Pregnancy is weird. I wonder how many times this statement will surprise me. I've grown accustomed to aches, stretches, and pains. I'm used to certain foods agitating my stomach. I'm even accustomed to sleeping in any position that I stay still long enough in. I guess my point is that I'm used to being exhausted, uncomfortable, and at the mercy of Tums. I am NOT used to craving food I've never tried.

It's true. I seem to be suffering from an uncontrollable need for Eggs Benedict. I've never had eggs benedict. I saw a picture of them on Pinterest, and my taste buds immediately went to tingling. Upon further research, I opted out of trying the recipe, because it sincerely seems like something I wouldn't be interested in. For one, I can't stand the texture of hard-boiled eggs, and the process seems similar. I don't know. I'm conflicted. Maybe if Cody and I sneak away for a weekend on a baby moon before Ella arrives, I'll try it at some snooty brunch place. Otherwise, I will continue to walk around craving something I've never tried.

If you follow me on Pinterest, you'll also notice that I've been craving cucumber tomato salad. I've only been successful in making this particular concoction once, but I've tried multiple recipes. The general function of the recipe is to allow cucumbers and tomatoes to marinate in vinegar with some form of onion (I prefer purple onion). Most recipes call for Red Wine or Apple Cider Vinegar, which isn't my favorite, but I've learned that plain old vinegar causes some weird reaction in my mouth that causes an over abundance of mucus to overtake my sinus cavities. So I've been super pumped to find all of these variations and changes to the basic recipes on Pinterest.

I would also like to say that I'm not really much of a sweet tooth. When I go snack searching, I'll almost always choose tomatoes or some form of trail mix over chocolate or sweets. Cody has all but given up on surprising me with sweet treats in my stocking at Christmas. They completely go to waste. That being said, this baby is obsessed with Rice Krispie Treats. It can't be me that wants them. I'm ashamed to admit that I ate seven in one day. SEVEN Rice Krispie Treats. I didn't even realize the extent of my snacking until I moved the empty box from my desk. I don't know how to curb this habit either, because I've only had one this morning (yes, this morning,) and right now, eating another one is all I can think about. It's true.I will obviously be thankful for craving Rice Krispies over brownies any day of the week, but it's still a little awkward to buy a box a day from the Dollar General, or the "D.G." as we call it in Odeezy.

Now that I've spent entirely too long talking about food, I guess my biggest "symptom" this week has been heartburn. Sons of Sausage Biscuits, I've never been more attached to Tums in my life. EVER. I carry a bottle in my purse, keep a bottle by my bed, keep a baggie of them in the sofa table, and even have a bottle handy in the kitchen. I sincerely believe that SMELLS give me heartburn.To add to the chaos, I don't even like Tums, because I hate the texture they leave on my tongue. I hate the chalky residue. So, So gross... but I can't live without them. I ate toast (no butter, no jam) a few days ago, and it was like somebody opened the fury of every acid in my body. It doesn't matter what kind of food it is. If Kaylea chows down, she'll feel the burn later. It is absolutely horrible. A few people have attempted to be nice and say "Heartburn means the baby has hair!" Well, thanks so much for your optimism, but I've seen this theory shot down in my own family. All of the pessimists say "It gets worse in the Third Trimester!" Well, thanks for the super encouraging words, but I really don't think it can get much worse.  

Other than that, we're in a bit of a lull. After hitting Twenty Weeks, the next big milestone is delivery. Sure, I could look at 30 weeks as another step toward Ella, but that kind of just means that I'm 30 weeks and still have to be pregnant for at least seven more weeks before she's in my arms. Which makes things seem so much longer. I avoid those situations. I do tolerate this side of pregnancy MUCH better than any other stage so far, with the exception of rolling over in bed, getting off of the couch, and picking objects up off of the floor. "Just wait until you're 8 months pregnant and trying to do those things!" Yeah, Yeah. It sucks right now too. I'm just being honest. How about we just agree that pregnancy doesn't get easier when it comes to physical strain on your body? Sound fair? Okay, sounds so great. 

