You know that scene at the end of "Forrest Gump" where he's standing at Jenny's grave updating her about the status of Little Forrest? If you're from America and born before 1996, I don't know you possibly couldn't... but just in case, here's a brief excerpt of the monologue:

"Little Forrest, he's doing just fine. About to start school again soon. I make his breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day. I make sure he combs his hair and brushes his teeth every day. Teaching him how to play ping-pong. He's really good. We fish a lot. And every night, we read a book. He's so smart, Jenny. You'd be so proud of him."

Toward the end of that monologue, about the time that Forrest says "He's so smart, Jenny," he breaks down in tears. It's pretty much the absolute best summarization of me talking to Cody at the end of every day when he asks about Ella's day. We don't do much fishing, and I'm probably the worst person in America at ping-pong, but we do a lot of things together, and I love teaching her new things. Some of them were dumb things to teach, like how to climb the ladder to the slide, or how to use my blush brush... but we do all sorts of different things everyday. Usually, I love it. But sometimes... sometimes... she's too smart for her own good. So much so that she's learned how to completely maneuver the DVD player. So when I'm binging on "Chopped" (is there a greater show on television? No.), she knows how to switch it to "Frozen," just to see me cry. She's learned how to get to pictures and videos on my phone and almost uploaded a video of the baby moving around my stretched marked stomach to Facebook. Help us Lord, I would have been so mortified. She's learned how to get into the bathtub and turn on the shower, clothes or no clothes. The real conundrum is that she's afraid of the shower, but by God, she turns it on anyway. She's obsessed with everything having a "house" and it doesn't matter how inconvenient it makes my life, she finds new nooks and crannies everyday. This wouldn't be a problem if my makeup and various necessities weren't involved. I once found my camera charger inside of one of her "Ride Along" toys. I didn't even know she knew the compartment existed. 

"Kaylea, just put your things away and you won't have these problems!" Shut up. 

Anyway, back to my initial thought... I love that she loves to learn. I love her intelligence, her curiosity, her intrigue... I absorb every second of that brilliant little mind. But She. Exhausts. Me. This side of 6 months ago, whenever I heard a crash and bang and a dramatic scream, I found myself moving with lightening speed and vigilance to rescue her. These days, I count to five before I get up... just to make sure it's a real cry. "What fresh hell is this?" I mutter to myself as I trudge to the playroom, only to find my drama queen irate that her toy is in the bottom of the basket and she can't get to it. "Why did I get off of the couch just to find you throwing a fit?," I say in my best annoyed tone. *tears and jabber* I reach into the basket, grab the object of her angst, and hand it to her with little to no enthusiasm. "Tan Chu Mama!" She says gleefully as she runs out of the room and drops her toy on the tile, sparking another fit of rage. I sigh, walk past her as she follows me in tears, the toy left abandoned in the hall. I pick her up and carry her to the rocking chair while she cries it out, then gently kiss her head when she finally calms down. "You're just gonna have to get over it, girl..." I say as she waves at me through red cheeks and snotty nose. I put her down and she prances away, rambling to herself about only the Lord knows what. And we replay that same scene at least ten times a day. Minimum. Maybe the start up of the story is different, but it's the same situation. Some days are better than others, yes, but it can wear on a Mom. It can wear on any Mom, don't even factor in a pregnant one. So sometimes, when I give Cody a run through of the day, my voice breaks half-way through. And I always think of Forrest Gump's speech, and I always laugh. The situations are totally different, but the emotions feel so similar to me. I don't know why... but it'll be something I think of every time I watch "Forrest Gump." 

