sweet tooth, this sweet tooth could send me into tears at a moments notice until I was driven to the nearest self-serve frozen yogurt establishment. Cushioned atop billowing swirls of delightful vanilla and chocolate yogurt with an occasional strawberry ribbon, were carefully selected peanut m&ms and chocolate sprinkles. Ah the delight! Oh the satisfaction! The initial sweet crunch of victory followed by the cool embrace of delicate dairy.  Uhh..err…pardon me. Back to the story.

I had a part time job, and Austin had a few part time jobs. This left me with ample time in the apartment. So I planned a Halloween event for our big monthly shin dig. We made food and I got the high school small group I led to help me make like a million black foam bats to hang around the apartment office along with egg crate spiders. (This was pre-pinterest, people. This is craftiness you actually had to work for, no one handed it to me on a silver platter of cuteness.) I put together a myriad of fun games and a costume contest, put the flyers out for the party and hit up Costco. (Oh Costco, how I long for you. You are the superior bulk shopping store.) No…wait…I was distracted by my bias for Costco vs. Sams Club. I did not buy the candy at Costco I bought it at Target. And yes, that detail does matter. You will need to have an idea of the approximate size of the bags of candy I bought…and I have a sweet tooth, but not quite at the Costco level. Anyway. One of the nice things about our apartment manager was that he asked that we only buy name brand products. He didn’t want the events looking janky. (janky: homemade but not in the good way, unprofessional, pieced together, makeshift. Pronounced: jane-key) So I arrived home with four, count them- four variety bags of name brand candy. The afternoon of Halloween we set up our adorable party and waited for the party goers and trick or treaters to come by on their way out for a night of fun. And we waited….and we waited. And then our two couple friends who lived in the complex came by. Then thankfully a really sweet family with a really sweet toddler came by (we could always count on them). And then…the occasional resident paying their rent would notice our party and grab a little candy while they waited. Seven. Seven people and one dog. Seven people, one dog, and four bags of candy. Nine people if you count Austin and me. We waited it out for the painstaking two hours that the party was scheduled for and then packed up and went home.

Maybe it was the pain of event failure. Maybe it was the pregnancy. I’m almost sure it wasn’t my utter lack of self-control. Whatever the reason…that candy haunted me in the days following the party.  One bag of candy had been left in the office, one bag of candy had been prematurely opened in anticipation of a big turn out for the party, and two bags remained unopened. It made perfect sense that we would save that candy and use it at future events. In fact, now that I’m writing it out…I think I might have actually stolen that candy by technicality, since it was for our residents. So in my weakness I started treating myself to a little lunch time mini candy bar or two. Then eventually that became a lunch candy and a mid afternoon candy. Then, before I knew it, I had found the bottom of that bag. I needed more. So I dove into the next bag of variety candy. It was the good stuff people, Kit Kat, Snickers, Butterfinger, M&M’s. I quickly realized that Austin would never approve of the complete and utter gluttony I was entertaining. So I did what any good wife would do when she is faced with the decision between her man and her sugar. I hid the sugar. This kept my man in blissful ignorance and my sweet tooth satisfied. I would give this marriage advice to anyone. We had a ridic-U-lous kitchen with the best storage EVER. It was so easy to hide that candy. All wadded up in the back corner of the lower cabinet beside the pantry, I can still see it. When I started eating more than two four six candies a day…I began to hide the wrappers between different trashcans or bury the wrappers under at least three other larger pieces of trash. As you can see…it was a problem. And that problem came to (some) light one fateful prenatal appointment. Like any good dad with a weird hodge podge of jobs, Austin came with me to every appointment but one. At this appointment I was supposed to gain between one and two pounds. I gained at least six. And that’s when my wonderful, Christian, cowboy, fatherly, doctor told me blunty in front of my still newly wedded husband, that two pounds of my weight gain was for my baby and the rest was just me.

That’ll get ya.

So I finished up that bag of candy and then decided that I wouldn’t buy more. Wow, I can just bask in the light of that discipline and wisdom. I mean really, that took guts.

And so was the tale of the many mini candy bars. A couple of YEARS later, I confessed to Austin. And it went something like this “Remember how I mysteriously got so huge with Lyric and with the other kids I haven’t had that happen? Well…..” And to this day I have to take extreme measures to keep my addiction under control. If you follow me on instagram, you are almost guaranteed to see a picture of my three self allotted Halloween candies. I’m already excited! I love you, candy.