I have been battling the concept of "Am I really a 'girl' mom?" All of my fellow pregnant friends are also having girls (which is a little weird, because you would think that out of six of us, there would be at least ONE boy,) but I kind of feel like the odd man out sometimes. They're all killing themselves learning how to make bows and dresses, and I'm just kind of off to the side, like "Ella will look TOO CUTE in this Rangers Onesie... with converse!" And while I know that she won't wear a bow every day of her life, I do hope that I get a little bit more excited about the frills and lace that come with raising a girl. That's not to say that I don't see sweet baby dresses and say "Awwww." I'm really good at that part. It's looking at price tags and thinking "For that?!" that I need to work on. I guess I could learn how to make bows... but I'm really not interested. I'm terrible at all things crafty (you should see the number of unfinished projects in my garage.) I already know that I would finish a bow and it would look like Ella made it herself. So I don't know. I WANT to be the mom that is super crafty, super thoughtful, and super creative... but if Ella doesn't have green inspired food on St. Patrick's Day, or Specially made Valentines for her classmates, or even if she doesn't have an outfit to go with each holiday, I think she still has potential to grow up and be a great person. It's more important to me that she knows good books, like the Boxcar kids, Nancy Drew, or The Chronicles of Narnia. It's important to me that she chooses to eat tomatoes because they're tomatoes, and not because I've hidden them underneath a clever food art. There are times (like her birthday) that I'll really go crazy with changing our daily routine, but for the most part, Ella will have a mom that's always excited to read, cuddle, or take afternoon walks with her. Ella will have a mom that delights her accomplishments, like learning her ABC's, coloring in the lines, and the words to her first Disney Princess song.  But in the grand scheme of things, we'll probably buy play-doh and let her learn the hard way about why we don't eat it, instead of making "edible" play-doh at home. Sincerely, it seems to me that making it ourselves would only ENCOURAGE her to eat other weird items, and I don't know that I have the energy to make our entire life "edible." There are things that we don't eat in life, and she needs to know that. Ella probably won't have the mom that cuts her sandwiches with cookie cutters. That is a WASTE of energy and bread. I promise to make every effort to make her childhood unique, but I also refuse to be burdened by the "Pinterest" Moms. I want to live our lives, and if that means that we play "Memory" in the living room floor over spending a day finger painting with edible paints, then that will be the life we live. I'm really okay with it. 

That being said, my mom DID find a few adorable flowers for my sweet baby's head, and I'm so in love with them. Maybe I could figure out how to make them, because they're hardly as complicated looking:

We also found a blanket that I hope becomes her "security blanket." I never really had one, but Cody's mom tells me stories about the blanket from his childhood (named "Mine") and it sounds so sweet. It's in the top of my closet now, but he still seems a little uneasy about Ella carrying "Mine," so we just bought her her own. I'm so excited to get her picture on it. I married a man who grew up country, and though he's not a "cowboy," he still traces back to some fairly redneck roots. He's obsessed with shooting Deer, riding tractors, watching other people shoot deer, shooting targets (or a bird in the way), and cotton farming. I love how happy being back on the farm makes him, so I want to be sure I never make fun of him in front of Ella. I'm looking forward to the Daddy/Daughter photo ops we'll have there, and I would be okay if she learned how to shoot a gun herself. I would be okay if she wants to wear cowboy boots. I would even be okay if she embraces her country roots. I want her to be able to connect with her Daddy about that sort of thing, even if most of it makes me fall asleep. That being said, here is Ella's "Mine": 

 Okay, that was a super long blog. I think we're at a good stopping point. Here's the Bump! See ya next week! And also, because it's my blog, I just want to say how thankful I am for Redemption thanks to my Jesus. I hope it's a hippity hoppity Easter for you and your family.

