11 weeks: Oof

The week between my emergency appointment for cramping and bleeding and my follow-up appointment at 12 weeks has been a mind game. It feels like time is standing still. Instead of bemoaning the nausea or celebrating that it's fading, I'm paranoid that it's a BAD thing that it's fading and that this baby that we are so excited to meet is slipping away from us.

A little bit of knowledge has been a very dangerous thing for me this week after being told I had a retroplacental hemorrhage. Every little cramp and twinge makes me afraid the bleeding will start again. All I see is NICU and high-risk OB cases in my brain. Not the thousands of cases that resolve and disappear and they never know what caused it but never have problems with it again.

So on my end, I'm realizing there's this elusive sense of safety when you reach certain milestones in pregnancy: oh I officially missed my period, oh we saw the heartbeat at 6 weeks, oh we made it through the first trimester. Imagining losing this baby after all this... it's too much. So I avoid thinking about it, mostly. The bleeding has stopped and I'm anxious and paranoid and a little on edge but also, still pregnant. And I will take it. I will take this baby as long as God gives it to me, but I'm not gonna lie-- I'm hoping that's a really really long time.

10 Weeks

Ten weeks is such an exciting milestone: double digits, 1/4 of the way there, baby looks like a baby in there and I look pregnant from the outside. I also FEEL pregnant all of the sudden. I've had the nausea and fatigue, certainly, reminding me for weeks now. But I mean now the rest of my body feels pregnant. I can't bend at the waist as easily. I feel heavier and move slower. If I sit on the floor with one of the kids, getting up is more of an ordeal. I seem to be retaining water and have had some pelvic swelling and hand swelling. I'm clumsy and forgetful: dropping stuff left and right, looking for my phone when it's in my hand... It's all happening! Baby's crown-rump-length is the size of a Lego guy and I continue to maintain that I feel movement a few times a week. Here we go!

9 Weeks: It's a lot

Tonight, I sat on the couch with my sleeping preschooler in my arms and read through my end-of-pregnancy and birth story posts with Noah and Rosie. They were both summer babies, so these longer warmer days are somehow making this pregnancy seem more real. Reading through those posts reminded me how much I love writing and how much I LOVE birthing and meeting these babies of mine. I needed that reminder and that flutter of excitement because these past few weeks are accumulating into a certain kind of overwhelm that tries to tell me life will never be less chaotic and exhausting than it feels right now. But with two summer babies, this time of year still brings a bit of that visceral reminder that new life is around the corner. Even though this baby is due in the middle of winter, I'm borrowing some of that excitement because I've lost it over the last few weeks of insomnia, exhaustion, and nausea.

I am also certainly aware of some fear right now. Since the first ultrasound, I feel less anxious than I did those first few weeks, worried it was all too good to be true. But now if I dig deep I find that I'm maybe more fearful that my "usual" first trimester anxiety. It's been 4 years since I was pregnant, 2 years since I had a kid in diapers, and almost a year and a half since I last breastfed. And in the interim, there's been the hardest season of my life and some major life changes. 

We are very intentionally re-entering a phase of life that could easily be behind us. Honestly, I thought it WAS behind us, as much as that grieved me for a long time. It was a surprise to both of us when God planted this baby in our hearts and it's a big leap of faith to cross the chasm back into babyhood, postpartum, and all that that entails for our mental health and marriage. We are so excited for a corrective emotional experience. We are so humbled that this baby came out of all the work we've done personally and interpersonally. But also, understandably, the process is going to dig up some more fear we need to process and that's both good and bad. 

There's also fear because I had spotting at 4 weeks and some reasonably intense cramping at 6 weeks. I've had two miscarriages and two healthy pregnancies prior to this babe, and I've never had spotting that didn't end badly, quickly. But an ultrasound at 6w4d reassured me that all was well and right on track with our little blueberry, heartbeat and all. We told the kids the news that afternoon. We showed Noah the ultrasound picture and asked him if he knew what it was. He said, "a baby?" We asked if he knew whose it was and he grinned slowly and said, "our baby?!" We let him tell Rosie the news, and she was initially elated.

We told my parents a few days later on my 36th birthday. Noah wore his new Big Brother shirt, but Rosie refused to put on her Big Sister shirt. She freaked out, crying, saying she wasn't a big girl, she was a LITTLE girl! And she didn't want to wear a big sister shirt! 