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27, Flirty, and Thriving (dang I wish that rhymed)

Tomorrow I turn 27 years old. And today I accomplished a goal that I set two years ago, while I was pregnant with Lily. And this year was one of the best years of my life. Looking into what I thought this year would hold, I anticipated many hard days, but I never guessed the sum total would equal the best year. The best year. The most surprising year. The most demanding year. The growing pains year. The most humbling year. The sweetest year.

Ever since I was little I had this idea in my mind that being 27 years old would be “like so awesome.” It’s a sentiment very close to the idea that a young Jenna has about being 30, in the movie 13 Going on 30.  I always thought I would be so put together, I’d wear the cutest clothes (and for a time, I thought that meant tight mid drifts ((which I was not allowed to wear as a kid)) with over-all shorts and long hair that I would constantly be swishing back and forth like the best valley girl ever), I’d be dating or engaged to the most successful business man who wore a suit like a Ken doll, and I would drive a cherry red sporty car, I would have the coolest friends and we would do awesome things like roller skate and stay out all night.  But in all seriousness, 27 always seemed so illusive and so perfect. Now as I sit across from a little girl spilling and picking up popcorn over and over, a baby boy needing a nap, and my biggest little buddy runs around with a fresh haircut while my husband leads worship up at the church for one of three services this weekend….I know I was not only wrong about what the past year would be like, I have been wrong about everything I thought I wanted.

I thought that difficulty would always be bad. But ya know, this year I intentionally just let it sit. Just let it be, and gave myself the freedom to enjoy the big picture while I struggled through some zoomed in moments.  Below are a few highlights, a montage of the year if you will. You should start the youtube first and know that this would be my theme song for my montage, don't read into it--the song just gets me pumped up and the video makes me want to happy cry.

July Reflection

Three years ago at this time I was shell shocked and nervous and scared.

Two years ago at this time I was full of fear living on the edge of panic.

One year ago at this time I was crushed and afraid and secretive.

Three years ago at this time, I was scared because He had given me a child.

Two years ago at this time, I was scared because He had taken one away already.

One year ago at this time, I was scared because He had given me back two fold, what I once feared would never be again.

Three years ago at this time, Lyric had just been born and had an unexpected surgery and we moved across the country.

Two years ago at this time, I found out I was pregnant with Lily and scared out of my mind that I would have another miscarriage and that I would never carry another of our children to term again.

Three years ago at this time, I found out I was unexpectedly pregnant with Fletcher, everything about my plans made sense and nothing about this surprise seemed to work in my mind, I was terrified about what the future would be like.

This summer I realized that all my fears had been proven wrong. The teeny tiniest seeds of belief from those times have been blessed beyond what I ever imagined.

And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord.” (Luke 1:45, ESV)

Three babies from Katy Tullos on Vimeo.

And baby makes 4! (or 5, or more!)

I'm flattered to announce that I have been awarded a Liebster blog award! It is an informal nomination from other bloggers, but one I will gladly accept. I now have to nominate 3 blogs under 3,000 followers that I would like to nominate for the Liebster, so be looking for that at the end of this post. 

On the heels of my blog posts about our unexpected third pregnancy, I thought this would be a great time to write about the transition from one kid to multiple kids. I'm sure I'll have even more to say on the subject after Fletcher joins us at home. For now I mainly wanted to touch on some practical things, but lots of emotional elements of adding kids too. I can't tell you how many of my friends (both real and through social media) are pregnant, adopting, or looking to foster their second child.  For those of my friends coming up on their due dates its a time filled with emotions both happy and sad, nervous and excited. This time last year, I was so ready to have Lily, I wanted to meet her so badly, I was so excited to have a little girl, and anticipating seeing Lyric in his role as big brother. At the same time I was nervous because I was afraid that somehow by bringing a new baby home I would not have as much attention for Lyric or love for Lily. I was sad that my special time with Lyric was ending and I thought our relationship would never be the same. I did realize that Lyric, by being the first born, was the only kid who would ever know what it was like not to share me with any siblings. Some of the things that helped me with the transition were things that other moms helped me see, some things that God gave me to live by, and some things that I just picked up along the way. Because this post is specifically written for those of you who already have at least one kiddo, I’ll do it in outline form. ;)

Great Expectations- Setting realistic expectations is the key to embracing most big changes in life, as you know if you have been married for longer than a few months. Use your mind, not your emotions. Don’t let Pinterest set the standard for your expectations. Let God’s word and character shape the desires of your heart. Expect to be emotional for a bit, expect there to be at least a little chaos, expect “survival mode” and not much more. If you are one of those moms who can still cook and clean and bring a newborn into the family, great for you. Most of us aren’t that mom, most of us will survive and in a few weeks/months we will return to thriving in a state of routine and a resemblance of order in our homes.

