The Unopened Gift

Christmas is past us now, and we've also survived our day-after birthday celebration. I'm exhausted, and quite honestly ready to pack up all the stuff floating around here and find it homes--somewhere other than my living room! I don't know if it is nesting, or if I just can't stand the chaos anymore.

Our tree traditionally stays up until Epiphany (Jan 6th, this year). That's a good thing for only one reason--we have an unopened gift under it. No, it isn't for my any of my three neices, or my nephew. I knew I wouldn't be seeing them this year. And, no, we aren't waiting for a "Saturday-after-celebration" to hand out this last package. This last small box is a resident in our home because of our 4-year old son.

See, we were shopping for last minute items (all our shopping was last minute this year...) at the dollar store. I'd picked up some cheap wrapping paper. Some tape. That sort of thing. My son, however, was investigating the toy section. Despite my incredibly pregnant belly and the discomfort it causes, I still go pretty much everywhere with at least 2 of the other kids along. So, the toys provided a much-needed distraction while I finished buying cleaning products. The problem came when it was time to leave. Of course, I had two small kids--just days from Christmas--begging me for a dollar-store toy. (Or ten.) We wound up purchasing two...

We also wound up purchasing some lime green socks. Small ones: 0-6 months to be exact. My son gives socks every Christmas. It's convenient for me--I need less imagination--and practical for the recipient. He'd already gotten socks for everyone else in the family. Nonetheless, during his browsing through the toy section, he must've glossed over the baby stuff just next to it. And found a pair of socks he was determined that his new baby brother needed. I explained that (much to my dismay) his brother wouldn't be born by Christmas. I explained and explained. My 4-year old has a stubborn streak, however, and finally I threw up my hands and spent the dollar on those socks.

The battle continued at home. He wanted the socks boxed. And wrapped. And put under the tree. I was frustrated. This failure to deliver a baby brother was bothering me enough without the pressure of a Christmas gift waiting for his birth. Not to mention that I still had about a million things that actually needed to be done screaming for my attention. My teenager wound up being dragged into the struggle--she assisted in the boxing, wrapping, and placing that gift under the tree.

Where it remains today. A single, small, sparkling package. Bought simply because a big brother already considers his "new baby" part of the family, and therefore the thought of not including him at Christmas simply couldn't cross his mind. A little wrapped boxed, waiting to be claimed and opened. A symbol of an innocent and incredible love, inviting a response.

Of course, you know what this reminds me of. The very first Christmas. The Christ child, wrapped in swaddling clothes--which, admittedly, didn't sparkle. But the sky did--just ask the shepherds. Or the wise men. And why was He there in that stable? Because our Father in Heaven already considered us part of His family--letting our sin continue to separate us simply couldn't cross His mind. A little baby Messiah, symbol of our salvation, waiting to be recieved.

Maybe I'm reading too much into a simple pair of socks. Maybe I'm just a hormonal pregnant woman who gets teary eyed about everything lately--especially having to rise off of any horizontal surface. Regardless, this is as close to the heart of Christmas as I've gotten all season. This unopened gift for my unborn son, reminding me of the most incredible gift ever given. And asking me, is He still waiting to be unwrapped in my life?

What about in yours?

"And she will bear a Son; and you shall call His name Jesus, for it is He who will save His people from their sins. Now all this took place that what was spoken by the Lord through the prophet might be fulfilled, saying, 'Behold, the virgin shall be with childs, and shall bear a son, and they shall call His name Immanuel' which translated means 'God with us'"

--Matthew 1:21-23

Merry Christmas

So much to say...none of it about having this baby...and so little time since I'm enjoying the faces of the ones already born!

Blessings to each of you.

Merry Christmas!

Wedding Bell Blues

I have worked 21 of the last 72 hours. Now for most people, that doesn't even add up to a full day's work each day, but please recall that I am 1) 8 1/2 months pregnant (give or take), 2) on vacation and 3) free labor.

It is crunch time for my friend's wedding and she was in need of a few (dozen) extra hands to wrap up final details. And wrap I did. I wrapped empty boxes to decorate the stage of the church under the fir trees. I wrapped chocolates (which I first spent 14 hours making) in cellophane. I wrapped rubber bands to hold the cellophane together in a pocket. I wrapped ribbon galore to finalize the table favors. And when I ran out of time without wrapping up the project, it came home with me to be finished in the next two days.

As I worked in the blessed, but occasionally lonely, quiet of a house without my children in it, I prayed for the couple whose nuptials I was (literally) tying up loose ends for. My oldest, who was a miniature bride in her dad and I's wedding, used to ask when we can do the wedding again. I always reply "Once was enough for me." I imagine this couple may have similar feelings after the frantic activity of the past several weeks. They were trying to be responsible with their budget, I'm sure, but I don't think they had any real idea what they were getting themselves into!

Then again, do we ever? Did I know when I planned that wedding of my own that no one really needs to release white doves in celebration? (Note: I learned this the hard way when they guy with the doves never showed up.) Did I know that making my own cathedral-length veil would take over 100 hours? Could I ever have guessed that the man I love deeply would also occasionally irritate me beyond belief? Would I ever have imagined our family this way--the constant chaos of kids, dirty clothes, the dog needing to go out, and the "joys" of pregnancy? Did I know I was doomed to watch hockey forever, dress a teenager for homecoming, take my son in for stitches, or have the dubious joy of raising a toddler who inherited my very own temper?

Still, I wouldn't trade it. Call me crazy, but it's true. I'm sure my friend will say the same. As long as I get these chocolates finished...

The Braxton-Hicks Hymn

A hymn of frustration,

to be sung to the tune of

"O Christmas Tree"

O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton-Hicks
I am so really sick of this
My stomach knots when you occur
You hurt so bad my vision blurs
O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton Hicks
You make me like a prisoner


O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton-Hicks
I am so really sick of this
When I lie down upon my side
You run away and briefly hide
O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton-Hicks
Can you count the tears I've cried?

O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton-Hicks
I am so really sick of this
When I stand up, you start again
And put me in all kinds of pain
O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton-Hicks
I've earned my right to complain

O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton-Hicks
I am so really sick of this
If only you did something more
Than simply make me oh-so-sore
O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton-Hicks
But you are only false labour...

O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton-Hicks
I am so really sick of this
You just pretend to have some clout
Meanwhile you make me want to shout
O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton-Hicks
When will this babe fin'ly come out?

Yes Braxton-Hicks, I'm sick of this,
When will this babe fin'ly come out?

Mercy for the Miserable

I have come to a new appreciation of mercy in recent weeks. It began with an unexpected, and equally unwelcome, intrusion in my life. I was approached by someone from my past who proposed that we reestablish communication. Quite honestly, I want nothing whatsoever to do with this person, and my gut-level reaction was to shut that door as tightly and quickly as possible.

That's when God got in on the action. Suddenly, everywhere I went my head was resounding with a verse from the book of Micah. It started in the shower..."love mercy" began echoing against the tile. Well, not literally, but it was enough to get my attention. I looked up the entire verse: "He has told you, O man, what is good; And what the Lord requires of you, But to do justice, to love kindness [mercy], and to walk humbly with your God."

It put me into such a tizzy to even entertain thoughts of mercy toward this person that I actually consulted my Pastor. He had some good suggestions, but no true answers--not that I had expected any. I basically tabled it after that point. I was frustrated with knowing what God said, but still unsure of how to put it to action in my situation. Then, Monday, I saw my OB. The visit proved once again that God works in mysterious ways.

I was right when I last wrote--the huge baby, the ultrasound, the 4 weeks. None of it mattered one stinking bit. When I reminded the doctor that if she stuck to her due date (Feb 8th) the baby would be roughly 12.5 pounds, she simply shrugged and said, "Yup, another big one for you."

I was hurt. Desperate. And later, furious. I began to feel as though she ought to have shown a little more compassion. Even if she insisted on being hard-headed, on leaving the due date untouched, of dooming me to who-knows-how-many more weeks of discomfort--even if she was still going to do all that, at least she could have been sympathetic to my concerns. Perhaps a little hand-holding or molly-coddling w0uld have made the news I had already expected a bit more tolerable to hear.