Anyway. I've really tried to reign in my temper this month, and find myself asking "Am I upset with Ella, or are my hormones upset with Ella?" It's been a fury filled month of prayers of grace and lots of "Mommy needs a MINUTE!" But things are looking up from last month. They really, truly are. I've learned the hard truth about humble bragging, as Cody and I used to humble brag on Ella almost non-stop. With great and warranted reason, as she really was the best baby. She slept all night, never got sick, had the sweetest little disposition, and was content almost constantly. We had a fantastic baby... but we have a rough toddler. We've entered into the phase of fits. Throwing herself in the floor in hysterics while we hide our laughs, sitting down stubbornly and refusing to move when she doesn't get her way, fifteen minute long tear sessions... vicious cycles. There have been times recently that we've declined social engagements because I didn't want to risk the general public witnessing my sweet little psycho. Cody and I talked back and forth about it one day... has the damage been done? Have we raised a brat? Is this our life for the next 18 years? I think no. I think she's learning she's allowed to have an opinion and a voice, and sometimes it means that we're at the mercy of those opinions. I hope that this is a short lived phase, and that as she really learns to speak and communicate, these aren't as frequent... but until then, we breathe deeply and trust our friends when they tell us we aren't alone. Our child isn't the exception. We didn't raise a bad seed. We hold tightly to those words. And hide in bathrooms and eat candy bars. 

Otherwise, I'm trucking along with what I hope to be the most laid back baby in America. As most of you know by now, there's a sweet baby boy growing in my uterus, and I'm so excited to meet him I can hardly stand it. I wouldn't say I'm super thrilled about fighting Ella with a newborn on my bosom, but hopefully that phase is short lived and we find a rhythm quickly. I think I'll be able to handle things a little easier with him on the outside, because right now I exhaust so, so easily that I hardly have the energy to fight Ella too hard on things. Newborn tired and Pregnancy tired are two totally different tireds... pregnancy is mental AND physical, where I hope to be able to go up the stairs without gasping for air after he's born. I think it's going to be okay. I think I'm going to survive.... but it's not really a choice I have, is it? Ready or not, here he comes.

I knew from the beginning that this was a boy. Moms just have this creepy intuition about things sometimes. I wanted Ella to have a sister so badly, A. Because I always wanted one, and B. because convenient... but I knew he was a boy. I had several dreams that he was a she, but my gut always said Boy. I was bursting at the seams to know, so we actually found out way back in week 15. Then I really enjoyed the secret. And then I got even more pregnant and tired, so never felt like taking the gender reveal pictures. We let our families know, because my mother was about to make me lose my mind (in her defense, I was acting like I didn't care and would find out at 20 weeks.) Her reaction was worth every second of it. I won't post the video, because I choose life, but it's probably the funniest thing I've ever seen. Ella watches it and just laughs and laughs. It was really sweet, and if we were planning any more babies, I would find a way to surprise her again. But with this baby, I really feel confident and content with our family. Cody is so excited to have a baby to "carry on" the Gaines Bloodline, and I know that even though it'll be a different relationship than the one he has with Ella, there is no man better suited to raise my son. He's been on both sides of life, meaning one with the Lord and one without, and I know he can use that knowledge in whatever we come against in raising a "man." We don't want to be foolish or naive, as we know we're going to come into situations that will require grace and forgiveness with both of our kids... and while proud of my life, I don't know that "I'VE GONE TO CHURCH MY WHOLE LIFE AND MET YOUR DAD WHEN I WAS EIGHTEEN" will do for us in some of those situations. He brings wisdom and enlightenment to these situations, and can truly testify that the righteous way is the way that brings life, and freedom, and contentment. The righteous way just made me think of Pauly Shore. Maybe we'll find a new phrase of that before we take on a parenting chat. 

I think that's mostly it. I say hesitantly that this pregnancy couldn't be progressing any smoother. That's a good thing. I keep a watchful eye on my blood pressure, as does my doctor, but so far it seems that we don't have a problem yet. By next blog post, I'll be in the prime of my third trimester, and then there's only a blog post after that one before there's a baby in my arms. It's one of those things that it's a long and quick time frame approaching. Just yesterday, Cody paused and said "Holy crap, you're 26 weeks pregnant already." To which I replied, "No, I'm only 26 weeks pregnant." The one without the actual human in his womb sees how quickly it's going, while the one who can't sneeze without running to a toilet knows that another 14 weeks could potentially drag on forever. The good news is that we've hit the holiday season, so I'm hoping that December flies by. January will probably be fairly tolerable for me, because anytime after thirty weeks tends to be when I say "Okay too fast!" So really, the next four weeks will be the hardest ones. Please pray for us as we work hard to balance this new phase in our lives. Some days are easy days, and some days leave us worn down and maybe even a little disheartened. Hashtag Parenthood, am I right? Here's a bump picture from 26 weeks! 