She's been obsessed with baby dolls literally since she could sit upright. She LOVES all "babies," even if they're practically toddlers who aren't that much smaller than her. This announcement has drastically renewed her interest in every single baby doll and baby stuffed animal we own. There are bottles and swaddled animals and tucked-in babies in every room of the house. You can tell her little brain is trying to figure out what it means to be a big sister. She pats my now-noticeable belly bump and says in her sweet little voice, "I can't WAIT for the baby to be born!" 

But there's also been a VERY noticeable regression at the same time. I can't blame her, really, even though I wasn't quite expecting this from her. She's been the baby of the family for almost 4 years. Suddenly she's waking up again at night, she has separation anxiety, she talks in a baby voice and really wants to snuggle and be carried everywhere. I really thought I'd paid my threenager dues the first time around. Life with a 3 year old Rosie has been pretty normal and not terribly unnerving. Until we shared this news with her. Now she's making up for lost time and suddenly, with three months left as a three year old, she's heartbreakingly, understandably, frustratingly, exhaustingly... THREE. I remember Noah having a sleep regression when we got pregnant with Rosie and I remember the same hopeless feeling of exhaustion upon exhaustion and knowing that the sleepless baby nights haven't even arrived yet.

I had some bleeding again at 7 weeks and I was just so utterly dismayed I said to myself, "I want THIS baby or no baby at all!" Because I really do want *this* baby. He or she is so very special to Ross and me. But also because I can't fathom starting over from the beginning. I am so ready for the first trimester to be over with-- over in a good way meaning we've moved onto the second trimester. So I called the clinic crying and they got me in for another ultrasound and again, all seems to be well. They never did draw hcg or progesterone, but it also seems that it really doesn't matter at this point. It's all happening or it isn't.

We were devastated a week later to learn that our baby's cousin had stopped growing in-utero and was in the arms of Jesus. The babies had the same due date. So my fear with my own history of miscarriage, and also my survivor's guilt, ramped up and I can tell I've just put my head down, detached, and determined to plow through the next 4 weeks.

But I don't *want* to do that, at the same time. I want to be here and know God is here with me. I'm SO grateful the longest winter ever is finally over (seriously, from October through the first three weeks in April, the only stuff that fell from the sky was white). I'm more than ready to find church community and meet more people here. What a weird year to move and try to start over fresh. Life right now is so messy, literally and emotionally. The kids argue and whine constantly. This house, three times larger than our old 750-square-foot Ranch, is bafflingly filled to the brim and constantly in chaos. I don't *quite* feel fully unpacked or settled in after 13 months.

I wonder how on earth I'm going to add more chaos and be a halfway decent mom when, let's be honest, I've been skating by this year. I feel the need to get all my ducks in a row with habit formation and routines and socialization this summer... all the things that fell to the wayside when we moved, and then felt universally acceptable in the depths of COVID, and then got really old really fast after Christmas break when the attitudes and whining and eye-rolling became the norm instead of the exception.

I also have some weird body issues going on right. I gained about 20 lbs in the past year. A horrible combination of stress and total lack of activity. No where to go, no one to go with, no motivation or accountability to do an online workout. Honestly, I don't feel great about myself. I started this pregnancy 5 pounds under what I ENDED my last two pregnancies at. It shouldn't matter, but I can't quite make peace with it.

I started pro-metabolic eating in August/September 2020 after going down a rabbit trail of "iron deficiency anemia" with low ferritin but high iron storage and subclinical hypothyroidism when my doctor clearly didn't know what was going on. I stumbled upon Ray Peat and a whole community of really fantastic down-to-earth people. Finding that virtual community has maybe been the biggest joy of late 2020/early 2021. I finally found my people, so to speak. I found a way of eating that gives me energy and makes me less anxious and makes me poop every single day (errr sorry). It's been mind-blowing and exciting and the gals along on this journey are just so refreshingly honest and open and ready for change and excited to take their health into their own hands, like me. But it's also been expositional. Meaning, it's exposing some body image issues I still have, some thoughts about certain numbers on the scale, and some doubts about what my body is and isn't capable of. Which are, of course, a little exacerbated by this ambiguous stage of first trimester bloating, so much cellulite, and the least muscle definition I've ever had in my entire life.