Sympathy. Compassion. I know I'm at that point in pregnancy when every woman just wants the kid OUT. Now. I know she sees women in my same situation 30 times a day. But I wanted her to recognize my pain these past couple of weeks, my need to have hope that this will be over sometime soon.

Mercy. What I wanted from her was mercy. I came home yearning for someone to comfort me To reassure me that this isn't forever. To hold my hand and help me cope. Pleading for mercy like air. How then can I withould it from another? Not that I understand exactly how to go about things--it is a complicated situation and there are safety issues to be concerned about. But mercy requires so little--just a word of compassion. Just a touch of reassurance.

I have to laugh a bit now at the phrasing God uses in that verse..."to love mercy." The truth, I think, is that we already do love mercy. We need mercy. We beg for mercy. Here is God, commanding we show to others something we already innately desire for ourselves. The challenge then, is simply to act it out. To go from emotion to demonstration. Like Jesus, who wept for the sadness of man and then died to free him of it.

Mercy is both the counterpoint and companion to judgement. I felt sentenced by my OB--remanded to custody of this kid for another 2 months. I wanted her to extend some hope of early parole. I wanted it to be a little less 'you do the crime, you do the time' and a little more 'let's make a deal.'

God's judgement is complete. There is no 'let's make a deal' option. But His mercy offers parole in paradise for our eternal souls through the sacrifice of Christ. His rules are very clear, but His compassion is all-encompassing. It is in emulating these things that I can learn to walk humbly with my God.

"Bring my soul out of prison,

So that I may give thanks to Thy name;

The righteous will surround me,

For Thou wilt deal bountifully with me."

--Psalm 142:7

Growing Goliath

Today I am officially vindicated. I had another ultrasound to check on the PBC this morning. The main concern has been his size, and my insistence that February is a ridiculous due date. As it turns out, I am completely right.

At 30 weeks, your average fetus is about 15 inches long and weighs in the ballpark of just under 3 pounds. Apparently, the only thing measuring at 30 weeks on my little guy is his femur. I think the tech was actually shocked when she started taking a close look at how he is shaping up in other categories.

See, the PBC is about 4 and 3/4 pounds right now. This puts him on track with an approximately 34 week gestation--a full month ahead of where the docs have been saying he is. His head is also big according to the tech, with skull and brain development somewhere in the area of 33 weeks. She couldn't get a length on him, confessing "he's too big for me to measure that."

We also found out that he is indeed head down--a good thing, since he is too big to maneuver much in there. He is positioned low, and I was able to confirm that yes, indeed, he is "feeling like he's ready to fall out" when the tech asked me. Too bad labor isn't really that easy!

The only unfortunate thing about all this is that being right, being vindicated, and the PBC being HUGE, will most likely not matter a hill of beans to the OB. See, it is standard practice not to change a due date based on late ultrasounds for size. My argument--that I'm only getting back the 3 weeks they stole 5 months ago--is likely to fall on deaf ears. If my doc won't change the due date, it means she is equally unlikely to plan any sort of early delivery without using that Feb 8th date as the baseline.

I'm sincerely hoping that God will see fit to induce me Himself. And much sooner than medically expected. I'm thinking 4-6 weeks--which would still make this guy my longest pregnancy. It's just enough time to stand in my friend's wedding--the dress for which has already been fitted for a huge pregnant belly. And it will get us through the holidays without adding newborn baby chaos into the mix. And, hopefully, means I can mantain my sanity--if not my vanity--til he comes.

Thankful Thoughts

I am Thankful:
For the friends who stand beside me
when life gets a little too much drama
and let me freak on the phone
cry on their shoulder
and cling to them for comfort

I am Thankful:

For the family which surrounds me

who have adopted me into their midst

the loud ones who bring such life

the quiet ones who show me courage

and those who pray for me

I am Thankful:
For the kids who make me crazy
who exhaust me with their energy
make me smile through my tears
and love me with their laughter
every day

I am Thankful:
For the husband whose strength protects me
whose arms drop everything to hold me
whose heart has never hesitated
to love me free and full
no matter my faults

I am Thankful:
For my Everlasting Father
who gives such good gifts as these
who showers every blessing
and meets me on my knees
when I reach for Him

"Enter His gates with thanksgiving
And His courts with praise.
Give thanks to Him, bless His name."
--Psalm 100:4

Exhaustion

I really should have written several times this week. It was busy--things were happening that were noteworthy, at least to me. The problem is, its been so hectic, I'm exhausted.

This weekend was the bridal shower for my friend whose wedding I'm in next month. It was a success, surprising me and the other bridesmaid who helped put it on. We were so stressed that all the details would come together, we'd have enough food, and people would enjoy it--especially the bride-to-be. It was a thrill to see her so happy and having fun with old friends.

Also in wedding news, the dresses came in. Mine is supersize, and with any luck will still fit me in a few weeks. I need to find someone to do a few emergency alterations--the downside of ordering a size large enough for the belly is that the bust is way too wide. The only other thing that needs a bit of adjusting is my attitude--I just feel akward and HUGE, and can't quite convince myself that I'll look OK at this deal. Of course, I'd wear sackcloth and ashes if the bride asked me to--she's worth it.

After church, I never considered blogging my Sunday Selah. I simply came home and went to bed as soon as possible for a nap. Later, I started to prep for our Bible study which is on Monday nights. This week we were making pies--something of a yearly tradition. Only this time around I was supplying the apples (sliced) and the pumpkin (real) along with a few other essentials. Organizing another laundry basket load of stuff to pack in the van required unpacking the things I'd just brought home from the shower.

On Monday, I had to work. Usually I work Wed/Thurs, but with Thanksgiving being this week, I had to make up my hours. After a very hectic weekend, and a night that I spent getting up to tend to crying kids, I was less than thrilled to spend the next 9 hours at my desk. Not to mention that there wasn't much down-time when I got home since we almost immediately loaded up in the van and left for Pie Night at our friends' house.

Today was spent prepping the house and preparing my portion of the meal for Thursday when we host the family for our Thanksgiving celebration. A friend commented that I was "brave" to plan all this stuff when I'm so pregnant it hurts (literally!). I think she was being kind--I would've said "stupid." Of course, then I would have gotten a lecture from my son, because of all the things I frequently tell him, he actually remembers that "Stupid is not a nice word."

After countless loads of laundry, baking, cooking, cleaning, rearranging furniture (calm down--it was on sliders on a wood floor) and various other tasks, I am giving up for the day. Not done, buy far, but seriously done in. It is time to see my hubby for ten seconds and then hit the sheets in an attempt to get enough sleep to make it through my last--and very full--day of work this week.

Maybe after that I can actually think about thanksgiving--the kind where my heart is truly focussed on all the amazing blessings God has given me. Including the clothes, kids, dishes, and diapers that requires so many hours of cleaning and cuddling, mending and tending. At least He's given me plenty of good reasons to wear myself out.

Construction, Carpet, Completion!

I've seen some people's nurseries at their 7th month. Usually the moms-to-be are freaking out about getting the crib set up, and all the matching pictures on the wall for baby (who of course really couldn't care less). My first nursery--for my son--was painted sometime after the seventh month, thanks to a couple of friends who sent their spouses to help mine. My second pregnancy we had no nursery. All my daughter got was a crib in the corner of our loft bedroom. This time around, finding some space to bring home baby to has been an adventure in frustration.

Our home has three bedrooms--sort of. It has two bedrooms which are useable. The third had a ceiling which was falling in, old carpeting that stunk, drywall with large holes, a closet with about 6 layers of peeling wallpaper, and a weak subfloor that smelled of cat urine. For the past year and a half, it has been in various stages of repair.

In the meantime, my husband and I have been living little-house-on-the-prairie style with our two youngest children. Space in an otherwise spacious master bedroom has been at a premium, what with our bed, a twin and a toddler bed, 3 dressers, a bookshelf and a pack-n-play. I've been desperate to get this next bedroom done and move them out before our baby is born.

Finally, finally, the project is nearing completion. The last couple of months have been spent trying to find a way to squeeze 20 yards of carpeting out of our impossibly tight budget. It just hasn't happened. That is, it hadn't happened until my honey--my hero!--sold some parts off our old minivan. Bam! Cash for carpet! I about cried when he called me at work and told me the good news.