Weeks 17-21

Do you want to know what my 15 month old had for lunch today? Papaya, Raisins, two green beans, and a handful of Cheetos. If that doesn't say desperation, I don't know what will.

We're in a series of Dark days around here, friends. Remember last month when Ella was surviving on Canned Tomato pasta based food? Those days are long gone. If it is set before her, it is almost immediately picked up and thrown into the floor beside her chair. I'm at my wit's end. WIT'S END. I suppose I should be grateful, because I know some mothers dream of a fruit and veggie based diet for their children, but I would be thrilled to see some protein make its way into ours. She will not touch chicken. Absolutely refuses it or any other feathered friend. She will not eat beef. She will not eat beans. And I'm just kind of in a place that I stare at her while she slurps back another cucumber and think to myself, "How did I get here?" Sometimes the four walls of our sweet little house feel like a posh little prison, and the guilt trip that accompanies those feelings is even funner to deal with. I know how blessed and fortunate I am to stay home with our babies. I wouldn't trade it for the entire world, but man is it overbearing sometimes. Sometimes I would give just about anything in the world to do things on my own time. A shower that doesn't involve peek-a-boo. A cup of coffee that doesn't require reheating. Exercising my bowels without a guest. Cleaning a kitchen without somebody taking dishes out of the dishwasher, or putting my cleaning supplies in the pantry. Eating lunch whenever I feel like it, instead of looking up at the clock at 2:30 and thinking "Oh wow! I fed Ella but forgot to eat during the battle!" Are there simple solutions to some of these? Yes. I could make it a habit to make my lunch first, then Ella's. I could be okay with her sitting my lap eating her lunch while stealing bites of mine... but I feel like you get the gist. It's like sometimes I'm stuck in this unpredictable monotony. What an oxymoron, but it's true! We never live the same day twice, we never have the same schedule twice. Sometimes I think that if I could just get her to take a nap at the same time everyday, I might be able to have just a tiny part of my day to look forward to that I don't have to share. But, we're not there yet. So sometimes I take a nap with Ella, because pregnant, and other days I gobble down lunch and rush through whatever chore is deemed most important that day. We do the same things every single day, but never at the same times. Unpredictable monotony. Somedays, I miss the financial freedom that my paycheck provided. I miss eating out for fun instead of date night, and maybe even just not checking the bank before buying something. These are the facts. These are the woes of a stay at home mom. These are the hormones of a pregnant woman running on very low fumes. This is a simple rant that I cry through once every couple of months. But right now, at this very second, Ella just walked up to me and said "Hi, Mama! Juice!" and started playing peek-a-boo through her cup. And I laughed out loud and picked her up and kissed her cheeto face without thinking twice about it. These are the days that will drag on until they're over and I'm left reeling through what just happened. I celebrate my daughter's life, and I celebrate the life of the baby growing in my belly, wiggling in annoyance at my current sitting position. I am so thankful to be the one she brings her juice cup to, and to be the one that my next baby will grin at every morning. I would love to have my paycheck back, but I would choose my babies over any other convenience in this universe. Someday I'll go back to work, but until then, I will sing Frozen at the top of my lungs and imagine the crowd cheer when I accept my Tony Award for Outstanding Female Vocalist in the Broadway adaptation of the film, where I would wear makeup that cost more than whatever was on sale at HEB, and have hair that doesn't have another human's snot in it. I would throw my money up in the air carelessly and find a random SAHM and say "Hey, I've been where you are." And throw a roll of 100's at her....