The good thing is, these issues were already coming up BEFORE the pregnancy. So I certainly don't blame them on the pregnancy. It's just that I hadn't quite dealt with them, or come to terms with my new body, before adding more changes. There is some fear there about whether my body will be recognizable to me 9 months from now. But I keep telling myself I'm so much more NOURISHED this time around, and that can ONLY mean good things for pregnancy and postpartum. I recently compared a picture of me at 6 weeks with Rosie versus 6 weeks this time, and wow I am round and curvy now, but my skin is GLOWING and 4 years ago that wasn't the case.

And really, while I feel like utter crap, I actually don't feel nearly as bad as I did last time. (With Noah I was working two jobs, one on night shift, and was incredibly stressed with moving, renovating, Grandma Ginny dying... I honestly just didn't know what was life crap and what was pregnancy crap.) I have gotten one cold, so that was a rough week. But better than being sick constantly like I was with Noah and Rosie in the first trimester. Otherwise, my nausea is manageable-ish and my immune system is maybe happy to not be combing first trimester immunosuppression with flu season.  Most food doesn't sound good, but some food DOES. Which is more similar to my pregnancy with Noah than with Rosie. (I REALLY miss all our favorite KC restaurants.) And like with Noah, I will gorge on the food that does actually sound good until it no longer remotely appeals to me. *sigh* 

But more than ever, I know this is temporary and I'm just really trying to get through it with some protein in my system and a little variety. I look forward to looking forward to food again. I REALLY look forward to daily walks or activity and building up endurance after this sedentary year. I'm looking forward to feeling familiar with my body and what it is capable of again. This past year was certainly a year of rest, in some ways. Physical rest, I guess, in good and bad ways: no hurrying here and there but also no walking or working out or leaving this dang house. It was NOT the year of emotional rest I was anticipating, but I guess 2020 wasn't what anyone was anticipating.

Onward and upward.

So to wrap up this rambling post:

I'm so fatigued. I'm so nauseated. It could be worse. I can't wait for it to be better.

It felt so real and so exciting the first week and it feels less real and more scary right now. I sense my habit of foreboding joy trying to creep in and squash the miracle in my heart. This is me fighting back. 

I've been in maternity pants for a few weeks and maternity shirts for the last week, and maybe MAYBE I felt the baby do a tiny little pecan-sized summersault while I was typing this post? 

I know the chaos will grow, but I know the love will too. We've added a kid before, but Ross and I have never been outnumbered. It's a lot.

I think in many ways it will be easier with older siblings (they'll be 7 and 4 soon, which is insane-- they've had to grow up so fast in some ways these last 3 years) versus having 3 under 4 or something. But it will also be harder because they've dealt with a lot of change and this news is already proving to be a little more of a curveball than I thought it would be. Here's hoping we all roll with the punches and I can lead the way in grace, with an inhuman amount of patience and grace for all of us, including myself.

Baby, if you ever read this one day let me emphasize that at the end of the day, I am ELATED that I'm already basically 25% closer to meeting you. Pregnancy is a trip, and struggle is what makes us grow. I can't wait to see who you are and it is already so worth it.

Psalm 127: 1-5

Unless the Lord builds the house,
    the builders labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,

   the guards stand watch in vain.

In vain you rise early
    and stay up late,
toiling for food to eat—
    for he grants sleep to those he loves.
Children are a heritage from the Lord
   offspring a reward from him
Like arrows in the hands of a warrior
   are children born in one's youth,
Blessed is the man
   whose quiver is full of them.
They will not be put to shame...

6 Weeks: Right on cue

I was feeling pretty good til I wasn’t. My only symptom the first few weeks was fatigue and middle of the night insomnia. Right on schedule at 6 week, the nausea kicked in. Afternoon/evening sickness more than morning sickness. And the insomnia is starting to get old, so I’m doing everything I can to lower my stress levels to prevent that 2am cortisol rush!

In the few weeks we’ve known you were there, my oldest brother and his wife AND my middle brother and his wife have announced pregnancies, so you’re going to have so many cousins to play with! I can’t wait to see you all lined up in a row. So far the oldest is a boy— so curious to see what’s to come! 

I’m getting anxious to see an ultrasound— I want to make sure you’re okay and that there’s only one of you! We will share the news of your existence with Noah and Rosie once we see that heartbeat and I can’t wait to hear their responses. 

In other news, I just got my maternity pants out yesterday. It’s safe to say my body remembers what to do. The mind game stage of the first few weeks is both thrilling and scary. Oh, and exhausting. All worth it. 