KG

Week 22

Have I ever told you that I would rather curl up on a couch and read an entire novel over  being involved in social group setting? Have I ever mentioned that if given the choice between seeing every major landmark in the world for free or a three week vacation at an all-inclusive resort in the Caribbean, I'll choose the resort every time? I'm not sure why. I would love to see the Coliseum in Rome, or Big Ben in London, Or walk along side the Great Wall of China. I intend to visit Gettysburg and Washington D.C. before I kick the bucket. I guess what it all comes down to is that I believe vacation should be a time of rest... and that when you return from vacation, you don't wish for a vacation to recover from your vacation. When we went to Jamaica, I was in my very definition of paradise. Not because I was staring out into an ocean of seemingly endless crystal waters, not because I was waited on hand and foot, not because of the lack of responsibility, not even because of the fact that I was in one of the most romantic settings in the world with a man I've promised to love for the rest of my life. All of these factors played an intricate role in my joy, but I loved Jamaica because of the peace. Because of rest. There were no clocks, no cell phones, no time frames. I was in completely control of my surroundings at all times. If I wanted to take a nap at 11 A.M., I did. "Woah, early nap, Kaylea." False. Most mornings I was awake with the sunrise. I watched it come up over the water and basked in the sun for several hours before I took a nap. I would sleep until my eyes opened, and if they closed again three hours later, it was okay. My only distractions were sunburns and the occasional waiter making sure I wasn't dead. I fell into a such a deep sleep so quickly that I literally wouldn't move my body until I opened my eyes again. It was one of my favorite feelings. I always felt restored, rejuvenated, and as bronze as a Victoria's Secret Model (until later in the evening when the bronze turned to red and I smeared myself in aloe. I was yummy.) But even the sunburns weren't a hindrance to my happy place.

I need a vacation, y'all. Oh, wait. I already know. "Once that baby gets here it'll be a long time before you go on any vacations!" I know that. Shush. This is my blog and I'm allowed to dream. I need a vacation. I need to get away for a while and sleep on a beach. I need to fall into a sleep so deep and so peaceful that I sleep through all of the activites I planned to attend. I need to be surrounded by a relaxtion so overwhelming that the general annoyances of everyday melt away. I need to be able to curl up against my husband by the light of a bonfire underneath the stars, with my feet being teased by the tide rolling in. I need a vacation. This need for a vacation has nothing to do with my newfound heartburn, hip cramps, stomach rash, ligament stretching, foot swelling, hot flashing, and stretch marking physique. Okay, maybe it does a little bit. It's taking every ounce of self control in my body not to smash every mirror in this house. It's unfortunate, because I do love what pregnancy has done for my hair. It curls at my command, straightens without a fight, and shimmers like a diamond. My face isn't "glowing" but it's much skinnier than it's been in a long time, and I've loved seeing my jawline again. But from the head down... yikes. It takes one glance at the wrong angle to make me curl up in a ball and cry. It's not even that I find myself morbidly obese. I still smile a bit when I catch a glimpse of that belly, because it's all Ella (for now.) But there are purple lines that are jagged and less than comforting. There are blue veins from my shoulders to my feet. There are other parts of me that I feel like I used to know well, and they're far from recognizable anymore. Pregnancy is definitely a transformation, and a lot of it isn't pretty. I have an enormous rash on my belly button. Well, "around" my belly button. I initially blamed the irritation on my healing incision, but it doesn't seem to be letting up, and the incision seems to be healing well. It's irritating, unattractive, and uncomfortable. I have a rash on my arms and legs. I have a rash on my neck. All for no good, unexplained reasons. No new allergies, no changes in soaps, nothing that any of us can think of. My feet have decided to carry an odor for the first time in my life. I know it's because my feet sweat a lot more than they used to (which was never) and  I wear flats everyday. I've tried socks, but ended up with sweat filled nasty bumps on my feet. I anxiously await open toe shoe season, but in the mean time, I douse my feet with powder that smells like mothballs. Isn't that gross? Try being the one with the smelly feet. My hair is oily for the first time in my entire life. I don't know why... but I have to wash it everyday. Inconvenient AND time consuming. There's some weird stuff happening to me that I have no control over. It affects my moods sometimes. Some days, I  simply miss the times when I was in charge of what went on in my body. Some days, I miss that I only had to wear "fat pants" a few days of every month. Some days, I miss sleeping through the night without waking up to a bladder so full that it makes my back hurt. Some days, I just miss not being pregnant, and I pray that July comes tomorrow. And I get caught up in this fog of "blah" and "wah."

And then that baby moves. Or stretches. And my world stops spinning for a second because I know that as
soon as I try to get Cody's attention so that he can feel, she'll stop. Or as soon as I move my hand to my abdomen, she'll freeze. I've learned that she makes herself the most known to me when I learn how to be still. And stop worrying about how much weight I've gained, or that my teeth look a little yellower than usual, or how tired I look. When I just collapse on the couch and wave my white flag, she kind of reminds me why I've embarked down this path. I've learned that the Lord is the same way. I have so many fears, doubts, and worries, but when I finally learn to be still, He makes himself evident in every detail of my life. Growing this baby has opened the door for me to see how sovereign the Lord is, and that's one detail of pregnancy that I'll sincerely treasure every day of my life. Even on days when I feel look like an orb of splotches and stretch marks.