Whew, you lost me there for a second. This imagination gets worse as I teach Ella how to use hers. Dark days are a part of the gig. Some days I text pictures and videos to my family every two minutes because she's so precious I can't stand it. And other times I get a text that says "Um, we haven't seen a picture of Ella in three days..." And I have to reply with a picture of her crying hysterically over something that I'll never understand. These pregnant hormones don't help ANYBODY. It would be the world's largest understatement for me to say that I'm emotional this pregnancy. With Ella, I had my days, and I had a temper. This pregnancy, I'm known to cry at just about anything. Disney movies, country songs, "Remember the Titans," and most any Matt Redman lyric come to mind. And that's on a good day. Right now, at this phase of my pregnancy, tears are my way of communicating. When I hit my daily limit with Ella, I cry with her. When I get that crazy baby to close her eyes for the night, I cry in my recliner because the day is done and I'm happy that it's almost time for me to sleep. When my husband brings me a rose from the bush outside, I cry. When my dinner doesn't taste the way I thought it would, I cry. Tears are kind of becoming a new language for me, because sometimes they just fall for no reason at all. I've hit a few walls this month, one involving calling my sweet husband and saying "If you don't come and get her right now I'm going to lose my mind. This is not *voice breaks* a joke! I can *sob* not deal with her another *sob* second!" And that wonderful man came and got her. And I turned off all of the lights in the house and curled up in my recliner and watched "Gilmore Girls." After I cried through the guilt trip I gave myself. Hormones. Hormones all around.

It's not all bad. It's really not, but sometimes we go through phases as mothers where we kind of throw our hands up in the air and say "DONE! I am DONE." And prepare to live a life of having "that" child because every ounce of good qualities that you're trying to teach them are seemingly giant wasted efforts. It is so, so hard to throw every fiber of your being into something and fail to see the results of your time. And that's not just motherhood... I think we all encounter something in our lives that is so much bigger than what we feel capable of. But I also think that those are the things that send us running to Jesus friends. For the tear filled prayers of "I am absolutely failing. I don't have anything left to give this child without making her my identity." Those are the days that I look back on journals and count how many times I've written "YOU ARE ENOUGH!" in giant, bold letters. Hint: It's a lot. It's also hard for me to remember sometimes that she's fifteen months old. She doesn't know any better. She can't communicate her needs with me in the way that I expect her to, so I can only imagine the frustration she must feel. She thinks that she's so much older and bigger than she really is, and I think it'll probably be a battle that we fight until she's eighteen years old. I know that because she gets it from me. It's a trait that was at the root of every "major" fight I had with my parents. "Ya pay fer yer raisin'!" Blah Blah Blah.

All of these little things become very big things in my pregnant mind, thanks to the baby growing in my belly. This baby is the easiest and hardest part of my life right now. It is a baby that moves with a fury I didn't know babies were capable of this early. It wakes me up out of a dead sleep, which never ever happened with Ella. There are so many similarities between the two of them, but it's absolutely true that every pregnancy is different. I've said it before, I think, but I'll repeat that I'm so thankful I didn't have this pregnancy first. I would have been a baby making machine, and a pregnancy like Ella's would have absolutely wrecked my world, especially if I had to chase a fifteen month old around. Our Anatomy scan went wonderfully, baby measured right on time, but weighed several ounces more than expected... Which is great, because I love dimply fat baby thighs. The tech made a remark about giant marshmallow cheeks, which made me so happy, because Cody had the sweetest puffy cheeks as a baby. Ella had big cheeks, but I so hope this one is a "fat" newborn. She was so scrawny and tiny that I couldn't find any clothes that fit for the first month of her life. Preemie was too small, Newborn was too big. It was so frustrating for me as a mom with a closet full of sweet baby dresses. Which I now have to find homes for. Wah.

I think that sums most of the last month up! We're tired, and might cross the finish line on fumes, but we're gonna get there. The holiday season is creeping up quick, so I know the rest of this pregnancy is going to zoom by! Here's a bump picture from 20 weeks!

Weeks 12-16

I can see clearly now, the fog is gone...

Actually, that's not true. I'm still significantly more exhausted than my blog claims I was this side of my last pregnancy, but I think there are multiple factors contributing the extended exhaustion. Most of them revolve around a certain one year old with an overwhelming assertion of independence and a mind more stubborn than any mule I've come in contact with... which isn't saying much, as I've never actually encountered a mule. But I have seen Old Yeller, and witnessed their stubborn tendencies, so I feel I can relate. 