Last night was spent in a marathon of preparation. He hung a new door, put up some of the trim, pulled the remaining staples out of the floor, bleached the subfloor of the cat pee, scrubbed up the sixty layers of dust, and dragged the huge roll of carpet upstairs to lay it in the room. Tonight the carpet guy will come with the padding and he and hubby will actually lay the carpet. By Sunday, allowing for the finishing trim to go in after the carpet is laid, I will be moving my youngest kids into their nursery!!

It is to be a nursery in the traditional British sense, meaning that all three of the little ones will share. At this point, only our oldest will have her own room. My husband has grand plans to build another bedroom in our basement. He intends to move the oldest down there, the youngest daughter into the small bedroom, and leave the other two in the "boys' room." Ah, dreams! Right now I'm just thrilled that the final steps to reclaim my space from little kids are being taken in time to get a short break before baby moves in. The rest of our plans can be a project for the next year and a half!

Sunday Selah

I have instructed the Lord
On how to live out His word
I have prayed many a prayer
To tell God what is fair
I instruct the Almighty
As if a child reminded nightly
Of what His plan should be
Of how He ought take care of me
Oh Lord, You know my needs
You tell me ask that I receive
But just this once on You I call
With no plan thought out at all
Simply broken-hearted
With faith that you have started
To make a way that's clear
To draw me oh-so-near
To what your plan may be
O God, help me to see
All the rescue You come to bring
O Father God, let me sing
That You have been so faithful
And make me only grateful
No more demand falls from these lips
Make me simply grateful for Your gifts

EMS, Rx, and EDD

I am breathing several sighs of relief today.

First, my youngest daughter is fine. Yesterday we had quite a scare with her. Apparently, she decided to shove her mouth full of the brownie and ice cream snack we were indulging in. Unfortunately, it resulted in her choking. At first it was kind of a sucking/gasping sound. My husband and I rushed upstairs and he started thwacking her back. That didn't work, however and she stopped breathing all together and turned blue. I got on the phone with 911 while daddy swept her airway. Eventually, he got her to puke up whatever it was that was blocking her throat and she started hollering. It was the equivalent to hearing a newborn cry, and was one of the few times in my life I have been relieved and thankful to hear her screaming. The fire-rescue guys came out even though I told them everything was fine. She got her lungs listened to, and was given a clean bill of health. I, however, didn't recover as quickly and have found myself being a bit overprotective today.

Second, the rash, as it turns out, is nothing except bothersome. The doc gave me some cream that should clear it up. Thank goodness, too, because although it didn't at first, it now itches like mad.

Lastly, I am not crazy. Fat, but not crazy. I have been thinking for some time that this kid doesn't feel like a 24-26 week baby. He feels bigger, stronger. He was kicking the snot out of me so badly on Sunday that a lady several pews over asked me if I was OK after the service. Today, when the doctor said I was measuring "fine," I questioned her on it. It isn't just the incredibly insensitive comments from friends and strangers about my size. It is a sense that thinking about having this baby earlier is more than simple wishful thinking. And, indeed, I am measuring several weeks ahead of schedule.

So, the plan is to get another ultrasound in a couple of weeks. That should be fun. It is always cool to get a sneak peak at the PBC. I have to confess, I'm hoping to get back the 3 weeks they stole from me in those initial ultrasounds early on when they kept pushing back my due date. Being able to say "mid-January" instead of "February" when people ask when I'm due would spare me a little embarrassment. It might also spare me several weeks of pregnancy!

On that happy note, I'm off to bed. I've been feeling guilty about my tiredness and lack of motivation lately, especially being in the second trimester when I'm supposed to be feeling relatively good. Since I may actually be in the third trimester instead, I think I'll cut myself a little slack and hit the sack. 'Night!

Rash Decisions

This week's challenge, along with the return of some pretty frequent and severe nausea, has been a belly rash which is making me crazy. It doesn't itch--although I've heard of a pregnancy rash that does. No, this burns, and it is spread all along my lower abdomen.

I've been reminded of some of the unpleasantries of pregnancy in my attempts to treat this thing. The first is that--at not quite 7 months yet--my stomach is HUGE. It took me two days to even identify what the problem was when my underbelly starting aching. The main problem is that I can't see the underside of my stomach. I have to manuever just so in front of the mirror, an object I generally avoid from the second trimester onward.

The second is the official fact that I'm fat. The weight of my stomach presses it down on itself so that this rash is hidden between the round of the belly and the flat below it. I realize that is too much information, but the truth is that I have skin-on-skin rubbing going on in addition to whatever little gem of an infection caused the problem in the first place. I went today to the maternity store and bought one of those belly bands that are designed to support your stomach. Unfortunately, it works great while standing or lying, but isn't at all comfortable when I sit. And I've suddenly discovered that I spend more time seated than in all other positions combined.

The third regretful reality that has reared its ugly head is that pregnancy clothing is designed to completely smother your stomach. Now, when it sticks out as far as mine does (and is only destined to get worse), this is mostly a good thing. The panels that cover the tummy take a minor measure off my growing girth. They also offer a slight sense of support. Unfortunately, it also completely covers this rash and the result is even further irritation. I am fighting the temptation to forget about every obligation (laundry, shopping, church) and simply lie in bed until I heal. No telling how long that will take, however. Not to mention that life with 3 kids isn't conducive to the bedrest and bonbon scenario.

All this has added up to mean that I will be seeing my OB on Monday. It is highly inconvenient, since the person who normally watches the little ones while I go to the doc has to be on a plane for a conference that morning. And despite the improvement in gas prices, it'll still put a strain on the budget this week to throw in an extra 40-mile round trip drive. Pain, however, is a great motivating factor. It is at the root of every problem in pregnancy, thanks to Eve. Sometimes I wish she hadn't made such a "rash" decision.

"...In pain you shall bring forth children..." Genesis 3:16

Who's In Charge Here?

Yup. I voted. That has nothing to do with this blog, however.


It's my household that has me taking stock tonight. As we wait to find out who the president is, I'm wondering who is running our home. It should be my husband, as head of the house. It could be me, by virtue of the fact that I spend the most time here with the kids. Unfortunately, I have strong suspicions that one of those kids--probably the 22 month old, at the moment--is the one really in charge.



Then there are those other obligations, the ones that regard 'democracy' as a word in a foreign language. I don't get to vote on whether or not I want an electric bill increase, I'm just supposed to find a way to pay for it. I have no say in tax policy, PMI, or the value of my home, which is of course less than I need for it to be. My working conditions would appall most unions by the time you factor in all the dirt, pee and barf that a mom of 3 and 1/2 kids deals with. And yes, I have a vehicle in my driveway without plates. It is also without a transmission, but that apparently doesn't matter. I am caught somewhere smack in the middle law of the land and the tyranical tantrums of toddlers and teenager.



If I had to give a state of the union address, I would say that between pregnancy hormones and pressing priorities, my spouse and I have barely enough time to accomplish the needs of the day. There seems to be no money, no energy, and no opportunity left to spend time together as a couple. It makes it hard to stay on the same page, let alone in charge, when you're so worn down by work and worry.



If I gave a state of the "nation" address, it could be summed up as anarchy, rather than democracy. Our finances are foundering along with the current economy. Despite the fact that I spend the balance of my day caring for my kids, they keep complaining. The toys seem to multiply every time they hit a surface that is not the toy box. And dirty laundry breeds everywhere, even more proliferate than the dust bunnies.



We deal daily with the moodiness of the little ones--so frequent and predictable that we have deemed it the "Five o'clock Freak Out." It could best be compared to a 3-on-1 power play, if hockey had such a thing. Today it hit a little early, and usually lasts through dinner and sometimes until bed. Since this is my husband's late night at work, that leaves me the lone defensemen against a team of seasoned screamers, whiners, and all-star grouches. I even called in reinforcements from the bench--but grandma had to eventually go home.



Tonight--serious politics aside--I longingly cast my ballot for book, bath and bed. Of course, foreigners can't win elections, so I can call the results of my private little run-off early. See, the winners--the ones who have solid citizenship in our house--are kids, chaos, and collection calls. It has me in a state of seeing red, and feeling blue.