The Beloved Firstborn(s)- I think a lot of us get scared, nervous, and overly sentimental about the last months, weeks, and days we have to pour out all our love and attention on our first little ones (if you are wondering about the plural nature of these first ones, its for my girl Camie and all you mommies of twins) Even preparing for our third born I find myself a little torn over wishing I had more time to get to know Lily and excitement to welcome Fletcher to our fold. But the truth is, that even though you will be distracted in the first week or two, you will very quickly acclimate and have just as much attention and love for your older child. If you are a little sad because you are afraid things will never be the same, you are right. Life will never ever be the same it WILL be better. As much chaos as there has been, as many bad days, as many times as I’ve had two crying little ones on my hands…I have never ever wished for the way things used to be. (And don’t worry, the bad days are still far out numbered by good days!) Our family is so much better and richer and complex and laughy and silly and deeper because of Lily. And honestly, your oldest will also always be the furthest developed, and as a result will still get tons of your attention and play time. Plus, just remember the only child who ever knows what its like not to share you is the firstborn. All the other kids to come won’t even know that reality, its more normal to share you than not to. (Unless you only have one kid, in that case…why are you still reading this post? …I tease…but seriously)

“How will I do it?”- I think that every mom bringing home a newbie asks herself this question, regardless of how many she has brought home before. This is a question that pops into my mind sporadically. Well honestly, with this current pregnancy being such a shock, this question was just about the only thing on my mind for the first two months. I’ve dealt with it, but it still sneaks in every once in awhile. Just remember, there was a time in your life when you didn’t know how to be a spouse, there was a time when you didn’t know how to do pregnancy or birth or adoption, there was a time when you didn’t know what to do with a baby/toddler/kid—but it worked out, and it is probably still working itself out. When this question was swirling around my head on nights that I couldn’t sleep I thought that I had to have an actual answer. Then one day someone asked me in all seriousness how we were going to do it…that was when I realized, there is not an answer you can give yourself or anyone else. The answer is—we will give ourselves grace, take advice of those who have gone before (with a tablespoon of salt), and we will have faith that God planned this for our family so He will direct our paths and sustain us to walk it.

Should I Stay or Should I Go- Sometimes you need to hunker down and know that a bigger family sometimes means more limitations. You can’t get out and do stuff as easily as you could with no kids, or one, etc etc. But just as there are times when you need to just say no and stay home, the opposite also applies. Sometimes I catch myself feeling down for no reason and to top it off the kids are grumpy and awnry. Then I realize…oh yea we haven’t left the house in four days! That’s when we make a play date, or go to Chickfila, or Target, or the park or library. Sometimes, your house starts to close in on you, then its time to get outta there! After the first month Lily was born, I was ready to be a little more active and the kids needed something too. So I loaded up the double stroller and twice a day went on a 30-minute walk. It was great for me and wonderful for them. It wasn't always easy, but so worth it!

Mommies, the biggest thing I can emphasize is this: Don’t listen to others when they say “wow you’ll be busy!” or “yea now just imagine this [tantrum, shopping, really any activity] with one more kid!” or “yea it will be really hard for awhile, but one day you’ll be glad.” Do listen to your husband and your kids. Commit to turning to God’s word before you turn to any other book or blog for help. Stay near to the one who created your growing family; you don’t need to be anxious. Everything else will work itself out.

I feel that to be really honest I should share that this blog took a few days to write, because…well sometimes I had to stop writing and read my advice back to myself ;)

So I am supposed to nominate blogs with less than 3,000 followers. I can't do that. What I will do is share my favorite favorite blogs in my feed:

http://www.babywisemom.com
http://morninggrunge.wordpress.com
http://notyetfully.blogspot.com

Is that a second line?! Part 2

I was frustrated

I was mad

I was scared

I was overwhelmed

I was disappointed

I was selfishly crushed

This is the story about the contortions of a believer’s ungrateful heart. It’s weird, it makes no sense, and frankly it’s kind of bratty. By most standards, my feelings are understandable, but by my standard it's not right. Thankfully, my contorted heart and mind and emotions were untangled in the end, which is personally my favorite part. I’d love to skip the “freaking out” parts and skip straight to the happy stuff, but our story, like all the best stories, is even better because of the triumph.