Every day is a fight when it comes to food with Ella. She's completely obsessed with spaghettio's and ravioli, and after three days of rejecting my alternative lunch options, I sent a frustrated email to her pediatrician saying something along the lines of "Who knows what they even put in most of the crap she's eating and I'm losing my mind because I want healthy things for her and she wants diabetes!" And her pediatrician responded with something along the lines of "LOL You're such a controlling psychopath!" That's a lie. She didn't say that at all, but that's how my brain interpreted it. She really said something like "Right now, she's learning what she likes. Don't stop offering her the things that you want her to eat, but you also don't want her to rely on milk for all of her calories. Choose your battles, and she'll come around." We still eat A LOT of ravioli and spaghettio's around here, but we've learned that she also likes green peas and carrots. She will not touch a potato in any form, and absolutely refuses to eat something if I'm holding the utensil. It doesn't matter if it's ravioli or cake, if Mom is offering it to her, she will not open her mouth. One day, I frustratingly threw the fork down on her tray and went to refill my delicious decaf (sarcasm) coffee, and I looked over to see my THIRTEEN MONTH OLD DAUGHTER eating with the fork I left behind. Homegirl is already utensil trained, and at this point and time, will not eat if she doesn't have a fork. Even if she eats with her fingers and the fork, she will sit and stare at a wall until I give her an eating apparatus. Stubborn. Frustrating.  Hysterical. Wonderful. All of these little details result in a beautiful little girl that we adore so deeply. Even on the multiple times a day that I slam my head against the kitchen table and say "GO AHEAD AND STARVE!!!!" I apologize, she Forgives, I forget my apology at the next meal, and we start all over again. The Blessed mundane, I tell you.

As for Gaines #2, we're cruising right along. I felt my first "wiggle" at 15 weeks, only because I knew what to feel for... otherwise I probably would've kicked back an extra cap of pepto bismol. I have adored this pregnancy so far, maybe for the sole reason that 23 out of 24 hours a day, I don't have time to think about it. My priorities are keeping up with the Gaines that has already escaped my uterus, feeding the Gaines responsible for the two, and drinking enough water to maintain my equilibrium. Were it not for this eternal state of "How many hours until Ella goes to bed?", I would probably forget baby was there. I think 79% of my emotions toward my first pregnancy trace back to fear of the unknown. I was afraid of labor, and making toward the next milestone, and prayed every day to make it to week 28, because baby's "survival chances" were a thumbs up. She never ever moved, and I hated it. I lived with a doppler connected to my stomach. I googled every ache and pain in my body. I cried every night because it felt like the longest time frame in my life. And some of those tears were justified. Abdominal surgery and emergency root canals aren't typical pregnancy symptoms... but I also look back and regret my attitude. I resented pregnancy and the miracle that it held inside of it. The baby I ached and cried and prayed for was growing like a weed inside of me, and all I could do was pray for the end. I feel that thirteen months of near exclusive breastfeeding cleared my name and "Bad Mom" card, but I'll never feel that pregnancy again, and I wish I had soaked it in a little more.

That being said, when I saw those two pink lines this pregnancy, I prayed for the Lord to change my heart toward human growing. Well, after the initial "SERIOUSLY?! ARE YOU NUTS!?" prayer. I had a few things to work through. Like joining the two under two club at the ripe age of 25. Like being okay with losing the full night's rest I was only two weeks into getting back. Like feeling like I had been hit by a freight train, but still mustering up energy to care for a 4 year old niece and a 12 month old Turtle. After I moved through those things and realized that the Lord has intricately and purposefully placed this life inside of my womb, at THIS time, for a REASON, I felt a sense of honor to be carrying such an unexpected surprise. Like, "Hey, The Lord chose ME to be your mom, kid." I know it sounds completely crazy to say, but it almost gave me a glimpse of the way Mary must have felt. She endured relentless persecution and judgement, but I still have to wonder about the joy that consumed her heart every time she considered that the Lord CHOSE her. I hope that I always feel this way. When I'm exhausted, when I'm thriving, when I resent Cody for having a job that allows him to leave our house without any carseats, when I regret that Cody has to leave our babies everyday so that I can stay home to raise them. Every day of this insane journey that we're on, the Lord chose me. He cares for me. He knew that I was the absolute best mother for Ella and BG2. He knew that I could handle two under two. He knows that there are going to be days that I absolutely lose my crap and send both of them to their room under the terms of exile. But He also knows that I'll also pursue their hearts, and chase after their dreams, and hold them as long as they'll let me. Good days and certainly irritating days lie ahead, but so does my trust in Jesus. 