I really have to remind myself that Someone bigger than my baby is in charge here. My trans-less van isn't voting. My money doesn't corner the market on who the Master is (it doesn't corner the market on much at all, actually). Whether president or parent, I'm persuaded "there is no authority except from God, and those which exist are established by Him" (Rom 13:1). And if I've been appointed by His authority, I'd better axe the apathy. It's time to run a quick campaign to convince the kiddies. Then I'd better deal with all this domestic destruction. It's time to move out of anarchy, beyond democracy, and into God's supremacy. He, after all, is in charge around here.

Sunday Selah

Restoration

From the direction of Your throne
I hear only silence
Feel only the chill of a cold winter wind

From Your lips I have only whispers
Unclear to me in my difficulties
You are an unapproachable God on high

From the depths of my heart
I cry out to You
Hear me, heal me, help me, hasten!

But You are far away from my need
I am alone in my suffering
Where is God, and where His compassion?

O Lord, though I honor You
You do not answer me
And I fade away and seek another master

I need forgiveness
But mostly I need Your friendship
Restoration of Your guidance, presence, and love

Frump to Fabulous

I love getting new clothes. Not as much as my teenage daughter, but at least as much as most women. I especially love getting new clothes when I am pregnant. However, there's something about shopping in the maternity sections that just goes against my grain. Thirty bucks for a shirt I'll only fit for a couple of months--at those prices I can afford exactly two changes of clothing! So, by the end of the second week of alternating outfits every other day, they are stained and gross, and beginning to lose their shape from constant washing.

This is where second-hand stores, garage sales, and--my favorite--recently pregnant friends, come in extra handy. If I watch the resale shops close enough, I can occasionally get five items of clothing for five dollars. Now, that is something even my budget can deal with. Even better is when a friend who has just had a baby (or has decided to never have another one) cleans her closet. After delivery, the last thing on earth you want to wear is one of those outfits you've worn the yarn off during the past few months. However, when you're in the middle of the ordeal, one gal's trash is another's treasure.

For instance, I am currently cozily cuddled in a smoky grey creation that actually stretches farther than my stomach. It's a hand-me-down blessing from my girlfriend who recently delivered her little boy. It is also an even better gift than the chicken pot pie I took out to her house. I haven't been warm this entire pregnancy (except for the burned hands, of course) and the sweaters she sent home with me made me just giddy with anticipation. I have to work tomorrow, and for the first time in quite a while, I'm not dreading getting dressed in the morning. It'd be a hilarious statement, if it wasn't so true!

Now, if you must know, I'm off to have my own private little fashion show. I'm sure it wouldn't impress Nigel Barker or Tyra Banks (from America's Next Top Model), but with all my new little treasures I 'm going to upgrade my bump from frump to fabulous.

"And why are you anxious about clothing? Observe how the lilies of the field grow:

they do not toil nor do they spin, yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory did not clothe himself like one of these. But if God so arrays the grass of the field,

which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace,

will He not much more do so for you, O men of little faith?"

--Matt 6:28-30

Howdy, Tex!

Today a good friend of mine got a great birthday present--her son! When they called to tell me the good news, I was overjoyed that things had gone well and he was healthy. I asked for his stats, of course, and was astonished that he weighed in at a hefty 8#11oz and was 20.5 inches--about the size of the state his name hails from! These happen to be the same exact measurements that my little guy was when we welcomed him to the world (although when I was holding him, it was impossible to imagine my son was ever that small). It was also over two pounds larger than her last baby. I got to thinking, if mine gets that much bigger than my last, I'm going to be in some serious trouble.

My now much bigger little guy spent an hour this afternoon coloring pictures for his friend's new baby brother. If you know my son, you realize this is an extremely long period of time for him to spend on just one task. Other than that, however, he hasn't taken the birth of Tex too well. He was jealous of his friend that she got her baby and he couldn't have his yet. This entire pregnancy has been an exercise in extreme patience for my busy preschooler, and this latest turn of events is almost too much for him to process. "I want my brother NOW!" sums up his opinion.

Truth be told, I'd love to be done with this pregnancy also, but not at the cost of my baby's health. (Not to mention that my husband and I are still months away from picking a name.) Still, I'm now looking even more forward to the day I get to hold my new son in my arms...

In the meantime, congrats once again to J&G&A, and welcome to the world Little Tex!

"Her children rise up and bless her; Her husband also, and he praises her..."

--Proverbs 31:28

Hot Mama

Today began another adventure at work. Once again, I was displaced out of my office due to the environmental issues. The conference room I have inherited was freezing cold, and since there was another meeting scheduled for the space, I had to move just three hours into my shift.

After relocating, the laptop which has become my portable office--sans printer, fax, and scale--wouldn't work properly. It is still digesting some command I apparently gave it before unplugging from the network to switch locations. The blasted thing won't let go of whatever is occupying its memory despite exiting and powering down.

So, I left it to chew on its mechanical mission and decided to walk downstairs to heat my lunch. A big drawback of borrowing space has been the uncertain access to bathroom and lunchroom facilities. I was glad to have brought a can of soup today, since the rooms I was sentenced to were so cold. I had to separate my serving into two small bowls to heat it up since I had forgotten to bring a large one from home. It was while removing the broth from the microwave that my day encountered its final dilemna.

As I was attempting to transfer the boiling broth into a safer format for carrying it back into exile with me, it spilled all over me. I was stunned--and burnt. It was all I could do to clean up the mess, and carry the empty container to a coworker before I lost it entirely and wound up in tears. Pregnancy hormones, perhaps. Or maybe just it was just the last straw before I broke under the stress.

I proceeded upstairs to visit occupational health for the second time in two weeks. I waited over an hour, filled out incident forms, had the doc look at my scalded hands, and then waited an hour more for them to treat and wrap up the damage. The whole while, my skin felt on fire and I was in some serious pain. Of course, they would't offer me any pain medicine since I am pregnant. Told me to take Tylenol when I got home (which I did, over 4 hours later).

So here I sit, after a much-needed nap, using the hunt-and-peck method to type since my bandaged and burnt hands aren't too useful tonight. I am not looking forward to returning to work tomorrow--they have to recheck the burn to see if it has blistered, but then I will have to stay at work until 10pm to teach a class. I am beginning to wonder which will get me first--this last pregnancy, or my job.

On the plus side, although in previous pregnancies I've found myself with a very high personal thermostat and always seemed too warm, this is the first time with the PBC that I could accurately be called a "hot mama." Too bad that upon reflection, it isn't the sexy title I'd always hoped to have. I'll gladly trade down to "plain Jane" if it means I don't have to hurt!

No Regrets

I attended the funeral of a mentor of mine today. She was the wife of the campus minister at the church I went to in college. The main memory that has been dwelling in my mind since I heard the news of her death is an odd one. I remember she came and picked me up from work one day at my campus job since I was having asthma trouble and they would not allow me to simply walk home to my dorm. I don't think she was too thrilled about it, either, but she was there when I called.

Thinking back on it, I wonder what she did with her kids. She was mom to 4 busy young ones all while trying to "mother"--on average--20 new college girls a year. She held special Bible studies, wrote cards, made phone calls. She cared. She actually gave me a compliment that I have treasured as one of the greatest in my life--she said I was "deep."

Today, at her funeral, her husband and 4 children spoke about their memories of her. I can only pray that when I'm done with them, my kids will speak about me as favorably as hers did. Not only that, but during a time of testimony from the others gathered, time and again people spoke about how she accepted them as part of the family, brought them into her home, fed them and encouraged them. Personally, I can barely find the time to do wash for 6 people, let alone do things like drive all over the city picking up short-of-breath students who need rescuing.

The main theme that was emphasized throughout the service was that she lived a life with "No Regrets"--apparently a phrase that was common for her to say in her last few weeks and months. I wonder, can I live without regrets? I make so many mistakes--I yell at the kids, I don't spend enough time with God, I get disgusted with bills and meals and dishes and blame my spouse.

I think perhaps what this woman of God saw that enabled her to say with confidence that she had "No Regrets" is that Jesus has paid for each and every sin--wiped away all those mistakes that she, like me, must've made. At the end of the day--at the end of our lives--we can have her same confidence. Not in ourselves, but in a Savior who will not let us wallow in our wasted opportunities. In Jesus, who will not spare us suffering, but will redeem it without regret.

