Today is Friday, and I'm learning first hand about why pregnant people complain about their back.

We are on the road to Wheeler. This is a trip that I'm usually pretty pumped about, but today I dread the drive. I dread walking into a house where I won't find Dang, and I dread seeing the look on Nanny's face every time somebody offers condolences. Isn't that strange? I take comfort in writing, and if you want to be moved to tears by my words, I'm happy to oblige. I'm not the person you want around if you need comfort in sad circumstances. I'll give you the best hug I can, but I'll also offer a joke or a subject change. I never know what to say in those situations, so I usually just smile and stay back. I'm there to help in any way I can, but I won't have the words to comfort you. I know,  I know... I'll work on it. I'm also so miserably full that it takes effort to move at all, so my back is getting stiffer by the moment. We just had the BEST lunch in the world... well, the best lunch in Sweetwater, Texas. Y'all... My world has been forever changed. My boss always talks about a restaurant he goes to called Allen's. My boss is a pretty picky guy, so I knew if he bragged about it, it had to be good. We punched the address into the GPS, and it led us to one of the scariest looking buildings I've ever seen. It was an old house, and the paint was chipping...and it looked like it would cave at any given moment. Cody went in to make sure we were at the right place, and came back out looking pumped.We went inside, sat down at a table of strangers, and waited for the next step. The next step was three carts of food being wheeled to our table. Bowls and Bowls of southern style food. IT. WAS. THE. BOMB. My pregnant stomach was full and delighted. And uncomfortable for the remainder of our three hour drive. So worth it.

Today is Saturday, and it was a long day.

The funeral was a nice funeral. Dang's life was celebrated and I think everybody left with good feelings of closure. That's really all you can ask for in a funeral, I think. I talked to a lot of strangers about Gaines fetus, and started feeling pretty rough toward the middle of the afternoon. I took a small coma and then we spent a little bit of time with Cody's other grandfather, who never really knows how to handle my firecracker of a personality. I've been hit with a flyswatter more in the last four years than any human should. We were pleasantly surprised to dine unexpectedly with one of our favorite couples in Wheeler, and though our visit was brief, we spent a great time laughing at my unfortunate pregnancy symptoms and sharing our enthusiasm for July. I tend to complain a lot, but Kelli gave birth to twin boys, so my issues pale in comparison... but at the same time, I'm five feet tall, and she has to be at least 6'9... so we're pretty much even. We always have the greatest intentions to spend time together whenever Cody and I visit, but time always seems to slip away, so this unexpected dinner was so fun for us. Don't you love those serendipitous occasions? I do.

Today is Sunday, and I am OVER road trips.

My bed, My bed, where for art thou cozy arms? Where for art thou welcoming slumber? I miss my bed, y'all. I love Wheeler and I love Cody, but I do not love sharing a bed with Cody in Wheeler. The bed was a double, I could literally watch spiders climbing the wall, and it was the equivalent to sleeping on large rock. I know everybody gets down a different way when it comes to comfortable sleeping, but homegirl needs her memory foam. I NEED the satisfaction of being surrounded by clouds. You won't find clouds in Wheeler. You'll find daddy long legs and rock beds. What I'm trying to say is that I'm just really excited to get into my own bed. I might decide to stay there until July. That's really all I have to say about this day. Super exciting, I know. 

Today is Monday, and I slept for 13 hours last night. 

It's true. I went to bed at 10, and I woke up at 11:30 this morning. I'm pretty sure the only reason I woke up is because my mom called to make sure I was still breathing. I forced myself to go to work, felt a little bit "off," but attributed it to excessive sleep. I was pretty irritable, had a headache for most of the day, and felt uncharacteristically nauseated. Cody called me and let me know that he had a fever, so after a quick visit to the doctor, he was diagnosed with the bronchitis (Ain't nobody got time for that!) and a pretty intense cold. Cody quarantined himself in our guestroom about 8 o'clock and I didn't see him again for the rest of the night. I treated myself to a "Friends" marathon, and found that I was still wide awake after midnight. I like to believe that it's because Cody is my Nyquil, because the sound of his sleep breathing makes me sleepy. The room was eerily quiet, and I spent the next hour contemplating whether I should set up camp in the bathroom or try to sleep through the nausea. I chose the latter, and I think I finally fell asleep around 1 A.M. 

Today is Tuesday, and I don't really have a description for how I feel.

You're probably wondering why I was so detailed about my bedtime routine yesterday. It's because it was required to explain the events of today. About 4 o'clock this morning, I woke up and knew something wasn't right. There was a pain between my shoulder blades that I initially attributed to the way I was sleeping... I was pretty much sleeping in a "C" position. I straightened out and stretched a little bit, and when I inhaled to yawn, a blinding pain filled my upper abdomen... right about where your diaphragm hits. I thought it was nature calling (it's my blog, stop flaring your nostrils,) and so I went to the bathroom. When I stood up, the pain moved to my upper back. Nature never came and the pain never left, so I started to head back to bed. When I finally got into a comfortable enough position to breathe normally, the pain shot into my ribs. OH my word, I thought I was going to pass out. I tried calling out to Cody, but I didn't have a whole lot of volume because I couldn't catch my breath. I stayed still, praying for the pain to pass, but it never did. I started contemplating everything it could be, and actually thought I was having contractions. It was an intense pain that I've never experienced, and I tried calling the Emergency Room several times. I was crying in my bed, convinced that this was the bitter end. I thought about calling my mom, but didn't want to wake her up (yes, I'm that considerate in my moments of blinding pain.) I knew that I couldn't drive because the pain was making me dizzy. I finally sat up in the bed and put my head between my knees. I prayed with more fury than I've ever prayed, and looked over at the clock. It was 5:37. I had been battling "labor" for an hour and a half.