THAT being said, this kid heard my prayers. It moves NON-STOP. I'm sure as it grows larger and more painful I might eat my words, but right now it's wonderful. I'm tired, but I sleep well. I have weird dreams, but they aren't scary. My back hurts, but not in a crampy way. It's been everything I could have asked for in a pregnancy so far, and I pray it stays this way. But that's really all I can report. Highlights of the past month:

• My Dad graduated college with his Bachelor's Degree! What an accomplishment.
• Ella cut two more teeth, bringing her tooth count to six teeth.
• We know the baby's gender, but I'm waiting for this blasted rain to pass before we announce it.
• Yes, we are pumped and excited. The baby has no name yet... 
• Cody put an amazing new floor in the upstairs portion of our home, along with new trim work.
• I cooked dinner almost every night, which is a huge step forward in the energy levels.
• "Scandal" started back up, and really, it was the highlight of my month.

Okay. I think that's all. We are soldiering through over here, and because I'm feeling so jazzy, I'll share a bump picture from week 16. 

The First Trimester

I still haven't completely decided how I'm going to do the blog with this baby. It was absolutely tedious and a pain to blog every single week of my last pregnancy, so I know for certain I won't be attempting that route again. I feel like doing one blog a trimester is too few, but also don't know that I want to commit to a blog every month. But blogging on a weekly or even monthly basis for the first trimester is just silly, so I know for a fact I'll knock it out in one post. Basically, I'm just going to wing it. Story of my life, right?

The first trimester with Gaines #2 has been simultaneously easier and harder than with Gaines #1. With Ella, my Gallbladder was slowly but surely giving out over the course of the first thirteen weeks, so I blamed baby for what was actually a failing organ. I believe most of my vomiting and cramps were attributed to the gallbladder rather than the fetus, but over the last year, I've been terrified of being pregnant or ever feeling that way again. It was enough to make me consider never having another baby. Was she worth it? Absolutely. Would I do it again to get her here? Absolutely. Would I ever re-live it for nostalgia and memory lane? Not in a million, trillion years. Whenever the time rolled around that Cody was even brave enough to mention baby #2, I immediately said "Not until Ella is potty trained." As friends and family started asking (sigh), we always laughed and said "We'll probably just get pregnant tomorrow. May as well do it while we're tired!" So I'm sure this pregnancy won't come as a shock to many people, but believe me whole-heartedly when I say, this sweet baby was a wonderful surprise. The Lord knew. He knew that I would put it off until it was too late to logically have another one. When I saw those pink lines, did I weep tears of happiness? No. I cried a lot of tears of selfishness, frustration, and sadness. Were a lot of those feelings hormone rooted? Yes... but some of them were just human nature. Ella was still breastfeeding almost exclusively, and waking up almost every two hours at night. Looking back now, we see that she was genuinely starving because my supply was drying up faster than it could produce for her. When I was put on the progesterone supplement, it only accelerated the process, and it finally came down to her pediatrician and my doctor saying "Hey, we respect you for trying, but you're both miserable. It's time to wean." And you know what? It took one day. One Tuesday afternoon, I skipped a feeding and offered milk instead, then waited to see how long she would make it before she melted down for more. When she was hungry again, she pointed at the bottle sitting on the counter, and never tried to breastfeed again. Y'all. I cried for three days straight. I mean sobbed. Like, huddled in a corner and gasped for breath. Like, Buried my face in Cody's chest and blew my snot into his t-shirt. My heart was broken into a hundred different pieces. Every feeling I could feel was hurt. And Ella just kept right on living in Ella's world... only exponentially happier. And sleep? Sweet Mercy, the child slept for twelve hours the first few nights after moving to milk. We had our own struggles with the transition, like we initially had to switch to lactose free for awhile before moving over to organic whole milk. Diaper rash was a brand new rodeo for us, as breastfeeding never gave us those problems. We dealt with tummy aches and how much milk was too much milk for the first time in her life, but after a couple of weeks, we hit a groove, and we've never looked back. I still find myself saddened that I was only able to breastfeed her for 13 months, but this break has also been wonderful for me. Sleeping at night as been the answer to so many of my mood swings... I already dread the newborn phase. 