There were so many sleepless nights spent staring wide-eyed at the ceiling completely freaking out. I worried about the number of bedrooms in our home, the lack of a third row in our car (purchased ONE WEEK before I found out I was pregnant), the chaos that was looming in the distance, the effect all the pregnancy and children would have on our marriage, and the effect that the pregnancy would have on my body. I spent a lot of time being sad that I had to stop losing weight. I tried to bury the fear of migraines returning (although, when the first one hit I was a massive heap of frantic tears, which makes me even more thankful for friends who let you cry and take your kids off your hands for the afternoon). But more than anything else—I lived and breathed in complete and utter denial. I’ve always heard of denial as a real thing that people that are grieving or in shock deal with. I never knew how real it could be until I started catching myself praying for the absurd.  I know what you are thinking…how can any prayers be absurd? Let me tell you. When you catch yourself genuinely praying that God would keep this baby safe and healthy and protect you and the baby from a miscarriage, but just kind of freeze that pregnancy for about two years, just ya know, put things on hold…. believing that because God is sovereign, he can do this thing you are asking of him…that is absurd. Yes he is a sovereign and powerful creator, but come on! Get a grip girl! I wish I could emphasize enough how honestly I relied on this whole…on hold, notion. 

Probably the only time during the week that I would face reality was during a run at the Y. I liked running inside on the little track upstairs (I know it’s weird) and each time I would inevitably cry. It was two steps forward, one step back. Beginning the run I would cry from stress and worry and fear, leaving the gym I felt encouraged, filled with truth, happiness and excitement. You should know that the encouragement piece came largely from the ministry of my husband and his amazing worship team and the awesome album they were working on, which I put on my iPod even during it’s “revision” stage (if you don’t have it, your missing out).

This was a time of contrasts and roller coasters for me. It was as if with every crash of fear and worry and selfishness, I was hit with a corresponding wave of truth and encouragement and help. If I wasn’t crying from the worry, I was crying from the happiness. It was so overwhelming for me that even while I was being so difficult, God would be so gentle. No matter how afraid I was—of everything, all of it—God still spoke. Never was I alone, never ever did I stop hearing from him. Sometimes it was scripture, sometimes it was music, sometimes it was people, and sometimes it was quiet revelations or new perspectives.  I’ll never forget the day when I realized that not only was this real, but this was perfect for our family’s story. All at once, at the end of a run, it just came together. Having the perfect “two year plan” just isn’t us. We are risk takers, free spirited, rip the band-aid off, “let’s do this thing” kind of people. This fit us better. The air was crisp, the sun was bright, there was a tiny breeze, my hair was pulled back with a ponytail and elastic headband when I called Austin and shared my excitement. The moment you realize that God knows you and your marriage and your family far more intricately than you do, that is a beautiful moment of grace and relief.

The coming days brought more “reliefs.” Relief like—we have eternity for order and peace and perfection, so what is the big deal if we have crazy, full, tiring days for a little while right now. That’s what life on earth is anyway. Relief like—my weight loss and health goals were quickly turning into an unhealthy obsession and this pregnancy was the abrupt end to that path.  Relief like—I love, like really love and like my kids, and now I get another one! No doubt the changes ahead are big and undeniable, but it’s a good thing. Fletcher Colby Tullos, our son and third born, is loved and anticipated and good for all four of us.

I am blessed

I am joyful

I am hopeful

I am entrusted

I am excited

I am held up

Normally, my journal is totally off limits, but just this once, take a look.

 truth

 # of kids

Beth Moore conference notes

 "I am Not Abandoned" HBCD Worship

 deliverance

                                                                     Relief

Is that a second line?!

Alright it's time. You know what I'm talking about. The pregnancy post. I announced that we had been surprised to find out we are expecting another baby due exactly one year and ten days after our daughter Lily was born. Surely, there are things to be said...or written. And here it is.