Then I realized that while every aspect of my abdomen was writhing in pain, the area where the baby was had no pain, No discomfort, not even a grumble. I thank the Lord for the peace that followed. I felt like I was in the seventh circle of hell, but I knew that duck was okay. I finally dozed off after I put a few pillows under my back, but each time I rolled onto my right side, the pain woke me back up. I woke up again for the remainder of the morning around 7:30, physically and mentally worn down, and anxiously awaited the doctor's office to open. I called my mom in the meantime, because I knew Fever McGee didn't belong in a room full of pregnant women. I made it to the doctor and made it about ten seconds into my list of symptoms before he started writing a sonogram referral for my abdomen. He cut me off and said "It's either kidney stones or your gallbladder... I'm willing to bet your gallbladder isn't functioning." He basically started talking about extracting it as soon as possible, what this means for my new diet, why he wants it out before 20 weeks, and why it's a perfect time for my gallbladder to give out. It was kind of a surreal moment, and I guess the doctor knew I zoned out, because he started talking to my mom instead of me. I can deal with surgery, but his new list of forbidden foods was enough to bring me to hysterics. I held it together, booked our confirmation sonogram, and then cried my eyes out in the car. I'm okay now, because this is simply what has to be done. I do feel bad that I've been cussing Duck over things that are likely the result of my bum gallbladder, but it's okay, hopefully it forgets soon. So, that's where we are, that's what I know, and I hold tight to the promise that nothing about the situation took the Lord by surprise.

Today is Wednesday, and I am IN LOVE.

Oh. My. Word. My sweetest sweet SWEET baby is adorable. It has to be the sweetest baby in the world. There's no possible way that anything could outsweet this baby. And I know whether it's a phoebe or a phoebo. I know the baby's name. I know the joy that this baby will bring to our family. But more on that later.

We went for our confirmation sonogram today. We went to confirm that my gallbladder was the culprit and not my kidneys, pancreas, or intestines. Let me tell you people something, if you ever get a referral for a "full abdominal ultrasound," I would recommend you prepare yourself for thirty minutes of poking, prodding, and "What else could you POSSIBLY be looking for?!" It was so stupidly uncomfortable. She found my gallblader (pretty much completely under my ribs...right where the pain was during the attack) and said "mm hmm." but still felt the need to examine every inch of my kidneys. Kidneys were the worst. She was pushing as hard as she possibly could to get a good picture. I had to hold my breath, turn on my right side, and flex my abs (haha, my "abs") to get a stupid photo of the perfectly healthy kidney. WHACK. What it all comes down to is that my gallbladder is technically still functioning. Unfortunately, I do have at least three stones. They're easily agitated, prone to flare up at their leisure, and if the doctor chooses not to extract my gallbladder, I basically get to eat steamed vegetables and chicken until I have this baby. I won't know the decision until he calls me, so there's a cliffhanger for us all.

There was a little bit of humor to this tale. When I came in, the ultrasound tech basically told me to prepare for a pelvic exam by inviting me to change and cover myself with a sheet. I said "um, I don't think you'll find what you're looking for there." And she looked at me, then at her chart, then said "I'll be right back." She came back inside red as a beet and said "I am SO SO sorry." So things were already awkward when I said "I mean, my gallbladder might be in my uterus, you're welcome to look." She said "I don't think your gallbladder is in your uterus" I said "It's worth checking." She looked at me like I was stupid, then said "No... that's a completely different exam anyway." So I was annoyed, because all I wanted to do was see my kid. She completed most of the exam before she said "OH MY GOSH." And I said "what?!?!" and she said "You're Pregnant!" in a tone that said "Now I understand why you were acting like such a doofus!" I said "Well, I hope so." She laughed for a while and then said "Of course we'll look at the baby." SCORE. We finished looking at every major organ in my abdomen, and the moment of truth was upon us. Did the baby have arms? Did the baby have both legs? These were legitimate fears, because pregnancy dreams are WHACK. Well, friends, I can confirm that baby has a backside, and baby has legs, and the baby has appropriate anatomy for it's specific sex... because that's ALL we saw when she found the baby. It's a good, great, and wonderful thing that we were okay with knowing the sex of the baby, because it made itself immediately evident. Even the tech said "Oh wow, it's a ___, isn't it?" It was hysterical. As if on cue, baby turned around and scared the life out of me. Why did NOBODY warn me about how terrifying the baby's face would be on a black and white ultrasound? Don't even pretend that it's cute and precious, because my reaction was more of a "What the WHAT!" I'll even post a picture that I found on google. I need you to understand.

WOAH. I've been reassured by everyone that they really do get cuter as we go along. Praise Jesus.

It's been a crazy week. Definitely the most dramatic, definitely the most painful, definitely the most blissfully wonderful week. I'm already looking at bedding, paint colors, and diaper bags. I'm already praying for baby by name, and I'm already so excited to meet it that I'm BURSTING at the seams. I'm in love, Cody is OBSESSED, and the Lord is faithful... just as he always has been.

That's it for Week 15! Here's the bump, and next week we MIGHT announce gender. We're really just relishing this time together, bonding with our duck, and soaking in the knowledge that we can plan and pray for specific things for our love... it's really just the coolest thing. We're elated.

Week 14

We made it through another week. I am thankful for this tiny little life, even on days that I just want to chug coffee. The Lord is gracious, merciful, and mindful of our needs, and this has truly been my favorite week of pregnancy so far. 

Today is Sunday, and I am tired. So, so tired.

I sang at church today, and while the set was far from exhausting, the day was. Some Sundays, we show up to church and everything falls into place. Some Sundays, we show up to church and if something is meant to go wrong, it will. There were battles all across the board, but I think one of my favorite things about my church is that things still come together, no matter the circumstance. We belong to a church of committed, intelligent people, and I think that we would hold a church service in the dark before we threw in the towel on a Sunday. I'm still so very tired, and I am glad that the day is done.

Today is Monday. I've never really had a beef with Mondays.

I've decided to start typing a little bit throughout the week, because I am more likely to remember what's going on, plus it makes it easier to push publish at the end of the week. I had a little bit of blood work done this morning, and APPARENTLY it's the norm to be tested for everything in the universe.. but in case you're wondering, the lab tech doesn't think it's funny when you make an off handed remark about that time in Vegas. It was just a joke, lab tech, no need for death glares. I've learned that Doctors pretty much assume the "guilty until proven innocent" stance, because there is no other possible reason that anyone needs 5 tubes of blood removed from their pregnant body. So I stopped talking to the cranky lab tech. And closed my eyes just long enough to realize that something didn't feel right... and then the room started spinning... and then the cranky lab tech forced a questionable glass of juice down my throat. What a peach.

Today is Tuesday, and I am crazy about my husband. 