4 Weeks, Baby

It's pretty surreal to be sitting here typing this out. I didn't know if we were going to get this chance, baby, and we did. You're here! You're real and I can't wait to meet you. As if I needed anything to remind me how incredibly wanted you are, I had some spotting right at 4 weeks that left me utterly scared and introspectively quiet the entire evening. I was so grateful to wake up the next day with everything back to normal. 

I don't take a minute of this for granted: the lines are getting darker, my temps are staying high, the weird pre-positive-test fatigue and daytime naps and crazy hunger remind me I've been here before. I actually cried happy, shocked tears when I saw that first positive test at 10 DPO even though I felt deep in my bones that I already knew. I'm here for it all because it means you're growing.

Sausage and Apple Sheet Pan Dinner

 This is less an exact recipe and more a flexible process. I'm all about sheet pan dinners, and my family inhaled this one last night.

1.) Preheat the oven to 400 degrees

2.) Add the following to a large, lined pan:

2 packages (8 links) of apple chicken sausage (plain brats will work too), sliced

2 green apples, peeled and roughly chopped into 1/2 inch cubes

3 - 4 large yellow potatoes roughly chopped into 1/2 inch cubes

1/2 yellow onion, diced

salt, pepper, garlic powder, and a bit of cinnamon to taste

add 1 - 2 Tablespoons of coconut oil, toss everything to coat

3.) Bake for 20 minutes, flip, and bake for another 20 minutes

Tastes great with some spicy brown or grain mustard for dipping!

Nothing to Lose

Moving to a new state the week before a pandemic: 5/5 would not recommend.  

In one fell swoop, I lost my home base and the world collectively lost its sense of normalcy. It’s been doubly jarring and I have yet to walk into a room full of people here with a sense of coming home. Even the kindest people are also unsure or unable (or unwilling? 🥴) to reach out to the new kid in the ways they might have previously had the margin to do so before. 

The loneliness has been crippling lately, and I’m homesick. Some of the things that made it easier to move— like friends dispersing to Kindergarten at different schools— have now been reversed as they all join together to micro-school in response to COVID. I miss our neighbors, our big oak tree, the street we walked on, the parks we played at. I love fall in Kansas City. 

I miss the opportunity to homeschool with our previously public-schooled friends. I miss my old MOPS group. I miss my old hospital and co-workers. I miss Wednesday afternoons with my Aunt. I miss zoo trips with my other Aunt and Uncle. 

I miss, I miss, I miss. And this week the tears are spilling out at inconvenient times, like when I’m charting at work at the end of a crazy day, or when I’m sitting on a park bench on a gorgeous autumn afternoon with my delightful kids. 

While I know in my head this was the right move, it’s harder and harder to feel the truth if it as the days grow shorter and the global anxiety grows. The arguments for and against moving at this time last year were 50/50 at best. I thought God made it graciously and providentially clear that it was time via the gift of the house we live in now. There are so many little details to the story that are too specific to be an accident. 

And yet. I find myself doubting. An old quote came to mind today as I struggled to be present on a hike with my kids: “If you believe that God is good, His sovereign hand is sweet. If you believe that God is not good, his sovereign hand is bitter.”

This month marks two years since Ross and I separated (we are no longer separated), which was followed by 18 months of dark days and long nights. Eighteen months of believing that God got it very, very wrong. That my obedience in him was misplaced. That everyone will eventually let me down. That not even God is faithful. This is what trauma does. It lies to you about who you are and what you can expect out of life. 

In spite of all the good and necessary work I’ve done and things that I’ve learned in the past two years, all the hope I’ve found in the last year, all the miracles I’ve witnessed in the last 6 months, that’s been the last point I’ve been skirting around. Because if God isn’t good, he made empty promises about rest and home and new beginnings when we moved. And I was stupid to believe him once again. 

But living under that assumption is unbearable. Unsustainable. Hopeless. 

So... what if God is good?

What if he is sovereign? What if he loves me lavishly and I always belong in him? What if he’s the anchor I need when my thoughts drift to dark places? What if C.S. Lewis got it right in the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe?

“Aslan is a lion— the Lion, the great Lion." 

"Ooh" said Susan. "I'd thought he was a man. Is he quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion"

...”Safe?" said Mr Beaver ..."Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you.”

What if, once again, I started asking God to meet my deepest needs and trusting that he would provide like he has promised? What if he really offers abundantly more than I could ever ask or imagine? What if he will return the years the locusts have eaten?

At this point, what do I have to lose?