So, I've been going around and around in my head trying to think of the best way to say this--but regardless of how I put it, it's awkward. So without giving any details...just know that I had been very anxiously awaiting June 21st--so that I could take a pregnancy test. I knew that there was a chance that I was pregnant, and I was trying my very hardest to convince myself that I was not pregnant and life would play out as planned. I mean really, what are the odds that one...urhh uhh, anyway what were the odds that I could be pregnant? Had to be low. HAD TO BE. I had finally grown a real love for running, and I was training to run a 5k and making plans for the Turkey Trot in Fort Worth when we went down to Texas for a visit. I was losing weight, feeling so healthy, loving being the only person using my body; life was good. In my mind, being pregnant at the time would be the worst possible timing ever...EVER. At the time I thought that, even though I had faced some really tough days, I had my self image issues and battles under control. I was active, starting to see signs of my old body, so proud of myself for the hard work I was doing and the healthy habits I was building. I was so convinced that surely I would not be pregnant-- that Austin and I traded in our minivan (which was regardless, a good thing since the mileage was getting high) and we got a Ford Edge (no third row, keep that in mind). One week later I bought a box of pregnancy tests at Walgreens, only so that I could rule out the possibility and go eat sushi with a clear conscience. In fact, I was so absolutely sure that I was not pregnant, that in that little trip to Walgreens I paid for three things. 1. Pregnancy tests 2. a box of cheap combs (I have a toddler obsessed with combs and I'm a southern lady so clearly, my hair is teased on a regular basis) 3. contraception. That poor cashier had to ring up two things that very much contradict one another. I'm sure that she was thinking one of two things, either she had a crazy woman on her hands (yup) or she was dealing with one super promiscuous woman. I mean seriously, who does that? What woman in her right mind buys both pregnancy tests and contraception together? The box said results up to 6 days early. I was still 8 days early, but I was desperate so I went ahead and took the test. Surprise surprise, the test was negative. Life was good. My parents and sisters would be in town for a visit in three days (so if you are counting, that means that I could accurately take the next test the day before they arrived). I continued running and exercising the hardest I ever had (you should know that I have never been the athletic type). I was not just loving the current state I was in...I absolutely relished every single minute of it. Two more days pass, one of them when I had to go to the dentist and answered on my paper work that no, I was not pregnant. Thankfully with God's great grace I didn't need new x-rays. The next day at the gym I weighed myself (something which I was accountable to both Austin and my friend Olivia that I would only do every two weeks, because I had started doing it every day--which is just a bad idea). Hmm, strange...I had not lost one single pound. That could be fine. Most people hit a plateau, I guess it was time for mine. Right? right? or...what if?...I'd seen this happen before, when I was pregnant with my firstborn, but that isn't a real symptom. Right?! --This and only this thought was the ONE thought outside of denial that I had towards my pregnancy. I quickly dismissed it and decided to hit the gym harder and eat even healthier. The next day was the big day...day 6. Austin was literally on his way out, putting on his shoes and then leaving for work. I had just woken up and remembered that I should take the pregnancy test again today during my first bathroom visit. So without hollering at him to wait--I peed on the stick. I laid the stick down. I washed my hands. I looked back at the stick. It had the faintest most light resemblance of a second line. But I mean--I had just woken up, so probably my eyes just weren't focusing right. But as I stared it got a teensy tiny bit brighter.

"Austin?"

"Huh?"

"Austin?!"

"What?" 

"Can you come up here? Like now?"

"Why?"

"Just come here!"

He came up, poor husband, and had no idea what he was walking into. 

"Is that another line? Can you see that?"

"No, I mean I see what you are talking about, but its not a line. Its just the plastic behind the little paper."

"So you see that?"

"Yea, but its not a line. Why? What does a line mean?"

"They don't make those with anything that would even look like another line showing."

"What does a line mean?"

"We're pregnant, oh my gosh, I'm pregnant."

"No, let me hold it under the lights.....yea that's a line"

"Oh my gosh. (now leaning against the wall for support) I can't breathe"

Part two coming soon. Its gonna get kinda sad, real funny, and super vulnerable, and then happy up in here. Come back again to see the smackdown I got from the Holy Spirit.

Please have a laugh at my expense, please

So if I have to be in total annoyance and discomfort because our daughter refuses to get a move on....I'm going to share a story about it! (And no...I'm not past my due date, I still have two days before I hit week 40 but I'm not good at waiting!)

