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.
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