We had our sonogram yesterday. It was interesting to say the very least. I can only hope and pray that Ella is this cool, calm, and collected when she joins us on this side of the womb. I chugged orange juice before my appointment. There's absolutely no way that she couldn't have noticed. I ate an apple and peanut butter, which wakes her up any other day of the week. homegirl is ALWAYS awake about 9:15, because I wake up to her moving everyday. Not today. Today, she was practically in a coma. She had her face buried so that we couldn't see it on the 3D. She turned her back so that we couldn't measure her abdomen. She rolled even farther away when the tech tried to wake her up. Sweetest tiny frustrating baby wouldn't have it. I was so excited to see her sweet nose. I wanted to see her pouty lips and sweet hands. But instead, we were able to laugh at how she lays (on her back across my stomach with her legs up by her head.) We were able to see her sweet yawns on the 2d since it was too unclear the other way. She yawned so many times. It was the sweetest thing, we laughed every time. We were amazed at how intricately designed she is, from the measurements of her spine to the details of her toes. Her feet are so big. This girl doesn't stand a chance in the "cute feet" department. We'll be buying water ski comparable sizes in no time. Her daddy laughed and laughed at how big her feet were, but I mostly hope they're proportionate to the rest of the body. I would be okay with her being tall and skinny. Or lanky like her dad. I was always a little jealous of those girls in high school. They were always the tannest, for some reason. But if she's short and curvy like me, that will be okay too. At least then she can find a husband that's a foot taller than her, making an adorable "opposites attract" couple... When she's 30, successful, and independent like a Beyonce song. Preferably with a small dog, because she doesn't need to be lonely; but not with a dog so cuddly that it fills the void for warm arms around her. I have one of those... his name is Todd. I would cuddle with Todd over Cody any day of the week. Todd doesn't breathe down my neck or twitch his leg for no good reason. I feel that I've strayed from the point. Regardless of her body type, shoe size, or career choice, at this moment in her life, Ella is perfect. And fat. She was supposed to weigh right at a pound. She weighed one pound and four ounces. I'm a little sad about the quality of our pictures, because she looks so strange in all of them because of the distortion of the camera angles. I can still see the tiniest bit of her daddy's nose in the tiny bit of her face that we were able to see, so that made me happy. Her daddy was such an adorable kid. I don't think I've seen a single ugly picture of him, so I pray all of the time that she looks like him. Anyway, here's the only decent picture we got of stubborn girl yesterday, just keep in mind that the picture is kind of a "guess-timate" because she was moving her head while we were taking it. Hopefully at my next 3D appointment she won't be so stubborn. 

I think that about covers it. I wish that I had started my nursery when I was 14 weeks and inspired instead of waiting until now, because I'm already transitioning into the "Does she really even need painted walls?" mood. It just sounds like so much work, and work in general is something I avoid right now. I'm hoping that the closer we get, I'll start getting super excited again, so the painting will be pawned onto my husband. In my defense, it took 5 samples of paint before I found an acceptable pink. So I'm on the right track, I'm just a tortoise instead of a hare. At least I'm already done registering! It was the sweetest, funniest time. My husband had the fun, though, so if you decided to give it a gander in the coming months and see something that makes you say "What??" Just remember Cody had the gun. That's why there are blue blankets and a boy boppy cover... because Cody was "sick of looking at Pink." It's true. And I guess my baby daughter knew she was getting presents, because she kicked and rolled and tumbled the entire time. It's one of my favorite memories so far. She's so intuitive. Anyway, here's the bump, sticking out a little farther this week, but still not in a way that makes you say "WOAH." 

I feel I should take this time to say that I have gained ONE pound so far this pregnancy. Wonder where that one pound came from? Mm-hmm. 

KG

Week 21

Pic-a-Lilly and Beans! (I learned that from Cody's great-grandpa, by the way. He's at least 100 and much smarter than I ever plan to be. I try to pick up on his little bouts of genius when I can.) Anyway, Pic-a-Lilly and BEANS, there is a baby in my uterus this week!