So first of all I need to give mad props to Hannah Slay, this girl brought over Chili's queso and salsa with a 12 pack of decaf Dr Pepper yesterday for a Galentines day of sorts while our hubbies worked. It was fabulous. A pregnant woman literally could not ask for more. While I was shuffling in the queso I told her where I'm at. I think this sentence pretty much sums it up for me. "Literally every moment that I'm not in labor I'm annoyed." Those who know me know that I tend to be "animated" (as I like to call it) or "dramatic" (as some of you like to call it). Either way I am still happy at the core and very joyful...but also...I mean come on...its annoying to wait! It's especially annoying when you are tormented by the memory of labor and delivery being the most painful and difficult thing you have ever done, but also excitement of the best reward and the highest high on Earth when your child is "out."

So the second thing you need to know is that Austin, my amazing husband, has become quite the sleep talker/mover in the last 9 months. Maybe its a sympathy thing? I'm pretty positive I'm the one who is supposed to have weirdness when sleeping. Anyway, about a week ago Austin had this very sudden "twitch" or something in his sleep and I guess his hands were over his head and he hit our headboard so hard. I woke up terrified and he immediately calmed me down and explained that it was him. In that moment when my heart was racing more than it has in the past 7 months (give or take) I thought to myself "good grief I think I might get scared into labor." But alas...we were not so lucky.

So...last night Austin passed out asleep on the couch (something which I should disclose...NEVER happens) so we headed to bed early. Since I wasn't too sleepy (and still annoyed that another day had passed, but really happy because one of my best friends did get to welcome her baby boy into the world) I killed time playing on my phone---ouch...ouch...dude my belly is rock hard---ouch....ahhh, relief. WAIT! That was a contraction! Started in my back and moved forward-check. Started gradually and got worse and then tapered off-check. Lasted about two minutes-check. Rock hard uterus-check. HALLELUJAH! I'll wait for one more before I start writing down times. tick tock tick tock...18 minutes later--ouch ouch...rock hard belly...ouch...relief. YES. 10:18pm. Eighteen minutes of "flood it" games on my phone later...ouch ouch-rock hard...ouch...ahh. YES. Then only ten minutes...then I started drifting to sleep. I was so tired, and I knew that the next one would wake me up and until then I really needed to rest. It took me ten minutes to settle my mind down and fall asleep again...but by that point I was so tired that I didn't fully realize that since I wasn't in another contraction yet, I was probably not going to be. Anyway, after finally falling asleep after listening to Austin sleeping so peacefully for over an hour....I was dead asleep and then ...OUCH! But no. NO. Not that kind of ouch. The kind of ouch where someone just punched me in the butt. I thrash my head very dramatically to look at Austin and he is still sleeping. Ok, this is ridiculous, but I guess he is sleep...punching or something. Whatever. Close my eyes....OUCH...another punch and then "BOO!"
Yea "boo"...are you freaking kidding me?! You are really doing that whole if-I-like-you-I'll-be-mean-to-you-flirting...in your sleep?? Oh Austin. I sit up and say "What....(dramatic pause) are you doing? Wake up." Austin (as cute and innocently as can be) "I'm scaring you into labor." Me: "Are you awake? You had better not be awake." No response. (I should add that it is typical for him to respond with something ridiculous in the moment and then not remember at all in the morning and think the whole ordeal is hilarious.) Me: "You had best not remember this in the morning." (aka you better be sleeping, cause that and only that can save you.)

Words cannot describe how mad I was. And of course this morning my sweet husband tells me good morning and offers to bathe Lyric for me. First, I take him up on it and tell him good morning. Then I ask if he remembers last night. Of course he doesn't. And once again he thinks it's hilarious. He then proceeds to blame me, that perhaps I dreamed it. But then incriminates himself by adding "that's weird though cause a couple of times before bed I thought about trying that while we were watching TV."

I don't know if anyone out there can relate to this waiting game, or if anyone thinks that this is remotely funny. But it is ridiculous, so I had to share it. Please get a good chuckle out of our ridiculous-ness. And if you have any labor inducing tips...use the comment box!

