A letter to my daughter.

My dear sweet girl,

There is so much I want to say, but I don't know where to start. Thank you for taking care of your sister on her birthday. You know, sometimes I think you just know what I need and sometimes you know what I don’t need. Yesterday was her birthday. And while I thought it would be perfect to gain a daughter on the day I lost a daughter, you knew better than me that July 27th is Angel’s day. Thank you for letting us keep that as her special day. I promise your day will be so, so special too.

I had a good day yesterday. It started with an ultrasound where I got to see you and my, oh, my – You are so beautiful. I watched you wiggle around, and am still amazed that you’ve found room to do so. The technician was able to show me your beautiful beating heart and your sweet little fingers. You seemed annoyed with us, however, as you kept your hand covering your face while we were trying to take your picture. It’s okay. Sometimes I don’t like to have my picture taken either.

I left the hospital with a very blurry picture of you, almost unable to make out your features (because of your hand being over your face), but every time I look at it, I get tears in my eyes. Soon, I will be able to see you face to face, and will feel your perfect little fingers wrap around mine.

I did have a brief moment where my emotions washed over me while I was watching you. I didn’t realize when I scheduled my ultrasound (for yesterday) that I had my very first ultrasound one year ago today. It didn’t tell me what I wanted it to, but there was so much left to be said. Oh, yes. So much.

I know you’ll come when you’re ready. Just wanted to let you know that we can’t wait to meet you. (And July really is a great month to have a birthday. Wink, wink.)

Love,
Mama

Belly Love.

My friend Crooked Eyebrow took some maternity photos for me a couple of weeks ago. She did an amazing job of making me feel comfortable and beautiful, despite the humidity and excessive temperatures for 5 pm!

(this is my favorite. love love love.)

And maybe tomorrow, I will actually write something instead of just post pictures.

Happy Birthday, Uncle Jamey.

Not an "old man" uncle like you envision losing when you're 28 years old.

No, actually a young man.

42 years young today.

Miss & love you so much. xoxo.

{dad & uncle jim)

Death. And New Life.

Death and grief and sadness is not the direction I intended for this blog to go this spring/summer. But? Life. It happens.

As I was laying in bed last Friday night/Saturday morning, wide awake, playing on Twitter and Facebook, I learned that a young man I went to high school with had just passed away. "Just" as in, 1 hour before I woke up. "Just" as in, 28-years-old, with a wife and three children and did I say 28-years-old? Massive seizure, bleeding on the brain, nothing they could do. 28-years-old.

I stared blankly at my phone, trying to understand something that I probably never will. I wasn't "best friends" with Rusty. We didn't "hang out". But I graduated with 76 people. We knew each other. We knew about each other's families and siblings and plans after high school. When I was in the sixth grade, Rusty is the one who told me (in the middle of Mr. Burnett's 5th period science class) that Brandon didn't want to be my boyfriend anymore (I didn't hold that against him, I didn't want to be Brandon's girlfriend anymore anyhow). (I recall a lot of details of this breakup because I'm a detail oriented person. Not because it was the end of the world for the 12-year-old me. Ahem.)


So I closed out the Facebook application, and opened Twitter. Pregnancy insomnia, infants, and sick babies of all ages had many of my friends awake at 4am. It was comical that so many of us were online at the same time, chatting away, and then ALL OF A SUDDEN, Megan's water breaks. And she's off to have a baby.

And I just laid there and cried. Rusty died. Megan had a baby. Life. A big circle. It happens.

I don't get it. But, it is. It just, is.

I'm not going to get all Elton John/Lion King on you, but the Circle of Life? Yeah.

"Some of us fall by the wayside
And some of us soar to the stars
And some of us sail through our troubles
And some have to live with the scars

There's far too much to take in here
More to find than can ever be found
But the sun rolling high through the sapphire sky
Keeps great and small on the endless round"

Knowing that it's all "part of life" doesn't make death easier. The grief is still overwhelming, from my uncle to my FIL to this man I spent so many hours a day/week/year with. My grief for him is real, while not as intense as that of my family members. But I also grieve for his young wife and 3 young children.

No one thinks that their "mid-life" is 14 or 21 or 29. And yet, in the past 2 months, I've seen it. I don't know if I've hit my "mid-life", passed my "mid-life", or am years away from my "mid-life". But what I DO know is that I don't want to waste a single day. Because not one is granted, not one is promised.

Are you living like you're dying? I think we should do it together. I think it will set us free.