This week seems to be the week that my baby belly is becoming a belly instead of a bump. It's not enormous, just enough so that everything touches when I sit. I sit slouched across a chair most of the time, and I usually look super annoyed. I'm not annoyed, I just want to remember what it's like for my stomach not to touch my thighs when I sit. This week, Cody, the most adorable daddy-to-be in the world, reached over and kind of rubbed my belly. I don't think he was trying to be adorable, and I don't think he was really even aware of how much it meant to me, but it thrilled me to my core. He rubbed my belly like it was the top of a dog's head... but he did it without prompting. And without "Cody, tell your baby Good morning!" Oh, it was the sweetest, most wonderful moment. I'll truly always remember it. Always. 

Today is Wednesday, and my Heart Hurts.

Fortunately, the excessively emotional stage of my pregnancy (well, the first round of excessive emotion), was short lived. Nowadays, I only cry when I'm really angry, watching American Idol auditions of people with a stuttering problem (oh, the waterworks,) or when I'm just too tired to form words. I don't cry much these days, but today, I cried a lot. Cody's sweet, adorable, hilarious Grandpa went to be with Jesus yesterday... and it tore me in two. He called me Kay-LEE, mostly because he always called me Kayla and got annoyed when everyone in the room said "Kay-LEE." He was a man of many words. I don't think he cared whether anybody was listening to him or not, he just said what he was thinking. He would zone in and out of conversations, then talk again ten minutes later referencing a conversation everyone had already moved past. The first time I ever met him, Cody and I had only been dating about 6 months. Long enough to know that we loved each other, but not long enough that marriage was in the thought process yet. I walked into a house full of strangers, all from Cody's tiny little farm town up north, and thought "This is going to be the most uncomfortable day of my life." I stood in a corner, and finally saw a rocking chair in the living room open up next to a sleeping old man that everybody kept calling Dang. I sat down in the chair, and he said "Let me see your hand..." so I held out my hand, and he took his dentures out of his mouth and said "Hold these." I didn't know what to do, how to respond, and immediately began to fathom ways to disappear. He laughed, popped his dentures in, and said "I'm just kiddin, Kay-LEE." I stayed by Dang the rest of the evening, and I can remember thinking to myself that I could not fathom the rest of my life if Dang was not a part of it. For my first visit to Wheeler, we were eating cantaloupe at the kitchen table, and Dang said "You're eating it wrong!" He then put a boat of gravy and tons of pepper on his cantaloupe before he started rambling about city girls being sheltered. On my wedding day, he yelled "Attaboy, Cody!" during our first kiss as husband and wife. He sang songs about everything he did, and it always makes me smile to hear my husband do the same thing. He taught me all of the right ways to push my Mother-In-Law's buttons, told me stories about what a handful Cody was, and always winked at me before he made a comment that was sure to make his wife blush. He was crazy about Ann, I've never seen a man smile at his wife the way that he did. She was his joy, and spending their 55th anniversary with them is a memory I will cherish forever. He was the man to make everybody laugh, and the first one I went to whenever we visited. It breaks my heart into a million pieces that my baby will never know the man that was the first one to make me feel like family, but the memories are sweet reminders. Joe Ellison was everything a man should be, and we will raise our baby to follow the legacy he's leaving behind. 

 Today is Thursday, and my doctor just scared the bamboozles out of me.

There's a really cool portal that my Doctor provides his patients access to. It's like my own personal record online, and he uploads lab results, appointment reminders, and major milestones of my pregnancy. Today, I received an email, and the message said "Results attached, Everything looks good, Your Rh is negative. Ready about RH negative mothers in your book." I looked at the results and saw that my blood type is O Negative, and that was a total shock because both of my parents are O positive. Well, obviously I don't carry around my great big book of Preggers, so of course, I hopped on the internet. I've said it before, I've said it again. Stay off of the internet. I took a little gander around ye old google... and discovered the potential of my body attacking my fetus because of the risk of the baby being a positive blood type. Y'all. It was dramatic. I was sweating and my heart was racing and all I could think about was my poor defenseless baby falling victim to my blood cells. Of course Cody didn't know his blood type, but was incredibly intrigued by my blood type. "So you can donate to pretty much anybody..." "Wait, so your blood can be donated to anyone, but it has to be O negative if you needed it donated? I think that stuff is like critically low. Bummer." THANK YOU for that, Cody. So I called the doctor, and I was transferred to three different people before the most reassuring nurse in the world hopped on the phone. She talked a lot, and I don't totally remember what all she said, but basically, they'll do blood work again in about 6 weeks, and if it looks like there's any kind of funky RH factors, the baby's blood type is some type of positive, so I'll need a Rhogam shot. Why, you ask? I had the same question. According my Great Big Book of Preggers, "When your immune system (which fights off invaders to keep you healthy) is exposed to your baby’s Rh-positive blood, it will begin producing antibodies that are sensitized(designed specifically) to destroy these “foreign” blood cells." GREAT. So, the shot basically consists of a "small dose of antibodies, collected from blood donors, which kill any Rh-positive blood cells in your system and then prompt your immune system to develop its own antibodies. The donated antibodies are just like yours but the dose isn't large enough to cause problems for your baby." Irma (the calming nurse) assured me that it was fine, and it's really in subsequent pregnancies that there is a cause for concern. This is just a precaution. Of course, if Cody's blood type is negative, then I won't need ANY of this, and our baby will be a negative blood type. Genes are complicated, man. So I'm okay now. It was a scary couple of hours, though. Oh, and good news. I don't have HIV, or Hepatitis... OR any other infectious sexually transmitted disease. I'm sure the lab tech was shocked.

Okay, that's it! We are officially in week 15, and this time next week, I'll know if it's a girl Gaines or a Boy Gaines. One thing is for certain, friends. This kid is going to have BLONDE hair, and this kid is going to have ENORMOUS eyes. I'm wagering Blue eyes. I'm pretty positive about the goofy looking smile too. 

Here's the bump, cast your gender vote! 

KG

Week 13

Week 13 has probably been the most tolerable of all of the weeks, so I have hope. I don't think I have enough hope to carry on the Gaines family name again, but I might survive after all.