Sometimes, pregnancy is a funny thing. Somewhere around week 17, you just kind of get used to feeling like you live in a fog. You adjust to feeling like you're recovering from Spring Break evening in college, and you even struggle to remember life when you were in control of your body. Because surely my back always felt like it was snapped in half and glued back together unevenly. Surely. Anyway, truth be told, some days you don't remember that you're pregnant. And when people (strangers) ask you how you are, you say "Oh, fine." and prepare to walk away. Then you see the look of  "How rude is she?!" on their face, and you remember that they don't really care about how you are, sigh while you smile, and say "Baby is growing bigger everyday! July will be here in no time!" And it usually appeases their need to know details about your life that they never cared about before. It's true. You forget. Especially between the beginning of the second trimester and week 20, when you've adjusted to going to bed at 8:47 and eating 5 meals a day, but you still don't feel baby moving around and your stomach isn't really growing too much. So you forget that your housing a tiny life until one of your ligaments decides to stretch. Or when you walk by a mirror and say "This shirt fit me two weeks ago..." Or when strangers ask you questions about how you're holding up with a tone that almost makes you feel mocked, because whatever answer you give, you get a super condescending smile and a nod that says "What a whine-o. I would hate to be in the delivery room with her." Whatever. That's one thing I'm really looking forward to post-birth. Even if somebody says "I feel so great, I LOVE BEING PREGNANT!" I'm going to smile, give my best nod, and say "You won't for long!" and walk away. I've done my time in the baby growing business, it's apparently a rite of passage! Actually, that's not true. I pray that the Lord reminds me of how annoyed I am by those people, and with the exception of a few close friends whom I ask to be honest, how often I fantasize about stabbing them with a fork as I walk away.

Anyway, after the longest segway in the world, Baby Girl Gaines has made her presence known in my life. Whether that be through arms, feet, rolling, or some other move that I can't quite figure out, she's there. And hard to miss. Especially at 6 A.M. Every morning. Every single morning. It still makes my heart soar every time she does it, because I think back to those first few weeks of her life, when I begged and pleaded with the Lord to see the pregnancy through. On the less holy side of that, I'm tired, y'all. Even though I go to bed much earlier than I used to, I really only get about 4 hours of deep sleep before something related to baby wakes me up. Turning over and stretching a ligament. Stretching my legs and fighting off a charley horse. Have you ever tried to silently fight a charley horse so that your sweet angel husband isn't disturbed? It's harder than just about anything I've ever done. Or maybe Waking up to the tinges of an aching bladder and trying to decide if you need to get up or if you can fall back asleep... which is impossible because the debate itself is enough to make you that much more aware of how badly you need to go. So as soon as you finish your business, that sweet tiny life wakes up and wants to know how you are. And she kicks, and stretches, and rolls, and nuzzles into you. And you smile through that phase between awake and asleep, and as SOON as you wake up enough to put your hand on your stomach to feel her...she goes back to sleep. And you're wide awake. And you don't go back to sleep until your husbands alarm goes off an hour later. And then you go to work and make it until about an hour after lunch before exhaustion kicks in. And you ponder quitting your job... and you even mention such to your grandmother, to which she responds "I worked until the day before I had your mom." and you roll your eyes and ponder how you ended up the family weakling. But I'm really almost to the point of not caring anymore. I am TIRED. and I will be tired for at least the next 5 years. Let me at least be tired in my black yoga pants. Let me be tired and irritable without worrying about who I offend. I'm just conflicted. I want so badly to quit, but I know how beneficial saving my checks from now until the end of May will be in the grand scheme of things. Ugh. Complicated life choices.

I do want to share a sweet little gem I found on my instagram. I was going through all of my pictures, because sometimes it's fun to see where you were in different seasons of life... like, seasons that didn't involve a baby overtaking your insides. And I found this one from last July. And the date caught my attention because it's a mere 10 days after Ella is due THIS July. And I looked a little closer to see that the "reference" point I made was to a little song I like to call "Never Once." And then I remembered what that entry was about. I had just gone through a really weird girl cycle, and I was two weeks late for a certain monthly visitor. And I had taken test after test to see if maybe something would change, and they were all negative. The morning of that journal entry, my body remembered how to function, and I was so sad. And my heart was broken. And I cried in my pillow while my husband was at church. And it was an ugly cry, not one of those tender little tears that escapes your eye. Sobs. Snot. Sobs. Snot. Repeat. And I finally calmed down enough to venture out onto the patio. It was just gorgeous that morning. The Morning Glories (That I'm still trying to kill) were climbing the pillars of my house. There were hummingbirds at the feeders, and the breeze was blowing just enough to make you aware of it, but not to annoy you. It was peaceful. And so instead of going back inside to wallow in self-pity, I chose to spend a little quiet time with my Jesus, who is always faithful to comfort me whenever my heart is heavy. I opened my bible to Ephesians, my favorite chapter, and stumbled upon a familiar section in chapter 3:

¹⁴ For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, ¹⁵ from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, ¹⁶ that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being, ¹⁷ so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, ¹⁸ may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, ¹⁹ and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.
²⁰ Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, ²¹ to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever.

And I read it differently for the first time. I read it in a way that applied directly to me, and my sadness began to lift. I was still very aware of my empty womb, and still ached a little every time I thought about it, but my heart was strengthened. My hope was restored. I knew that a baby was coming, because the Lord had been preparing my heart for it. I was confused about why he would do such a thing, especially since the months continued to come and go again without a positive pregnancy test, but my soul anchored to the promise that we weren't walking alone through the process. And I didn't get pregnant the next month, or the month after that. And I still cried each month when that monthly process started up. And I still buried my face in Cody's chest when I had to tell him it was another month without a baby in the belly. I still questioned why a twenty-two year old girl would be struggling so badly to begin a natural process. I still got lost in the "What-ifs" or the "Why me?" But I knew in my heart that this was the journey that the Lord planned, and to this day, I don't understand it. Then one frigid day in November, the Lord wrecked my world. Opened my eyes to everything He is, everything He's capable of, and reminded my shaking hands that He's holding me in His own. The journey to that positive pregnancy test was a broken road, and it hurt a lot of the way there. Everyday of this pregnancy is hard, and some days I stay in the bed because it wears my body down so badly... but I'm on a new road. And it's one of the sweetest, most intimate walks with my Jesus that I've ventured down. It's a hard road, but I love it, because I know the road ends in July, and I know the end of the journey results in the birth of a sweet baby girl that has already captivated every morsel of my being. I know the road ends in the greatest blessing the Lord could give me as a woman, and that I'll know every minute of everyday for the rest of my life how lavishly loved I am as his child. That every time I look at her sweet face, I'll see the most obvious indicators of a creative, attentive, and faithful Lord. I'm super emotional thinking about it, but hopefully that's the hormones. 

Well, that was a deep moment. Let's sucker back into reality for a while. My hips are the most annoying symptom this week. It doesn't matter if I lay on my left side, right side, back, stomach, or a combination of either of those positions, my hips THROB when I lay down. I've tried a pillow between my knees, under my hips, under my back, and even under my feet. I haven't found any relief yet, so I guess I'm about to start sleeping in the recliner or the glider. I was hoping I would have another couple of months before we got to that point, but surely any sleep at all is better than what I've been dealing with. I welcome any thoughts or ideas.Or a hip transplant. My back is equally frustrating, but fortunately laying down seems to be the best thing for that, so it only bothers me between the hours of 9 AM. and 11 P.M. It's weird, because it really hurts to walk. Like, taking a step is the worst. I've been unofficially diagnosed by pretty much everyone with sciatica, but I don't think that's it. The pain is in my back, not my butt or my legs. It's uncomfortable, for certain, but I can only pray it's temporary.And if it's not, I sure hope she's worth it. 

On a total girly note, LOOK AT THIS DIAPER BAG. I already know I'll have an obsession, but I'm trying to resist the urge to purchase it. I have one that I bought as soon as I found out Ella was a girl, but every mom I talk to says "That's cute, but it isn't big enough." So I guess I'll be buying one eventually, but I am IN LOVE with this pattern. And the fact that it's 100% machine Washable. And Teflon lined. Basically, everything that I'll need for the next 5 years of my life. It's funny how my mind has transitioned from purses to machine washable diaper bags. And sweet. I've been so in love with how natural this process has been for me. Sometimes I'm sad that Cody and I's island getaways are over for awhile, but we also gain a sweet, blonde headed, beautiful baby to love... and I just can't imagine another 6 island getaways would beat this experience. Anyway. Back to the Diaper Bag:

That's about all, I think. Our sonogram is next week, so I'm SO SO SO excited to see her. Fortunately, my doctor gives one more sonogram at 35 weeks, but I know others that only see the baby at the dating scan and the anatomy scan. I cannot fathom our next appointment being that last time to see her before she's born. And yes, we will be having another 3d scan at 28 weeks, so I'll really see her three times between now and birth, but they'll be pretty spaced out, so it'll be fun to watch her sweet face fill out and see if her nose remains a replica of her daddy's. Agh, I see why people start chugging castor oil at 38 weeks. I'm ready to get her out of there, but I'm okay with her kicking all around my insides, because I really will miss that. Anyway, before I start chatting it up again, Here's the bump!