I came away from the service feeling the need to say only two things. First, Thank-you, Sally. And second, Dear Lord--let me live a life that honors You like hers.

"The Lord God will help me,

therefore shall I not be confounded:

therefore have I set my face like a flint,

and I know that I shall not be ashamed."

--Isaiah 50:7

Spaghetti

Every once in while, I get a forward that I actually enjoy. This one really tweaked the wicked side of my sense of humor. Except for the part about the affair, I thought it was hilarious, and decided to share.

For 2 years a man was having an affair with an Italian woman.

One night, she confided in him that she was pregnant. Not wanting to ruin his reputation or his marriage, he paid her a large sum of money if she would go to Italy to secretly have the child.

If she stayed in Italy to raise the child, he would also provide child support until the child turned 18. She agreed, but asked how he would know when the baby was born. To keep it discreet, he told her to simply mail him a postcard, and write 'Spaghetti' on the back. He would then arrange for the child support payments to begin.

One day, about 9 months later, he came home to his confused wife. 'Honey!,' she said, 'you received a very strange postcard today.' 'Oh, just give it to me and I'll explain it later,' he said.

The wife obeyed and watched as her husband read the card, turned white, and fainted. On the card was written:

'Spaghetti, Spaghetti, Spaghetti,

Spaghetti, Spaghetti.

Three with meatballs, two without.

Send extra sauce.'

All in a Day's Work

Today was a work day for me. Not that I got much done. It all began when I opened the door to our suite and was assaulted by a very disturbing smell. We have had issues with mold and moisture. Think wet dog meets old gym socks. In that second, I knew it wasn't going to be a good day.

Within minutes, I realized that working in my office was going to require albuterol in large doses. Of course, my inhaler was at home. Thankfully, I had a meeting for most of the day which would take me away from the problem. After forty minutes of prep, and feeling like I was trying to breathe through a plastic bag the whole time, I escaped upstairs.

The second half of the meeting was mine to present. Unfortunately, my woes worsened when fully half the staff stiffed me. As a result, a project we've been working on for the past two months remains unfinished. The really bad news is that I'm not going to get a pass from the senior vice-president dude that my reports go to. This means that now I will pretty much have to complete the entire project on my own. Talk about frustration.

I have no idea what tomorrow will bring. I am scheduled to teach a class for the last half of my shift, but in the meantime I'll have to make it through the first five hours of my day. This problem in the offices has been ongoing, and I'm not holding my breath (though it sort of feels similar!) that the next 24 hours will bring a miraculous resolution to the issue. My boss has actually had to relocate to another suite temporarily after being on medical leave for the past two weeks due to this very problem.

On top of it all is the knowledge that this can't be too good for the kid I carry. During my first pregnancy I had a lovely case of pneumonia and had to take breathing treatments for almost a month. I really don't want another long-term relationship with my nebulizer. Another part of me wants to throw in the towel and not bother getting up in the morning to go to work as it is--it is truly hard to stay motivated and focused with health troubles added onto the pregnancy fatigue.

Its a shame I don't have another way to contribute to the house payment. Somehow being obviously pregnant doesn't lend itself to being a hot ticket on the job market. Still, it feels good to get this all off my chest. Now if I could just remove the brick wall that lands there every time I walk in the door at work...

"Let everything that has breath praise the Lord. Praise the Lord!"

--Psalm 150:6

D-Day

A good friend of mine saw her doctor today and was rewarded with her delivery date--in just two weeks her little man will join the world. I was thrilled for her and her family. And I was insanely jealous, too.

I saw my doc just yesterday, but didn't hear anything so wonderful or life-changing. Granted, it isn't really to be expected at my stage of the process. I simply heard his heartbeat, at a jaunty 141 beats per minute. I learned his weight was 330 grams a couple weeks ago at my ultrasound (any conversion junkies? what does that mean in english?). I got told that I'm measuring "right on" despite recent comments from complete strangers and feeling absolutley huge. I was reassured that the braxton-hicks contractions that have started up rather forcefully aren't leading to any changes that might mean a premature delivery. Then it was "see you in a month, we'll do your blood sugar test" and out I was out the door.

This stretch of pregnancy seems so long partly because there are fewer mini-milestones at this point. The Peanut Butter Cup has his major organs. He sucks his thumb, kicks his legs, and even swallows to practice breathing. Between the 21 and 28 week marks, my expanding stomach seems to be the only evidence that he's in there and growing. (I suppose that viability--which is generally considered to occur at 24 weeks--is my next hurdle. Still, this one is shaky for me, since a dear friend lost her son just less than a year after his 24-week birth.)

At this point, its a waiting game. Waiting for his lungs to mature. Waiting for him to pack on some fat (although, seriously, son--you don't need too much of that). Waiting to get to the point where I can saying something slightly less embarassing that "halfway" when people ask me how far along I am. Of course, if you asked my friend, she'd tell you it was a waiting game at her point, too. Waiting to pack the hospital bag into the car. Waiting to finish getting the baby clothes washed. Waiting to walk into L&D in two weeks and finally hold him.

What strange lessons God has planned for us. He, too, thinks each stage of life--pregnant or not--is a waiting game. I guess sometimes I just need to be sure I'm cooling my heels in the right line, so to speak.

"Yet those who wait for the Lord will gain new strength, They will mount up with wings like eagles, they will run and not get tired, they will walk and not become weary."

--Isaiah 40:31

Adventures in Babysitting

I've been watching my 6-month old neice while my sister is out of town. It has been a very interesting experience to throw another baby into the mix around here. I see flashes of what is to come later this winter.

My kids adore the baby. That is to say, they won't leave her alone for a second. They try to hug her far more often than she'd like them to. They want to play with her toys, and--in the case of my youngest--try out her pacifier. They want their turn to hold her on the couch with an adult close by. They "help" her crawl, or stand, or sit--almost always with somewhat disatrous results. My son had a tantrum today when reminded that his little cousin doesn't live here, and that in a couple of days she will be going home with her mommy. He generously offered to let his Aunt live with us, too.

I am somewhat less enthusiastic. Not about my neice, of course, but about the thought that in a few months, another baby won't be a temporary addition. It is a little tougher to take three--count them!--babies grocery shopping. We walked the aisles of Walmart for over an hour this evening, and oh, the looks I got! To be fair, I'm sure I did make quite the picture. I drove one of those huge carts that holds two kids in buckles in an add-on to the cart. The third was in her carseat latched into the front of the cart. My diaper bag wound up draped on one side of the basket as it overflowed with purchases. Not to mention that I am obviously pregnant with another one. That probably shocked the onlookers most of all!

We've had a few other moments of drama, too. Above and beyond the sleepless nights, the fact that they won't all nap at the same time, and the usual feeding issues involved in picky eaters and bottle feeders. This evening, before I had a chance to recover from our Walmart wanderings, I had just my daughter and my neice while my husband ran an errand with the others. It was probably the worst 20 minutes of my night. My toddler was being very disobedient and threw a screaming fit while I was trying to coax an obviously hungry infant into taking her bottle. They were both loud as nails on a chalkboard. Unfortunately, this went on far longer. I sat there thinking "Thank goodness the next one is a boy" but I've been at this mommy thing a little too long to fool myself into thinking the difference in sex will really salvage my sanity.

To top it all off, I see how another person will throw off the dynamics of how life works at the moment. The real loser in this lesson has been my poor husband, whose birthday is today. He came home to a lonely--and far from spotless--house while I traipsed around the store and waited for the teenager to get done with her hair appointment. Then, he had to deliver said teenager to her Homecoming dance (argh, is she really that old already? Am I???) and go pick up his own dinner, since cooking anything by that point was out of the question. No balloons. No cake. His presents were about as creative as you can find in the checkout lane. And, as icing on the missing cake, after dinner he put the kids to bed while I slipped into a much-needed shower.

At the moment, all is peaceful. The little ones are sleeping, the teenager should be calling for a ride home any minute, and even the dog is content. The husband is working on something-or-other in the garage, and I am seriously contemplating a nap before the midnight feeding rolls around. Amazingly, fourth child or no, the moments a mommy lives for are still the same--and just as rare. Pardon me while I go and take advantage of this one.