I think the biggie about this week was we FINALLY got to see our doctor... and by see, I mean meet. Yes, it was about as awkward as you would expect it to be. We had to switch doctors, for a lot of reasons, really... but mainly because it was important to me that we were with a doctor who believed the way we believe. It's incredibly difficult to be with a doctor that believes in science and logic. I was being pressured into a lot of tests that I really wasn't interested in, and met with more risks than things that could go right in the pregnancy. I'm not that girl. I'm not the one to say "Yes! Run Every Test! Tell me everything that could possibly go wrong!" So, I had to leave the doctor that I've been with since I was 17 years old and move to a stranger... a highly, HIGHLY recommended stranger. It was a little weird, but I suspect that things will get a little easier as he learns to deal with my quick wit and humor to escape uncomfortable situations. I am so, so excited to say that even in the thirty minutes we spent with our doctor, his faith in everything that God says he is was made so evident to us. He gave us a pamphlet full of scripture, announced his stance against the NT and genetic testing, then gave us all of the statistics about the likelihood of our baby being completely perfect. He said "Will any of these tests change whether or not this baby is yours?" (No.) "Will any of these tests change the way you see your baby?" (No.) "Then we aren't wasting our time on them." (Hallelujer.) He proceeded to tell us that he believes that pregnancy is a natural process for a young, healthy woman to go through, and said that he was really just there to guide me through it. I'm so thankful that he isn't a doctor that goes looking for a problem. I need that kind of doctor in my walk through this pregnancy. I may sound like a looney tune to some of you, but what it really comes down to is that we're all knit together so uniquely (is that even a word?) and so creatively. I could be growing a human that needs ALL of the information, ALL of the time, and that's something that I'll have to work through as a mom. With lots and lots of patience.

The visit was fairly short and fairly sweet. I was surprised by the lack of questioning about family history on his part, but I think it traces back to not looking for a problem. He assured me that if anything looked, felt, or sounded funky at any of my appointments, he would get to the root of the problem immediately... I trust his confidence. He answered my questions and concerns, like this funky tingling sensation I get in my hands at night. It was good to know I wasn't suffering from a neurological disorder, as WebMD diagnosed. Between my diverticulitis, appendicitis, and thirteen pulled muscles, WebMD is obviously the most trusted source of online diagnostics. It's nailed my diagnosis every single time. Okay, that's a lie.

My favorite part of the visit was obviously when he pulled that doppler out of the drawer. My nerves began to get a little more noticeable, mainly because of the internet horror stories I've heard and read about. But after the quickest prayer for peace in the world, the doctor put the doppler on my stomach... and the whooshing and pounding of a heartbeat was music to my ears. 172 beats per minute, a significantly faster beat than the 123 bpm we heard at 6 weeks. All looked and sounded perfect. We were able to book our gender appointment that day, and I have to say, there's something enticing about not sharing it with anybody else until the baby shower. Or maybe even until the birth. Or maybe I'll be so pumped that I won't be able to contain my enthusiasm. Who knows. 

I did have a meltdown this week over the breakout of teenage angst on my face. The Lord has blessed me in a lot of ways over the course of my lifetime, but I've always been especially thankful for my skin. When I had a zit, it was one zit. Singular. It was usually a monster of a zit, and it was always noticeable, but I had a zit MAYBE once every 3 months. And it was always gone the next day. The second trimester bid farewell to the need for naps and comas, but it also welcomed a zit epidemic. It's like the plague on my face. And maybe it's because I'm pregnant, but when I noticed the zits, I noticed the other weird quirks to my face, so I spent most of the day in a black hole of self-loathing. And the next day, I avoided mirrors. Today, I'm okay. It's a roller coaster of a ride. 

I do want to address a few "myths," if you will. I've always heard that cravings don't really exist. It's a "mind over matter" situation. I'm here to tell you that that is a lie from the pit of hell. I haven't had very many cravings, and they're never for anything weird, but once that thought enters my mind, anything I eat in it's place may as well be toxic sludge. For example, there's something about my mom's potato soup that makes my heart take flight. This was right in the middle of "Fetus hates all Food" phase, and I knew that if I ate the soup, I would get sick, and I might not be able to eat the soup again because of the memories. So I ignored the craving for 3 weeks... and I finally asked her to make me some because I thought I was going to EXPLODE if I didn't eat the soup. I'm only mildly ashamed to admit that I ate four bowls. four. bowls. Oh, and I ate it for dinner that night, and lunch the next day. And then it was gone. And I still crave it all of the time. The kid will likely turn into a potato. The next myth that I wish to address is the one about hair responding differently to color during pregnancy. That's true. So, So true. I put a color on my hair that I've used since the seventh grade, y'all. We're talking ten years of the same "safe color." It's always turned my hair a really dark brown, and it always fades to a nice natural looking reddish-brown. Well, yesterday it turned my hair black. Black as the night. Black as this font. Black like Katy Perry's Hair. It is insane. And there's not much I can do about it, because it's not like you can dye over black. I just have to play the waiting game and hope that it fades out a little bit. In the meantime: No, I'm not trying a new look, I just wanted the blonde out of my hair. Yes, my doctor said it was safe to dye my hair... don't be the annoying friend that points out the dangers. I also drink a cup of coffee a day. No, I don't intend to keep dying my hair. Yes, I am aware that Katy Perry has black hair, don't sing her songs at me. 

This is a part of the ride. Lessons learned. In the meantime, I live with my husband calling me Cleopatra. In the meantime, I go through a bit of a shock whenever I see myself in the mirror. In the meantime, I sigh to myself whenever somebody cracks a goth joke. We'll see who's laughing when you're bald and I'm not, gramps.

Here's the bump (pre-dye), and farewell to week 13!

Pregnancy Woes and "woahs"

Wow. Our blog domain has a feature that allows us to see how many people are reading our blogs everyday, and we are blown away by how many hits our blog has received since January 2nd... (like, over 10,000.) I'm fairly certain that I don't even know 10,000 people, and so most of you are strangers to me. I don't know your background, I don't know your stories, and I certainly don't know your names. Maybe you stumbled upon the blog while you were blog hopping, maybe a search for PCOS brought you here, or maybe you're a friend of a friend and enjoy creeping on other people the same way I do. Whomever you are, whatever the reason, we're glad you're here. Stay awhile. Walk this journey with us.