KG

Week 20

Cue Jon Bovi clip, because we are HALF WAY THERE!!!!!

That's right. 20 WEEKS TO GO. If that long, because let's be real, it could only be like 18. OR as stubborn as my child is, we could have 22 more weeks to go. Though I've informed my doctor that if we go a single day past July 19th, I'll be cutting her out myself. I'm not strong enough to handle going past that due date. It's not in my genes, bloodtype, or willpower. But it's getting really exciting, and especially now that I can see my stomach growing with my sweet baby daughter, I am already anxiously awaiting her arrival. It's getting so much easier to wait, because we've started the number cycle in reverse, so I'm excited to compare the two. Especially when I can go back and read the blog on week 8 to see what I was feeling knowing I still had thirty-two weeks, and then blog about how I'm feeling at 32 weeks, when I only have 8 weeks to go.  It's going to be SO fun. Pregnancy is a long, hard, exhausting process, so I savor the little victories. For anyone who recently found out they're expecting, or even those in the first trimester, it gets better. You just have to hold on. For me, once I found out that Ella was a girl, things started picking up the pace in my pregnancy. So you just have to hold on and pray that week 18 comes soon. OR, if you're an antsy pants like me, week 16. It's a good thing that I chose to find out as soon as possible, because I don't have my "anatomy" scan until March 20. I'll be almost 23 weeks pregnant by then. That would have been TORTURE for me. Absolute torture. But I'm excited to see how big my sweet puggy nosed baby is!

I'm also a little nervous about when she's here. Right now, Cody and I both have full time jobs. We live comfortably. We are FAR from rich, but we make enough to make a sweet little life together. If we find a new shirt or gadget we like, we can buy it without breaking the bank. If we don't feel like cooking, (by "we", I mean "I") we can comfortably go out to dinner without worrying about it causing havoc on our bank statement.We live comfortably. And while we love those liberties, it's more important to us that our baby is raised by us. As much as I appreciate everyone in the childcare/daycare/nanny business, it's not for us. Call me selfish, but I want to be the one there the first time she laughs, rolls over, walks, or talks. I want her to cry for me instead of her nanny. I want her to know her home and feel the most comfortable there. Now, I want to clarify that when she's of age, I'll probably put her in a Mother's Day Out program a couple of days a week. I think a little bit of separation is a good thing... but in the grand scheme of things, she needs to know who her mom is. She needs to know things that I want to be the one to teach her. I'm also not naive about it. I'm sure there will be days that I want to hide in a closet and cry. I'm sure there will be days where I wonder what I was thinking. I'm sure there will be days when I call Cody in tears because his daughter won't stop talking about random nonsense. I know it'll be hard... but I made her. I made the choice to have her. I don't want to dump her off on somebody else for the convenience of extra money in the bank. But watching the prices of gas and groceries is terrifying. It cost me 65.00 to fill my old faithful car yesterday, and I remembered the days when it cost 40.00. Groceries are the worst. Everything is SO overpriced, and it doesn't appear to be changing anytime soon. I'm sure I'll surprise myself with the sacrifices we'll learn to make, but that's hard to see right now. I just pray that the Lord continues to quiet my heart whenever I start feeling anxious about it, because we have peace about me leaving my job to raise our daughter, so we know the Lord will provide. We trust that the Lord will provide. We just might have to REALLY learn to love leftovers.