Birthday Bouquet

Today was my birthday. All in all, not that big a deal since I'm now older than I really want to admit. Still, for me, it was a milestone date. Not that it was one of those "important" birthdays, but because as of today I have lived 12 years past a birthday I never thought I'd see.

I grew up in a tough situation. Praise the Lord my kids won't have to live through something like that! I never thought I'd live to see my 21st birthday. I repeatedly tried to take my own life. People say how strong I am, how I'm a survivor. People don't see the real reason I'm still here.

His name is GOD. Seriously, I know that some of the dearest people in my life figure its just a nice way I have of dealing with my history. Ha! Its more like the way He has of dealing with me! Like today...

The entire message at church this morning was all about how God has plans for us, plans for our welfare and not to harm us. Plans to give us a future and hope. Plans for the impossible is what it sounded like as a 16-year old kid fresh from a horrid situation. Plans no one else could promise. Even though they all said it would be "OK," I knew nobody could really make that happen. Nobody was strong enough except maybe God. Especially since my whole life at the time felt like I'd somehow jumped from the frying pan and into the fire. So, I asked Him, almost challenged Him, to make that verse true for me.

Oh to hear that message, on this day...it felt like getting a huge bouquet of roses from God. Like He was saying, "Hi honey. Happy Birthday. I love you." And even though things aren't perfect in my life right now, it was a gentle reminder that He's gotten me through worse. That He hasn't looked away. That He is real, and present, and loving, in every moment and every circumstance.

I know, I know. You expected this to be a baby blog. Or maybe some sort of poetry since it's Sunday. But you know what? This soon-to-be son, the words I might have written in rhyme--they're just a part of God's plan for me. And maybe, just maybe, my story might be a part of His plan for you.

I hope so. Because I love how He has rescued me. Because I know some of you, some of you whom I love very much, could use some rescuing, too. Here is what He said to me over half my lifetime ago--perhaps He wants to say it to you today.

"For I know the plans that I have for you,"

declares the Lord,

"plans for welfare and not for calamity

to give you a future

and a hope.

Then you will call upon Me

and come

and pray to Me,

and I will listen to you.

And you will seek Me and find Me,

when you search for Me with all your heart."

--Jeremiah 29:11-13

Hooray for Halfway!

I know that close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, but in an endeavor where you spend ten months counting down week by week, anything that gets you closer to the end counts in my book! And as of this week, I am finally halfway there.

Twenty weeks. It really feels like a very long time. Longer than a semester in school. Longer than football season. Way longer, actually, than it takes to get to the moon (on average, a flight there only takes two days). The longest part of this past 20 weeks is that I have to repeat them all before I can be done baking baby.

Other than being halfway through, everything else is sort of anti-climatic. Finding out that the PBC is a boy has been really exciting, but makes everything else about the pregnancy a little more dull than it was before. And it was plenty dull, unless your idea of a good time includes intense vomiting, weight gain, and leg cramps. The only other excitement lately was a dream I had that the baby was born next week and we named him Joshua Bart. Needless to say, that is NOT going to happen. Ugh!

When was the last time you did something for 20 weeks? 20 days? 20 hours? I got to thinking that unless I was "stuck" in this situation, I'd likely bail long before I reached the halfway point. I'm starting to wonder if I have a "bail before it breaks me" attitude about other long-term commitments in my life. Things like writing down all my spending. Following a meal plan. Journaling. Prayer. One thing I suppose I can learn from pregnancy is persistence--it is one of the few times in life that I can't escape earlier from the obligation (and, in truth, wouldn't want to since it would risk the baby).

"and you have perseverance and have endured

for My name's sake, and have not grown weary" --Rev 2:3

(OK, so the part about not growing weary is a stretch, but then...most of me is stretched these days!)

Here's to halfway...and to perseverance til the peanut butter cup makes his appearance!

Wild BLUE Yonder

My sister is visiting from Georgia this month. It has been nice to see my neice, who looks so cute in my youngest daughter's hand-me downs. She took a plane to get here--an interesting journey while toting a 5-month old on your chest in a carry-pak. I have the feeling that our family is off on our own little flight into the wild blue yonder.

Emphasis on blue--we are having a little bundle of boy! (Congrats, GW, you win the prize!) Emphasis on wild--if this little one is as high energy as his big brother. Regardless, it'll be a high-flying adventure complete with airplanes, fire trucks and super heros.

I'm excited about the news. My son is no longer the only son of an only son of an only son. Now he has someone to share all the expectations for upholding the family name with. They'll have tons of time to work out who is going to follow in whose footsteps, too, since this pretty much dictates that they will share a room for the rest of their lives. My hubby and I are already planning ahead for "the boys' room." I think he's geeked about it, too.

I also got to have a little sigh of relief when it comes to stocking up on stuff for this little one. I have been giving away my daughter's clothes as soon as she outgrew them, but I actually have quite a few of the 0-3 months boy things left over. I need everything practical, of course, but I have a really adorable tuxedo for his baby dedication!

Now we just have to work on a short list for boy names, among the million other details to get ready for his arrival! I'm off to the baby store to window shop. Oh, and just for my 'other mother', GO BLUE!

24 Hours Flew

It seems this wet weather has had its way with us lately. Several close friends aren't feeling well, which means that our weekly Bible study has been cancelled. It is a relief since I, too, have been 'under the weather' (pun intended), but sad since I miss them when we don't get a chance to get together.

It amazes me how much life can change in just 24 hours. One I'm day breathing fine, the next it feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest and I'm tied to my nebulizer. Of course, I've had days--and you have too--where those few hours from sunrise to sunset represent something even grander than a flu bug. Think of it, one day you're single, the next married. One day a spouse, the next a parent. Sometimes that one day becomes so significant that we frown upon those close to us if they don't remember those special dates--birthdays, anniversaries, etc.

I expect the next 24 hours to entirely change our whole family. The reason? Today we are all anticipating a baby. Tomorrow, we will be expecting a boy or girl, brother or sister, son or daughter. The 'who' that the PBC is becoming will be revealed at a most basic level. I know that I will have different, more specific dreams for my child once I know which sex to expect. Ballet or karate? (Because lets face it, my spouse wouldn't dream of his son in a leotard!) Pink or blue? (Not that it matters--I plan to decorate in green!) Crew cut or pigtails? Mama's boy or Daddy's girl?

I hope to look back on today not as a day spent with the 24 hour flu, but as 24 hours that flew by. As one day closer to meeting the Peanut Butter Cup, and one milestone further along on this unexpected, unparalleled journey.

For Thou didst form my inward parts;

Thou didst weave me in my mother's womb.

Ps 139:13

Countdown

I can't help it. For the first time in this pregnancy, I'm actually excited. I've got the babysitter (thanks, Mom). I've got the appointment time. I've even got a ride with air conditioning, courtesy of my hubby who made special arrangements at work to be able to come. Now I've just got to wait a few more days for the ultrasound.

I am not normally wild about tests during pregnancy. With my first, I took them all since I didn't know any better. When something came up unusual on one of them, I had to go see a maternal-fetal specialist, and spent an agonizing hour with a full bladder being pushed at and prodded on. The outcome? A healthy baby boy, plus an extra pound or two of worry along the way. Ever since then, I opt out of most of whatever they will let you opt out of.

This being the third time through, and very much a surprise, I figure whatever we've got is what God picked. I'm just suddenly thrilled to be getting a peek in mid-process.

Its not that the ultrasound makes the pregnancy any more 'real'. At six weeks, yes. But at almost 20, the PBC reminds me with occasional strength about being in there. My 3 year old puts his ear to my belly and says "The new baby wants out to play." I tell him it is too soon--I've been telling him this for months already--but if this one did indeed come as quick as he did I would be past the half-way point of this little adventure.

No, I think the thing that is so exciting about finding out the baby's sex is that I haven't felt very 'connected' during this pregnancy. Instead of the usual, "I wonder who he will look like?" or "What will she grow up to be?", my anticipation has been more on the line of "Where will we put another one?" and "Can I handle nursing again?" I remember, though, that after we found out late in my first pregnancy that we were expecting a boy, I finally thought of the baby as officially he--and went out and bought a train shelf to hang in the nursery. I'm looking forward to that moment of knowing my child in a deeper, more individual way again.