The funny thing about pregnancy is that it is genuinely hard to be encouraging to anybody. Truly. When somebody asks me how I'm feeling, it takes every morsel of my being not to spout off "Uhm, Terrible, thanks for asking." Or sometimes I feel like saying "I'm feeling a lot of things, but positive adjectives won't describe any of them." So I try to find a new creative way to say that I feel like sleeping through the next six months. Usually it's something like "I hear it gets better soon!" Or, "I have good days and bad days." Or even the days that I speak from the bottom of my heart and say "I'm not going to lie to you, I feel awful today..." I'm met with looks of horror and shock. Like, "How dare Kaylea say that? Doesn't she know that her pregnancy is a miracle? Doesn't she recognize the blessing growing inside of her?" Let me just clear a few things up for you, buddy. I am absolutely, positively, irrationally, insanely mad about my baby. I love that someday soon, I'll look at my sweet baby and say "I made him/her." And even thinking about it sends my stomach into a crazy hurricane of butterflies. That doesn't change the fact that right now, this instant, every major muscle and ligament in my lower back/ abdomen are stretching in ways that I'm pretty sure they've never stretched before. When I stand up to walk across the room, it spins. When I try to stand on one foot to stretch the other leg, I lose my balance completely. When I wake up in the morning, it's almost never by choice. When I burp, it isn't just a burp. It's a cesspool of lava and turmoil.When I walk by a mirror, I don't see glowing skin and a baby bump. I see hips where I didn't use to see hips, and I see a bulge in my stomach that used to go away when I sucked it in. It's not a pretty picture, I don't like seeing it. I don't like taking pictures of it. I don't like to see the ring of my belly button when my shirts stretch so violently across it. It's a rough time in my life, and so perhaps your best question should be "Are you excited to meet your baby in 6 months?" Because my answer is way more likely to be one of enthusiasm. So sorry to disappoint and shock you, but pregnant women whine for a reason, and I have a long line of words for Eve when I get to the pearly gates. If you say your pregnancy was dreamy and perfect, you have forgotten or blocked out the memories, I promise. They say that when you see the baby, you forget it all. I really hope it's true. Until then, I wait for July. I cry out for July. I dream of July. You won't see me feel bad about it.

 Another Annoyance that I can't seem to avoid are waiting rooms. I think it's fairly safe to say that I'm not incredibly social to strangers. I won't be the one to walk across the room and say "Oh hey, I don't think we've met!" I won't be the one to volunteer for group prayer time. I won't be the one to carry on a conversation just to be polite. I am the person to kill you with my eyes. I am the one that will mentally stab you with a fork. This baby has only intensified those feelings. Today, Cody and I were sitting in the waiting room. Our appointment was at 3, and while I was prepared for a wait, others in the room did not share my sentiment. The doctors waiting area is basically a loud, window surrounded, tile on the floor, echo-y, even whispers sound like screams room. Cody and I were practically speaking in sign language because we felt like our conversations were amplified to extreme measures. Others did not share our reserved attitudes. There was one woman, sitting RIGHT SMACK in the middle of the room, talking on the phone to her mom about why it isn't right that she pays for her sister's cell phone bill and not hers. Then her son called and wanted to play outside... which was apparently his worst decision because of his allergies. Then she got on the phone with insurance, and I kid you not, shared every intimate detail of her life and procedures with everyone in the room. THEN she puts the woman on speaker phone. Somewhere in that conversation, another family member called to speak to her on her husband's phone, so homegirl sits with a phone on each ear, talking to both people at once. THEN she knocks on the receptionist's window with her elbow and says "Hey, my appointment was at 2:30 and it's 3:15. What gives?" I could seriously continue this story for the next seven blogs, because it was like sharing a waiting room with everything you've ever dreaded in life. I couldn't help but stare. And sigh. And laugh judgementally. And stab her with my mind fork when she spoke so disrespectfully to everyone she came in contact with. So we finally got rid of her when another lady's baby woke up. It was one of those situations where everybody smiled at the baby, because he was pretty adorable... so mom took this as an opportunity to really amplify the cute factor. Baby talk, peek-a-boo, giggles galore. It was tolerable for like the first 4 minutes. The real treat was when she took the baby to the bathroom for a diaper change. The waiting room was eerily quiet and all of the sudden, in a high, squeaky, giggly voice, we hear her saying "Come here! What are you doing?! Come see me! Peek-a-boo!" And I lost it, y'all. I couldn't STOP laughing at the awkwardness of the situation. If I didn't KNOW there was a baby in that bathroom with her, I would have been scarred for life, but because of the baby, the situation was hysterical.



I've mentioned how thrilled I am for food to appeal to me again. Just to prove that I was only being mildly dramatic, I stepped on the scale today (which I normally dread.) From October 25 to January 15, I've dropped 17 pounds. 17 POUNDS. The saddest part of all was that I thought to myself "From where?" Because I have a whole list of places that have expanded. You would THINK that if I was truly 17 pounds lighter, I wouldn't need maternity jeans... so to test said theory, I tried to put my skinny jeans back on today. It's a good thing that we didn't have a fire going tonight, because I probably would have burned them. I couldn't even get them past my hips. It was like a cruel joke... like somebody had replaced my skinny jeans with a size 3, and laughed hysterically behind a hidden curtain when I tried to put them on. I threw them across the room as dramatically as I could before I looked down at my bump. And I smiled a little, because the bump has never really bothered me. Then I looked in a mirror, and I saw my hips... and I died a little inside, because I know that they'll probably never go back. So I tried to embrace them by singing my best Destiny's Child jam, "Bootylicious," and Cody died of laughter. And said "What the crap are you singing? Is that even a real song?" Psh, like I could ever be that creative. #whitegirlprobs


We had a great doctor's appointment today, but I'll post that with the 13 week blog. I obviously had a few things to get off of my chest today. Laugh with me or at me, I can't make this stuff up.


See ya Thursday!

Word to the Wise: Never do a google image search for "Bootylicious." APPARENTLY, the song inspired a magazine. Don't be me. Just type "Destiny's Child."

Weeks 9-12

This should be the last "multi" post. Hopefully things get a little more interesting from here on out!

Week 9 was a tough week. It was the week before Christmas, and everything that I had been avoiding was staring me in the face. So what does a crazy pregnant woman do on the week before Christmas? She battles the mall. And stops at the ice cream stand because she needs a pick me up. She goes to the mall to buy Christmas presents, but really sits in the fitting rooms at the stores until she gets the energy to walk to the next store. My sweet husband was at work late every night that week, so he couldn't help me, so I zombied across the mall and prayed for the gifts to fall into my lap. They didn't, and eventually I found the energy to buy gift cards (and felt so very guilty for doing so.) Christmas festivities stalked us, and while it truly is our favorite time of the year, we politely declined most invitations. We were ready to sit on our couches, be with each other, and embrace our last Christmas without our baby Duck with us. It was kind of sad sometimes, I can't lie. Christmas is the most romantic part of the year for us, because we started dating at the end of November, got engaged while putting up our Christmas tree, said "I love you" for the first time in the middle of December, and really just fell in the love with the season as we fell in love with each other. I know that we will probably see Christmas in a brand new light next year, and that our baby will allow us to see a side of Christmas that we hadn't before, but for now, my hormones cherished this last Christmas with my husband... because I think I'm really going to miss our nights at home together. I am, however, looking forward to watching my family love on our baby next Christmas, so I guess everybody wins.