I'm curious to see the personality on our kid. I'm prepared for a chatty, continually moving, joyful ball of blonde headed sweetness. I hear that sometimes you're surprised by how UNLIKE your expectations kids turn out to be, but I sure hope not. Cody is a ball of energy, and though sometimes it's EXHAUSTING, his personality is so laid back. He never loses his temper, he laughs more than he complains, he's so dedicated to anything he commits to, and let's be real, he's ten kinds of gorgeous. I have hopes for her. Some realistic, some not so much. I hope she's as funny and kind-hearted as Ellen Degeneres. I hope that when it comes time to pursue a career in college, she's as passionate about something as her daddy was. I hope that when it comes to trying eclectic foods or new experiences, she's as fearless as I am. I hope she draws the best of Cody's and I's facial features. I hope that there's a part of her that gets lost in a book the way I do. I hope she's as musically diverse as we are. But if she isn't, that's okay. If she is as clueless about college as I was, then I hope she takes classes that interest her. If she chooses to eat meat and potatoes exclusively the way her daddy does, I'll find a way to carry on. If she only gets Ellen's heart and not her quick wit, I'll rejoice in the opportunity to show her the beauty of a woman with humor. I mostly just hope, pray, confess, and walk steadfast in the belief that she will know The Lord. That she'll desire to know her Creator and pursue a love affair with him. I pray with all of the enthusiasm in the world that she recognizes His voice before anyone else, and that if God forbid I'm ever standing in the way of what He wants for her,  my voice is but a whisper in a crowded room.

It's exciting to be half-way done. I'm terrified of labor. I pray everyday I that I sneeze and she pops out. This is not a joke. I'm fairly pain tolerant, with the exception of toothaches and earaches. But all of you optimists out there keep smiling and saying "Oh, you just wait." Can I just say something? Shut up! Yes, Shut up. This experience is scary enough without your terrifying birth stories about failed epidurals, tearing of regions I'm not comfortable discussing with acquaintances, and how bad the first time to the bathroom is post-birth. If you have a story about being terrified but our Faithful Lord comforted you and brought you peace throughout your delivery, then let's chat it up! I'll buy the coffee, you bring the sweet intimacy of bringing peace to a first time mother. Yes, I drink coffee. Yes, it makes my daughter bounce around like a wild animal. Yes, I enjoy feeling it. No, I don't have more than a cup. Yes, I also partake in fresh deli sandwiches. Listeria is the last item on my list of worries. No, I don't intend to take a childbirth class. Let's be real, can anything really prepare you for that? Oh, and while we're on it, my husband is the only one allowed in the delivery room at birth. It's not because I want to "break my mother's heart," but it seems to me that she wasn't in the room when Ella was conceived, so it's only fair that Cody is the one that sees this process from beginning to end. Maybe when I'm writhing in pain and begging for drugs (YES, I will be partaking in an epidural and I will be giving birth in a hospital bed, not a hot tub, my own bed (ew), or a strangers home), I'll want my mom there. Maybe in the grand scheme of things, it's God's plan that my mother partakes in the incredible awkwardness that comes with pushing a baby out of an area that I'm still not completely convinced will cooperate. That's the beautiful thing about this story. Is that I don't know what to expect, what to fathom, or how to cope with the overwhelming process of taking her from inside of my womb and into the arms of her Daddy. But maybe that's what makes trusting in the Lord so much sweeter. Every minute, every second, every day of her life is already mapped out, and I'm really just here for the ride.

It was so nice to say some of those things. I know details about women and their hoo-has that I hope I someday forget. What's even worse is that I knew those things before I knew the women by name. STRANGERS are sharing these things with me. So, I wear my clothes a little baggier, my purses a little bigger, and avoid baby aisles until it's time to register. *shudder*

That's it! If you don't see much of me over the next 20 weeks in public, it's because we live in a desert and it was 82 degrees in February. It's because I already wake up sweating and it's merely the first week of March. It's because I'm 20 weeks pregnant and OVER wearing the same 6 shirts in a row. It's because my back is writhing in a pain I've never experienced. It's because I'm trying to really soak in spending my evenings with my husband and our silent guest room. It's because I'm pregnant, and let's be real, moving voluntarily is something I avoid. Here's the bump, See ya next Thursday!

 
Just in case you're concerned that my bump seems to be at a bit of a standstill, It's because my daughter has wedged herself into the lowest, deepest, darkest parts of my uterus, and though I appreciate not looking like a whale, I welcome the days that her movements don't feel like somebody is playing tether ball with my ligaments. I know, I know: "Just wait until she kicks you in the ribs!"  I know it's at the very top of my pregnancy bucket list.