I have a reason to sing

I have a reason to sing
 I LOVE the song "Desert Song." If you haven't listened to it, do so. If you haven't jammed out to it in worship or on a drive alone in your car, you are missing out. During my deepest and saddest mourning of our miscarriage I sang "all of my life, in every season, you are still God. I have a reason to sing, I have a reason to worship" because I knew it was true, not because it felt true. But now, on the other side of the storm of grief, I feel it to be as true as I knew (know) it was. Something devastating did happen, the worst sort of news had been delivered and I had a reason to sing! At first I sang with hope, hope of things to come, hope that one day I would sing and feel again. Now I can sing with joy.



I wrote the previous paragraph months ago. Going back and rereading drafts that were never completed, I came upon it. I have been able to sing with joy for awhile now. Joy that I feel. Now as I am waiting (not with great patience) for our daughter to come into the world...I sing for joy. But I am so thankful that my joy doesn't require her existence. I am so tearfully thankful that I had a reason to sing before I got what I wanted. I'm so glad that one day I can tell our son and daughter that in the face of heartbreak they can sing. They have a God who loves them and who defeated death for them, and that their hope doesn't have to be in the temporal pleasures they experience now. I'm so relieved that I know the hope and truth and joy and rich rich love that came out of our loss. I'm so humbled that He chose to show me the greater depths of His sacrifice and His love-- out my hurt, out of my heartbreak, out of my shock, out of my tears. I look back on the past year (nearly to the day), and I so cherish all the change. 



The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me,
because the LORD has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor;
he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and the opening of the prison to those who are bound;
to proclaim the year of the LORD's favor,
and the day of vengeance of our God;
to comfort all who mourn;
to grant to those who mourn in Zion—
to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit;
that they may be called oaks of righteousness,
the planting of the LORD, that he may be glorified.
(Isaiah 61:1-3 ESV)

Sacrifice

I have had this particular blog whirling around my head for awhile now, time to attempt to write it out. So pregnancy being a nine month process is no doubt part of the Lord's divine preparation process. Just when I think I have learned the biggest/heaviest lesson I think I will ever learn, I learn another. First, a little brutal transparency (something which I have been desiring for this blog, yet now it seems a little terrifying). Growing up with a sister with special needs definitely shaped my life and character and without Kristen, I would not be the person I am now. However, seeing the weight and responsibility those special needs carry at times, it's not a situation that I ever HOPE to be in as a parent. I have more respect and admiration for my parents then words could ever describe. Now, with little baby Lyric growing in my tummy, I have spent many-a-night falling asleep just praying that Lyric will develop "normally." Of course I will love my son immeasurably regardless of his needs, be they "special" or "normal." So...all this to say that one fateful week as I was preparing for the high school small group I help lead, I was hit with a big huge ugly brick. I was consumed with fear and resistance. So fearful in fact, that filling in to help with a little girl who had special needs one Sunday morning had me driving home in tears. What I thought was a normal week of reading the given scripture and jotting down some notes, knocked me straight into the Truth. The main passage for the week was Genesis 22. The story of Abraham sacrificing Isaac, a story I knew since my felt board days. And yet, new things jumped off the page. Abraham had to travel for THREE days with Isaac before they reached their destination, that's alot of time to stall or even bail on the plan. Also, there were two servants with them (young men at that), capable scape goats as I would see it. So when they finally reach Moriah (geez I have a lump in my throat just typing this), Abraham had every chance to change his mind and head home. But instead, he was obedient. He was sacrificial. "Then Abraham reached out his hand and took the knife to slaughter his son. But the angel of the Lord called to him from heaven and said, 'Abraham, Abraham!' and he said 'Here am I.' He said, 'do not lay your hand on the boy or do anything to him, for now I know that you fear God, seeing you have not withheld your son, your only son, from me." Gen. 22:11-13. As I read this I knew why God had brought this scripture before me. I had withheld my son, my only son. The Lord could not have been more clear. I could nearly audibly hear Him "I did not withhold my only son, why are you withholding your son?" My fist was clenched so tightly to the dream of a perfectly healthy son, that I was separating myself from the beauty of sacrifice. Granted, nothing physically changed in that moment, but I began to see a more full picture of the love and grace that the Lord has for me and what is required from me as a mother. Right now, I am called to love Lyric blindly and unconditionally. If he wants to be a jock or an artist, if he is funny or awkward, if he is normal or if he has special needs; I will love him just as much. I will continually strive to be a model of Christ's love. I will continue to pray for my son's health, but now I pray that his life will glorify the Lord, and that my parenthood will glorify Him --even in these days of preparation.