Week 10 was a fast paced, stop and catch your breath week. It was nice to finally find a week that didn't drag, but at the end of it, I needed several naps to bring me back to earth. We had a wonderful Christmas, our expectations were blown out of the water (as they usually are,) and we loved being able to bless our family with gifts. The biggest memory from week 10 was that my belly finally popped a little bit, and while it has fluctuated for a few weeks, this bump seems to be here to stay. I transitioned to maternity jeans, and despite Old Navy's best attempts, I've learned that skinny jeans just won't be a part of my wardrobe this pregnancy. It has been strange to wear pants that cover my entire stomach, and despite my best Tiffani Amber Theissen imitations, I still don't feel cute in them. I've come to accept that this is a part of life now, and I do my best to look like anything but a paper bag... but some days, you just have to wear sweats. I have gained 1 pound so far, so I'm thankful for that... but I still fear being a pregnant woman. Some people might love to showcase their enormous stomachs... but I would really prefer that strangers not touch me. Or that I don't look at pictures and cringe. Or that my stomach doesn't look like it's been mauled by tigers (stretch marks are coming. I already see a few.) I'm working through my anxieties, because they cannot be avoided, but I'm thankful that I still have several months before I get too large.

Week 11 was another quick week. I guess that maybe this is why people like being pregnant during the holidays. December flew by, and that was a month knocked out without us realizing it. We are officially 1/4 of the way there, and I just love being able to put things into fraction form... said no one ever. I truly believe that these next few weeks will move equally quickly, because we're about to enter the Killam family birth season. Our families birthdays topple right on top of the other. Dad's birthday is January 27, Mom's is February 17, Jared's is February 27, Stella's is March 5, Lee's is March 19, Jack's is March 22, My grandma's is March 30, and I end it all on April 9th. By the time we make it through this season, the third trimester will be upon us.From what I hear, it's miserable, but it flies by. Dear Lord, let it be so. I am, however, very excited that my baby will enter the world 3 months after the birth season, because hopefully the family will be rejuvenated enough to enjoy a birthday party again. Let's be real, nobody likes that many parties in a row, and by the time we get to my party, even I'm over it. The exhaustion did return in full force this week, so I was especially thankful for a four day weekend, and I promise, I slept 13 out of 24 hours on each those days. It was so hard to function, but I think maybe baby just needed to be still for a moment, or four. I finally felt like myself on Tuesday (for most of the day,) so I did a little housekeeping that I had been putting off for about 12 weeks. This is my blog. It's a place to be real.

Week 12 was the week that we finally announced our pregnancy to everyone who didn't know. It was a sweet relief, and while I did intend to wait until 14 weeks, there were so many of you lifting us up that it almost felt like lying to keep it a secret. Our intention in keeping it a secret was not because we feared the worst, but because one of my greatest pet peeves is dealing with Nosy Nancy's. Maybe it makes me anti-social, maybe it makes me rude, maybe it's something I need to work on... but I'm not an incredibly touchy person as it is. When people that I talk to once every few months come up to me and put their hand on my stomach, I get a little edgy. The baby is apparently the size of a peach... that "bump" you're rubbing is bloat, not baby. But things get complicated, because you don't want to say "Hey, thanks for rubbing my fat roll," but on the inside you're sighing. My mom talks to my fat roll a lot, despite my interjections that the baby can't hear through the blubber. But she's my mom, and she's always done strange things that don't make sense... Like trying to convince me that Donny Osmond is attractive. Anyway, it's just how I am. Consider the personality before you go to rubbing my adipose tissue. Wow, I feel better. Week 12 has been a weird one, because every morning when I wake up, I never know what's in store. One day, I cleaned all day long. The next, I was sick all day long. Yesterday, I was just fine until about 6, then I went into psycho irritable mode. At two o'clock in the morning on January 4, I woke up and made up for 12 weeks of morning sickness. It's been a weird, weird week... but hopefully the happy trimester will come quickly.

Okay! You're completely current with the Gaines fetus. We are falling madly in love with this sweet baby, and the more we plan for our little one, the more we realize just how well the Lord prepared us to be this baby's parents. It's so exciting.

Weeks 5-8

Oh, what a journey. Somehow, you only know for about a month, but you're already two months pregnant when it's all said and done.

Week 5 was a journey. It's interesting to me that we prayed so long and hard for a pregnancy, and then the Lord blew us away by showing us just how good He really is, and then there's this baby. And your life has changed instantly, and this life is growing rapidly inside of you, changing everything you thought you knew and cherished. Except you don't really think about that on the day to day basis. You find yourself thinking about everything that could go wrong, or stress about the aches and pulls going on inside of you, or some days I just laid in the bed, because I knew that as soon as I got up, the bottom would cave, and this dream come true would come crashing down. To all of my friends that are beginning or are preparing for your first child (because there is OBVIOUSLY something in the water right now,) you're not crazy. I'm typically pretty "glass half full," but the first few weeks of pregnancy are the worst. I cried and cried and prepared for the bitter end, and it was just hormones. Your body is truly not your own during those first few months, and you're really just there to house the life growing inside of you. I can look back and see that now, but in that moment, all I could fathom was that something couldn't be right, because I felt so horrible, all of the time. Prepare yourself. It's not fun.

Week 6 was Thanksgiving week. This baby has been fairly kind to me when it comes to the whole morning sickness bit. I battled nausea pretty frequently, but as for my entrails becoming my extrails, it was not a common event. It mostly came around in the evenings when I got comfortable in the bed, and it usually only stuck around for about 30 minutes. I am blessed and thankful for that. My biggest issue with food thus far has been food aversions. I'm not a fan of eating. It's actually been kind of nice, because I've lost a lot of the weight that I needed to before I added an additional forty pounds. Of course, I was a former food addict, so I feel that my body is responding the way it would if I was starving, so I have a few bad days a week, but I anxiously await the day when food is appealing to me again. If someone told me that eating would be a chore instead of a joy while pregnant, I really would have laughed. That's something you never hear about. But it happened to me, eating was the burden of my day, and it really still is most of the time. 