"So if your life flashed before you, What would you wish you would've done?
Yeah, we gotta start
Looking at the hands of the time we've been given
If this is all we got and we gotta start thinking
If every second counts on a clock that's ticking
Gotta live like we're dying" ~ Kris Allen, Live Like We're Dying

Putting my (not swollen!) pregnant foot down!

I love being pregnant. 99% of the time. The other 1% of the time is when people are being annoying.

I'm asked how I feel. I respond "oh, my back hurts a little today, but otherwise, I'm good." And the response is "JUST YOU WAIT! It will only get worse before it gets better! You won't be able to sleep at all in a few weeks. I felt like blah blah blah when I was pregnant for whosit."

Ok. Thank you. So next time someone asks, I will say I'm good.

*next time*

"Oh, I feel good! Thank you for asking!" And the response is "OH, WELL YOU WON'T FEEL GOOD FOR LONG! Soon, you won't be able to sleep or poop or eat or move, you'll just be miserable! Enjoy it while you can!"

Ok. Next time, I will just smile and nod.

*next time*

Smiling. Nodding. "JUST WAIT TILL THAT BABY IS BORN! YOU WON'T EVER SLEEP AGAIN! YOU WON'T EVER TAKE A SHOWER IN PEACE. YOU'LL CHANGE SO MANY POOPY DIAPERS AND YOU'LL JUST BREAKDOWN. YOU'LL NEVER HAVE SEX AGAIN AND YOUR BOOBS WILL BE SORE FROM BREASTFEEDING AND DON'T PLAN ON EVER DOING ANYTHING FOR YOURSELF AGAIN FOR THE NEXT 18 YEARS!"

Ok. Next time, I will pretend I don't speak English.

*next time*

"To go, please." Oh crap. That won't work.

Why must every question be followed with the woes and trials and tribulations of pregnancy? It's as if every woman who has ever had a baby is some sort of martyr for labor, delivery, and child rearing. I'm not ready to be done being pregnant. I'm ready to meet my daughter, but I love this time. However? I'm getting sick of people telling me how aweful the rest of my pregnancy is going to be, and how aweful it is to have an infant and how aweful it will be to try to be pregnant with a toddler, should that day come (even though the same woman just told me I'll never have sex again).

It makes me just want to be alone. Or with men. Which never happens.

And to top it off, I ended up in the glorious Labor & Delivery Department of my local hospital TWICE last week. And imagine my frustration when the nurse made me differentiate between pregnancies and babies. "Yes, this is my first baby." "No, this is not my first pregnancy, I had a miscarriage last year."

To which she replied "Miscarriage and Pregnancy are one in the same."

So I punched her in the face. With my uterus. And THEN, I went back to work. (What the heck is wrong with me. Duh. Take the day off, moron.)

But really. I just want a day off. A day I don't have to think or worry or deal or blargh.

My time is coming. Sometime in the next 7 weeks, I will get my day off. But I'll be in labor, which will surely be the worst thing that's ever happened to me. And then I'll spend the next 6 weeks not sleeping, with sore boobs, no sex (that one's not a joke), poopy diapers, and begging to take a shower.

But I chose this. I longed for this and prayed for this and would give anything to spend time with my daughter in the middle of the night, and get poop on my hands, and go 3 days without a shower or eating a meal while sitting at a table.

Getting pregnant wasn't a mistake. It was intentional. So please stop trying to make me regret it. It won't happen.

A rant.

I’m really quite surprised by who makes accommodations for pregnant women. Don’t get me wrong, I can still open my own door (for now), but it is nice to have someone do it for you (pregnant or NOT!). But I am constantly surprised by who my door-holders are, now that I’m (very) visibly pregnant.

Men.

Men whose wives have probably said “HOLD THE DOOR FOR ME, OR I’M NOT GIVING THIS BABY YOUR LAST NAME.”

Young women.

A category that I myself fell into just 9 months ago. There was always something about the way a pregnant woman walked/waddled that made me think I should help her however I could. It had to do with my upbringing. My parents taught me to respect people.

And this is surely a generalization, but I’m super frustrated with the women who are older than me who walk right past me, or allow ME to hold the door open for THEM. As if, during their pregnancy, someone slighted them and didn’t hold the door open for them. Or they think I need to earn my door-held-open-ness. It kinda irks me, if I’m being honest.

I was leaving Panera today and a woman who looked like she was my grandma’s age was entering. Not only did she wait in between the two doors for me to leave, but when I held the door open for her, she didn’t say thank you. I was shocked.

I don't feel like I'm entitled to much, especially not having a stinking door held open. But if I hold the door open for YOU, I do expect a thank you. Don't be rude.

I guess I’m getting grouchy. You’ve been warned.