And so the countdown continues. 3...2...1... Ultrasound!

Guessing Game

Today I official am back on good terms with my OB. Not that there were any real problems before--she just kept backing off my due date. That makes a pregnant woman a little bit cranky... Anyway, today's appointment went well, with several snippets of good news.

The first is that the Peanut Butter Cup is alive and kicking--literally. I got to hear the heartbeat. She took my weight but said nothing, thank goodness, and put off measuring my girth until next time. Yeah! Four more weeks to live believing I'm not becoming huge.

She also gave me permission to use Zyrtec or Claritin for my allergies. Praise the Lord! I haven't had an allergy season this bad in years, and suffering through with only the occasional forbidden dose of allergy medicine has been horrid. I went out and bought me a box of 30 of those little white goodies almost as soon as my appointment ended. In a couple of hours, I expect to be freed from itchy eyes for the rest of the season. Hooray!

The last, and most awaited, news from this visit is the answer to when we will find out the baby's sex. For all of you who have been dying to know, the answer will be revealed--assuming the PBC cooperates, of course--next week Tuesday. I am excited, especially because hubby plans to come along. Last time I had "The Big One" I was by myself and it was not nearly as cool. Hopefully I can figure out how to post a poll on here. That way you can all submit your guesses. First one with the right answer will get a little gift in the mail (I'll need your address of course).

Here are some of my answers to the old wives way of guessing gender:

My pillow faces north

I had morning sickness early on (and up until a couple weeks ago)

I usually crave sweets

My age plus the month I conceived is an odd number

The heartrate is in the 150s

My wedding ring spins when dangled over my belly

Well, the middle children, as I've begun to think of them, are having a great time destroying stuff upstairs while they should be napping. Mommy needs to go lay down the law--and the kids.

Sunday Selah

A year ago
I held a sleeping babe
And the year before
The promise of his arrival

Now I see in him
The potential of so much
The possibilities stretch out
Endless before him

Do you, Lord
Look upon me this way
As a child slowly becoming
All that You dreamed?

Munchkin Movement

Now at the 18th week, I am once again feeling some movement, as I did very early on. That fluttery feeling was one of the things that convinced me to take a pregnancy test, actually. (Still, "they" said it was only gas. But there was indeed a baby!) Now, I only feel that little thud at night when I'm lying down, and only occasionally. Still, it is a welcome reminder that all is right in the mini-universe of my uterus.

Movement, I think, is one of the biggest milestones during pregnancy. Right after hearing that first heartbeat. The reason, I suppose, is that we moms-to-be are extrememly paranoid people. We like to know that all this gestating is actually heading somewhere...the sooner the better! It reminds me of the lyrical Little People in Wizard of Oz . Movement practically sings "We represent the baby inside, the baby inside, the baby inside. We represent the baby inside, and prove that all is well." (PS. Did you just sing that???)

At least I will have something new to report when I go on Monday to see the doctor again. Not to mention the laundry list of complaints and questions I've developed in the last 6 weeks. Like, why is it better to blow my nose until it bleeds than take a little bit of allergy medicine? And why is it that after months of puking I'm now gaining weight like a starved dog finally served some supper? Oh, and the one BIG question that people keep asking me--when we will find out the baby's sex?

In the meantime, at least I have my little kickboxer occasionally reminding me that some day in what still feels like the far-distant future, my little PBC will follow that yellow-brick road and come out to meet me, arms and legs flailing. Not soon enough for either myself or my three year old, who weekly gets more impatient with my answer (after your birthday) to when the new baby will come out and play with him. Soon the movements will grow strong enough for others to feel as well. My little guy, especially, will get a "kick" out of that.

Signature Suggestions

OK, so I knew I would take some flak for that best friend post. My sincere apologies to all those who didn't make the "honorable mention" list. All I can say is, your day will come. Bringing me a cheesecake with cherry topping might speed up its arrival...

The nausea is much improved. I very rarely have to take the Zofran now, praise the Lord. However, with improved appetite has come the dreaded weight gain. I gained more than enough with both my prior pregnancies, and was so hoping that this one would be gentler on me. Somehow, I suspect that I will once again more than make up for the losses in the first trimester rather easily.

As I've progressed nearer the half-way point in this little adventure, I've begun to fret not just about weight, but also what we're going to call the peanut butter cup when he (or she) arrives. My spouse and I have already named one boy and one girl together. You would think--at least, my dear husband seems to--that this would make the decision easy this time around. Simply choose the next name in line from the "acceptable names" lists from the previous pregnancies.

I however, have to complicate the issue. I want my next (read, last) child to have a name all his (her) own. I don't want to use a name that wasn't good enough before simply because it still sounds nice. And honestly, I've changed my mind about some of what I previously liked. Lately, I don't even tell Daddy about the names I'm considering. As I said, we've been down this road twice before. I can already guess what he'd think about my current favorites. I'd rather avoid the squished-face look and raised eyebrow that silently says "You want to call our kid what?"

I've also learned through experience not to share my naming explorations with the family at large. During my pregnancy with our son, we had a name poll online where all our friends and family could vote for their favorite option. Um, not again. People have very strong opinions about what you should call a child. Take my two new nieces, for instance--one of whom has a very traditional name, the other whose moniker is much more modern. Neither was an instant hit. I figure no matter how much thought I put into the PBC's future signature, somebody will still hate it.

My sister has been somewhat of a sounding board for my suggestions. She has a baby names book with an interesting twist--it uses the consonant combinations of the name to explore the personality likely to develop and perhaps predict the bearer's future success in certain areas. All of which might be a load of horse pucky, but hey, I'm going to eke all the entertainment I can out of this experience. I figure the kid owes me that much.

And I suppose as long as something slightly more reasonable than Peanut Butter Cup goes down on the birth certificate, whatever winds up chosen will either grow to sound 'normal' or, at the very least, be forgiven.

Sunday Selah

As I prepare
with brushes and glosses
colors and jars and fragrance
to come before You
I dress my heart
with worship
tying on ribbons of praise
changing out of the
old, dirty clothing of sin
putting on pure garments
knit with grace
falling softly like song
warming my soul
with the warmth of Your worth
And after jasmine and jewels
I strap on sandals
ready to pursue Your Presence
Yet suddenly seeing
that shoes have no meaning
For I must come before You
on my knees

Best Friends

My 3 year old son has many friends, any one of which, depending on the day, could be his "best" friend. Occasionally this role is owned by Chip--as in Potato Chip, the stuffed monkey he sleeps with. Sometimes it belongs to Sport--an imaginary friend that stops in every so often to play. Lately it seems the honor belongs more often to real live human companions like Alex, Casey, or Autumn. I've even heard the dog win the title once in a while.




We adults tend to avoid the use of the superlative word altoghter. We have coworkers, "close" friends, "old" friends, and a hundred other designations. But we don't feel it is fair to have just one "best" friend. After all, who would we choose?



Would the friend I've known the longest, who was right there with me through all those silly school crushes, first jobs, first cars, and first dates be the one? What about the friend who could tell you most anything about me after sharing an apartment for half a dozen years? Or maybe the one who became a spiritual mentor? One of the ones who have become like family to me? Or could it be the friend I married? And what about God? Where does He fit in to the best friend line-up?



I cannot claim to have the corner on solutions to this dilemna. All I can say is that, for today, neither the monkey nor the mentor win. Today the award goes to a precious, pregnant soul who measured her very maternal belly on my behalf. (No offense to my other friends--all of you are the "best" in your own special way.) Finally I can order my bridesmaid dress with confidence that my bump won't burst it. Many thanks to GW--you have more style than any magazine could muster.

Two are better than one for they have a good reward for their labor;

for if one falls his friend will lift him up...Eccl 4:9-10a

Sunday's Selah

This post is coming a couple of days late due to an internet outage. Its a new feature on the blog (ooh, that sounds important!)--I've decided to post some poetry weekly.

Come With Casserole

I came to Your house today
And sang in Your parlor to Your piano
I listened as You spoke
Heard Your very words
Then I left
No hug hello
No handshake
I left empty
For all the time we sat together
I never reached out
To touch Your heart
Call me, Lord
Come by with casserole
Pursue me beyond acquaintance
Until at last
I yield my whole life
To Your friendship

Walking Grapes

I am just days away from purchasing a bridesmaid dress for a dear friend's wedding. The wedding is taking place just days before Christmas. Being a teacher by profession, it was either Christmas break or Easter. Of course, she's so starry-eyed over her fiancee that waiting until April was adding an extra eternity. I'm thrilled for her.