Week 7 was a breath of fresh air. I had almost hit my breaking point, I was a ball of emotion, on the verge of bi-polar disorder, and preparing to spend the next 7 months in my bed. Then it was time for our dating ultra-sound.And it took a total of about 4 seconds for that baby to pop up on the screen. And while it looked like a peanut and had no distinguishing features, that baby was ours. The nurse warned us that it might be difficult to find a heartbeat, but our baby is obviously stronger than the average bear, and the sound of a heartbeat that wasn't my own filled the room almost instantly. And in that moment, that very second, the world stopped turning. I was in awe of the Lord, and how creative he is, and how wonderfully blessed we were to hear the heartbeat of this tiny life, created, designed, and knit together inside of me. We sing a song at church called "Made Us Alive," and as the sonogram tech started rambling about what we could expect in the coming weeks, all I could do was think about the lyrics. "God being rich in Mercy, and full of love, has made us alive..." And I began to get EXCITED about this baby. I pictured the enormous eyes it is sure to have, the bone structure I pray it inherits from Cody, and the hands that I'll hold everyday the Lord allows. All 123 beats per minute took our breath away, and we knew that despite my doubts, this baby was here to stay... and that's when things started looking up for me.

Week 8 was a bit of a milestone for me. I don't know what it is, but I stalked the pregnancy forums and apps to make sure that I was "normal." Sometimes this was comforting for me, sometimes it made me nervous, but it passed time and allowed me to get out of my head. Fortunately, one common link in all of the books and forums was that 8 weeks kind of pulled you out of a crucial "risk period." Of course, 14 weeks is still the biggest and most intense milestone, but I was still excited to be out of part of the woods. My big brother blessed us beyond all comprehension and bought us every last bit of our nursery furniture, so while we were overwhelmed, things just kept falling into place, and the excitement over our baby was just about more than we could bear. When our pregnancy began, we both agreed that we would wait to learn the sex of the baby, because we really didn't want to receive all clothes at the shower, and because we thought that it would just be that much cooler at delivery. As things progress, I don't think Cody and I are going to make it. At the present, we call the baby "Duck," and at the moment, I really don't remember why... but as much as we love our Duck, we are excited to call our baby by name. And pray for our baby by name. So, we'll see.

One of my favorite friends told me when all of this started that this would be the shortest and the longest 9 months of my life. I seriously doubted her claim, because the first 2 months DRAG on slower than any metaphor I can use. But looking back now, I see that it does ring true. Some days, I can't remember a time before I got pregnant. Other days, I see how far we've come already, and it makes me excited to meet this tiny Duck growing so rapidly inside of me. The Lord is faithful. Every moment, Every doubt, and Every breath, we breathe in His grace... and I am so thankful to be aware of it. 

Tell me that isn't the sweetest, most precious blob you've ever seen. We're a little bit obsessed.

Weeks 1-4

The great thing about weeks 1-4 is that two of them are already factored before you can even take a pregnancy test. So really, the blog could have been titled weeks 3& 4, but I've never been one to stick to technicalities.

I'll spare you a few details about those weeks, but weeks 3 & 4 really were a party.

Nobody can prepare you for pregnancy. I was prepared for morning sickness. I was prepared for nausea. I was prepared for cravings.

I was not prepared for the worst hangover of my life. It is truly the best explanation. You open your eyes in the morning, but you're not awake. You sit up in the bed, but then you lie back down. Your head is heavy, and sometimes it's pounding. Cottonmouth is the only logical reason to get out of the bed, but that is soon remedied by placing a water bottle on your night stand. It's interesting, the switch that flips when you see that second pink line. It's like your body says "Okay, progesterone, she knows. Go nuts!" The life feels as if it's been sucked out of you, and all that remains is the pale complexion of a woman that is experiencing the miracle of life. You become aware of every part of your body, because when it isn't aching, you're wondering why it isn't aching. Or things that likely never would have bothered you before become all you can think about. You continually search for symptoms, or interpret every ache and twinge as a bad sign, and torment yourself by searching the internet for your diagnosis. Stay off of the internet. It's your worst decision, y'all. Anyway. Between the aches, stretching, deathly exhaustion, and excessive need for water, Life still went on. I still had to go to work, finish the semester, and remember Cody's name at the end of every day. My cooking suffered. I would throw vegetables in the pan to cook, and then go sit down. And the sitting turned into to a coma, and the sauteed vegetables turned to ashes. And your husband eats cereal for dinner while you sleep. And then dawn comes too quickly, and all you can think about it getting back in your bed.

And the hormones. Oh, the hormones. I cried at a country song on the radio. I cried when Jennifer Lopez adopted a baby on "What to Expect When You're Expecting." I cried at Jorge's when I couldn't find anything that looked appetizing. I cried when Cody teased me about getting fat. One night, I was home alone, and I was sitting on the couch, and all of the sudden, the tears were falling. Why? I don't know. I just needed to cry, I guess.

And all you can really do is have a bit of an out-of-body experience. You know you shouldn't be crying. You know you probably shouldn't yell at the dogs for barking at the doorbell. You know that the food in the refrigerator is going to waste. You know that your husband isn't intentionally a ball of energy to make you feel worthless. You KNOW that it isn't normal to sleep at least 12 hours in a row, with a 2 hour nap after work and a thirty minute nap at lunch. But you can't help it. You can't control it. You can't do anything but wonder what you did to this tiny little embryo. How can this sweet little poppy seed be the root of all of this misery? You don't know. But you know that your only choice is to soldier on, and somehow, you survive.

We are thankful for our sweet love, and we are thankful for the Lord's grace. And for Cody's grace, because he lived with a psycho for 3 months. We received a book called "The Belly Book" as a gift, and the book has a spot to put a picture of your belly from week 1 all the way to week 40. Ask me how many bump pictures are in there... Go ahead. That's right, not one. 

#momfail

This is my Story, This is my Song.

Today is December 21, 2012.

The world didn't end, but our world has been changed radically.

Today our baby is 10 weeks old.

Yes, our baby.

Go ahead, re-read it. I'll wait. 

It's true. 

Details, you say? Okay. 

On October 19, I went to the doctor. I was having some weird problems that probably aren't worth discussing (on this blog, anyway,) and it was just time to get some things checked out. For the most part, things checked out normal... but there were a few things that weren't adding up. The doctors determined that without an ultrasound and 4 weeks of blood work, diagnosis would be impossible. I took a breath, acknowledged there was an issue, and left feeling optimistic.

On October 25, I went back to the doctor for an ultrasound. I was uncomfortable, nervous, and unprepared for what the ultrasound actually entailed. As techs usually are, she was excessively chatty while she continued to zoom in and out of a particular blob on the screen. She finished, said "okay, see ya later!" and started to walk out of the room. I said "Wait, was it normal?" She she paused, burrowed her eyebrows, and said "Ummmm, yeah, I guess." in a tone that said "No, but I can't talk about it." My heart started racing and the nurses tried to give me the same kind of responses. I finally threatened to set up camp in the lobby before she sighed and said "It's too difficult to tell just based on an ultrasound, but it looks like Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome." After a lot of questions, I left. I was upset, couldn't get a hold of myself, and only saw my dreams of a tiny baby Gaines fluttering out the window. My doctor called later in the afternoon, told me not to despair, because if it was PCOS, it was in the earliest of stages, and very treatable. He recommending losing a pretty substantial amount of weight, cutting all of the carbs out of my diet, and set up an appointment to re-evaluate in December. I took a deep breath, prepared for a long, tiresome journey, and cried in my husband's chest for at least three hours. 

On October 28, I sang at church. I was disconnected for the majority of the rehearsal, and sang the words without really believing some of them. I don't want to say that I was angry at the Lord, and I don't want to say that I felt abandoned... but I was broken. I was so down-trodden, and felt like the exception to his favor. We made it through practice and prepared for a different kind of service. This one, perfect, Sunday was completely a part of every detail so incredibly orchestrated into my life story. This Sunday was really supposed to be a Sunday of lifting our congregation up during a time of worship, where we all admitted our brokenness, doubts, and fears before the Lord. In perfect honesty, I disconnected a little bit, because I knew that getting too lost in the moment would only result in a tear-filled day, and I had done enough of that. So, we prayed. And I uttered a silent prayer that the Lord would remain sovereign in my life. And then we sang a song called "Never Once." And it's a song that I've sung hundreds of times. And I've always loved it, but on this perfect Sunday, this song was redemption:

Standing on this mountaintop
Looking just how far we’ve come Knowing that for every step You were with us
Kneeling on this battle ground
Seeing just how much You’ve done
Knowing every victory
Was Your power in us
Scars and struggles on the way
But with joy our hearts can say Yes, our hearts can say
Never once did we ever walk alone Never once did You leave us on our own
You are faithful, God, You are faithful

Scars and struggles on the way
But with joy our hearts can say
Never once did we ever walk alone Carried by Your constant grace
Held within Your perfect peace
Never once, no, we never walk alone
Every step we are breathing in Your grace
Evermore we’ll be breathing out Your praise
You are faithful, God, You are faithful
You are faithful, God, You are faithful 

You should be glad that you're on the other side of the screen, because otherwise you would be staring at me uncomfortably, because even now, tears are falling. It isn't the hormones. Anyway, we sang that song, and I made it about half-way through before I broke down. I don't think it was a dramatic thing, I really only remember stepping away from the Microphone and soaking in the perfect peace that consumed me. It was the first time in about six months that I felt everything I had been carrying lift off of my shoulders.  I remember the tears falling slowly, and the only word I can think of to sum up that moment is surrender. I will cherish those few short minutes for the rest of my life, because it was literally a moment of being comforted by a Perfect Savior, as I stood before him with nothing left but a brokenness that I couldn't overcome. And then the song ended, and real life welcomed me back. And I knew that it was going to be okay. 

On November 8, I woke up and felt weird.  Not Good, Not bad, just...off. I was in super slow motion, couldn't wake up, felt the need to eat breakfast (which is usually a meal I skip,) and considered calling in sick so that I could fight whatever was attempting to invade my body. I had to be at work in less than twenty minutes, and ten of those minutes should have been designated to driving. I turned the water on in the shower, and turned on my iPod. Guess which song was the first song to play out of two thousand, six hundred and sixty-seven songs? That's Right. Never Once. So, of course I thought back to that Sunday. And then it's like something clicked. So, I took a pregnancy test. Then I laughed, and threw it to the side, because I was still a week away from "safe testing." I took a shower, went about my business as usual, and then remembered the test. I ran to the bathroom and saw the faintest line in the world. I did three or four double takes, and then thought "oh, you're not supposed to trust these things after so long." So I took another one. And the same faint line popped up. Then I took three more. And they all had the same thing. By this time, I was twenty minutes late for work and hyperventilating. I left the tests on the counter and called my doctor. The nurses laughed, said to come in soon for bloodwork, and I would have a definitive answer. I turned Never Once back on, drove as calmly as I could, and got my bloodwork done. A few short (eternal) hours passed, and when I was at lunch with my mom, the phone rang. The nurse on the other line was screaming with joy, and said "CONGRATULATIONS, EVERYTHING LOOKS PERFECT!" I was obviously confused, and she went on to tell me that I tested as early as I possibly could have in order to get a positive result. I was three weeks along, and I needed to come back for confirmation bloodwork the following Monday. 

I sat in the booth and cried tears of joy, and tears of thankfulness, and tears of a woman who realized that the Lord loved her more than anything. It's funny, I always envisioned a really adorable way to tell Cody that I was expecting, but all I could think of in that moment is that this man, who held me through the worst moments, was one-half of the greatest joy in my life. I couldn't wait to tell him, but I knew I couldn't tell him over the phone. I drove to a baby boutique, and bought a tiny frame that said "I Love My Dad." I put the picture of the pregnancy test in it, and left for Midland. It was the longest drive of my life. My timing was perfect, and I couldn't wait to give him the frame. I'll post the video later, because it was TOO funny, but he didn't believe it. And then I think he saw the joy on my face, and then he realized that this was happening. And he was overjoyed.

On October 25, I was told that conceiving without the assistance of a reproductive specialist would be unlikely. I was already pregnant. On November 8, in his own creative way, the Lord showed me that he really does have it all figured out. 

Every step, we are breathing in his grace.
Ever more, we'll be breathing out his praise.