The catch is, I will be as big as a doublewide by December. I know this to be a fact based on my two previous pregnancies--and the nine-pound babies they resulted in. I never bothered to measure my abdomen (who wants to know???) This is turning out to be a mistake. When ordering an expensive dress with even more expensive alteration costs, not knowing what size to pre-order is proving challenging--and XXXL simply isn't an option in upscale clothing. Combined with extra fabric costs, major alterations could run as much as the dress itself. Ouch.

My friend was very generous in picking a dress. We went around town one day and tried on everything we could find (not much out there in maternity sizes). We found a couple that might work--nice, stretchy fabric. Ample room for the bust and belly. I'm hoping the style we eventually chose will be kind to my eight-month along physique.

The last hurdle happens to be the bride's favorite color. She has always loved purples--the last gift I got her was an amethyst necklace. We actually had a lilac kitchen in the apartment we shared in college. For the wedding she has chosen aubergine. Think just short of eggplant, with a little red grape juice thrown in to give it a slightly less deep shade. With my basketball belly and my florid face I should look exactly like a walking grape. Maybe if I add heels (ha! my cankles would kill me!) I could manage the slightly more elegant eggplant look.

All's fair in love and war, right? Even a pregant and purple matron of honor.

A Time for Everything

Sometimes, it is best not to procrastinate. Wedding plans, for example--or someone sells your reception hall, as a dear friend of mine recently discovered. Christmas shopping. Visectomy appointments (this in hindsight). Some things, however, are truly wonderful when they get delayed a bit. Jury duty, dental work, road construction...the kinds of things we aren't so eager to experience, despite whatever benefits they may bring. I have now added to this list OB appointments.

My next appointment was due to be Monday--just two short days from now. I am, according to the most recent calculations, finally through the first trimester--but just barely, at 15 weeks. Since every OB appointment after the first has put my due date further back, and thereby extended the eternity of this pregnancy considerably, I decided I had better wait until I had a better margin between me and that first trimester before going in again.

I did keep today's appointment for more bloodwork. I am secretly hoping my thyroid is still off since that would begin to explain the extreme fatigue that continues to plague me. Although having 3 kids, working part-time, moving offices, and suffering from chronic nausea and insomnia might also be factors. The thyroid at least I could do something about. Just up the dosage, doc. The rest of this crazy life I appear to have much less influence over.

I found it interesting, in reviewing that most popular passage in Ecclesiastes 3, that of all the measures and moments of life that are listed "There is a time to sleep and a time to wake" didn't make the cut. Still, it's wisdom on life begins with a most appropriate--for me--reminder that everything has its appointed time. This baby will come at God's appointed time (unless I can convince the doctor to move up the natural timetable, of course). And the OB visits will continue at their appointed times. Its just that the "appointed time"for this next one has been changed a bit.

"There is an appointed time for everything.

And there is a time for every event under heaven--"

Ecc 3:1

When life hands you a lemon...

Well, despite not posting for two weeks (sorry, those of you who actually take time to read this!) a lot has been going on. I feel like I'm running every second of the day, with very little personal time lately. I kept meaning to get to the computer, but it just never happened.

Anyhow, the latest development has been difficult for me to deal with. Strangers are starting to notice that I'm pregnant. I suppose this is only natural since I am (finally) through the first trimester, but it has still been a bit depressing. Last week at work, it happened for the first time in a very crowded elevator. Some little asian woman who must work somewhere in my building asked me simply "When are you due?" I hestitated a bit before answering. I'm embarrassed to say February--I feel like I shouldn't be showing yet. So then I added "Its amazing how soon you show by the third time around."

The next episode followed shortly on the heels of the first. It was this past Saturday, at my sister-in-law's 25th wedding anniversary. I had been asked to sing at the renewal-of-the-vows ceremony. The song was a bit shaky, I think, although everyone says I did fine. Still, it was one of the comments afterward that really stuck out. Instead of "You were off the beat on the first verse" or "I though you were a little pitchy"--reminders of American Idol, anyone?--I heard "Yes, I already guessed she is pregnant. She's showing a bit." The comment was directed to my mother-in-law, who, bless her heart, was trying to brag about her latest (and, dear Father in Heaven, last!) grandchild-to-be.

The most bothersome aspect of it all is that my doctor took me to task at my last appointment for losing weight. Why in the world my stomach can stretch, my clothes get too tight and yet my weight go down is beyond me. All the science and biology lessons in the world simply can't make this equation compute in my head. All I see is a little more of me in exactly all the places I long to have less of!

Still, I try to remember that the peanut butter cup is now about the size of a nice lemon. And you know what they say when life hands you a lemon... Perhaps if I add enough sugar, it will sweeten the sour taste left behind by comments on my size.

Average Size: 3-4 inches, 1.5 ounces. Development: Kicks, punches, and can suck thumb.

Auburn for Autumn

Every pregnancy, my hair does this 'au-natural' thing. In other words, it gets dull, grey, and thick. Up until recently, I have suffered through as my roots grew in darker. Two things prevented me from doing something about this indignancy.

The first is that any pregnant woman who dyes her hair takes her life in her hands. Those wicked hormones tend to mess with some dyes and can give rather frightening results. I myself have had flaming orange, and occasionally slightly sickening green, neither flattering colors--but especially not on my head!

The second has been my constant, and extreme, nausea. With the pills, I get by pretty well most days, but being so very sensitive to smells hasn't encouraged me to mess with hair dye. So, when I recently saw a commercial for Clairol Nice-n-Easy Perfect 10 claiming they had created a "why smell terrible?" hair color, it caught my attention. Tonight, my stomach felt safe enough to give it a try.

At the moment, I have gone auburn for autumn. The shade may be a bit of a shock, but the experience wasn't too bad. The color works just as fast as they promised--10 minutes--and indeed the smell was much better than usual. I've never gone quite this dark before, but I figure it may give me a little more time before I have to mess with a root touch-up. Of course, with such a painless process, I might not have to worry so much.

Busted Blessings

Well, there is a first time for everything and yesterday proved it. God's free hot water heater began leaking as soon as it was installed. My husband and his buddy (who had just spent the last 4 hours installing the thing) made an emergency run to Home Depot where a brand new hot water heater was purchased. They installed this second one in record time, and I had water back just seconds before company showed up for dinner.

I have to say, this all-the-way new appliance works wonders. It heated the water so well we had to turn it down or risk a scalding straight from the tap! Still, this turn of events has left me worried in more ways than one.

My first question is to God: why? Classic question, and one which He is under no obligation to answer. Still, I find myself puzzled as to why He would send us a busted blessing. And my heart aches to have seen my honey work so hard and recieve no reward for his labors.

My next question involves our budget, which certainly didn't have space to spot us an all-the-way-new anything, let alone a water heater. Perhaps God has some other blessing in mind to help us through the hurdles of the rest of the month's bills, but can I trust Him since plan A seems to have come up empty?

Lastly, my subconscious has taken this whole scenario to heart in an unexpected way. I spent an unrestful night dreaming that I miscarried the baby. This pregnancy was as unexpected as a free hot water heater, but so much more essential now than even hot showers and sanitized dishes (and those of you who know me well understand how highly I value those things!). Is God preparing me for my blessing to be busted? Is my baby not quite right? Will labor loom with no reward?

I know, I know, the one has no connection with the other. But this is the paranoia of the pregnant mind. My consolatin came once again from Scripture.

Why are you in despair, O my soul?

And why have you become disturbed within me?

Hope in God, for I shall again praise Him

for the help of His presence.

--Ps 42:5--

My mistake? I praised God for His provision--the water heater. I praised God for His plan--the pregnancy. But I forgot to praise Him simply for His presence. Whether the water heater worked or not, it proved God was here and active in our life. Whether He gives me this child I carry, or not, it is proof that His presence and power overshadow me. I will spend today needing His continued provision--especially with the new strain on the budget--but I also hope to spend it fully resting in His constant presence.