I've also been informed that the progesterone supplement is likely what caused the majority of those awful exhaustion feelings. I always shrug off warning labels on prescriptions, like "May Cause Dizziness or nausea." Hey friend, don't shrug the progesterone warnings off. Mercy gracious. The first day I took the pill, I took it almost immediately, because obviously I was terrified and wanted it pumping through my system. Mistake. Dumbest Mistake. The room was actually spinning. At one point,  I asked Cody if my recliner was turning, because I was so dizzy, I couldn't remember the basic function of my equilibrium. On top of that mess, the nausea that accompanied the drugs was miserable. It was never enough to send me running toward a trash can, but enough that I curled into a ball and cried some days. Eventually, I learned to take the pill long after Ella went to sleep, because functioning as a mother wasn't possible during the first hour or so after taking a pill. I was so happy when Dr. Lane told me I didn't need to take them anymore at my 9 week check up. Another month of those things probably would have done me in. 

After weaning Ella, I was roughly ten weeks pregnant, and the exhaustion was still almost more than I could handle. I believe this can be contributed to chasing a one year old almost non-stop, and pushing through the tired because I really don't have a choice this go-around. I can't call in tired to mom duty like I did to a desk job. By the time Cody made it home every day from what has honestly been the busiest season in his work history, there was a silent battle for who was more exhausted. I'm humble enough to acknowledge that I was annoyed with his yawning, as I'm sure he grew frustrated with me saying "I'm too tired to cook." We spent money we didn't have eating out, and I'm sure that Cody silently stressed over the bank account, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I am one hundred percent sure that the sleepy/fatigue/hit by a bus feelings were worse with this pregnancy, but I would still choose this first trimester over my first trimester with Ella. So I'm very, completely, totally thankful for that.

Otherwise, this pregnancy has been pretty by the book so far. Of course, true to form, my blood pressure was off the charts at each of my appointments, so we fought a battle of medical degree vs. a woman knowing her body. A compromise of a 24 hour urinalysis was the peace treaty, and as gross as it was, the results landed in my favor. They're still monitoring it closely, but I'm thankful for an attentive doctor. Looking back, I see now that I didn't have that kind of care my first pregnancy. I had a great doctor, and my baby is here and healthy, but he was a little old school, so things went from fine to scary in a matter of minutes. I would prefer not to do that again. As gross as it was to complete the urinalysis, if we start seeing symptoms of pre-eclampsia with this pregnancy, I'll repeat the test and they'll compare the two results and be able to confirm the diagnosis. OR they'll finally say, "Kaylea is a big fat chicken and suffers white coat syndrome. All of this drama has to do with a psych-out she gives herself each time a blood pressure cuff is attached to her arm." I tried arguing this point to the doctor, even going so far as to request being admitted for a 6 hour monitoring appointment. The entire time I was in labor with Ella, my blood pressure never moved from about 116/70. I was never given magnesium, wasn't forced to lay on my left side, they eventually removed the cuff from my arm completely. I will fight this fight until I'm blue in the face. I don't believe I have a blood pressure problem. If white coat syndrome is a real thing, I'm a victim.

Wow, look at that. All I have to do is pretend somebody on the other screen is rolling their eyes at me and it sends me on a tangent. Let's blame that little rant on the hormones, Yes? Apologies. Anyway. I think that sums most everything up. I'm happy that we're almost done with this part. I still see no sign of my energy returning, but being removed from the progesterone supplement was a wonderful, magical morale lifter. I'm beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but now my job is to drag my pregnant legs toward it. We'll see ya... well... Whenever we see ya!

Three Became Four: Two Under Two

Well friends. It's true.

Cody, Kaylea & Ella Gaines will soon become Cody, Kaylea, Ella & Another Baby Gaines. 

Family of 3 becomes Family of 4. Only Child becomes sibling. Studio becomes nursery.

You can take some time to soak that in if you need to. You'll probably travel through a realm of shock, confusion, uncontrollable laughter, a round of sobs, slip back into shock, and then back to sobs. Or maybe that was just me.

I should begin by saying that I've been taking pregnancy tests since the middle of June. I was a mood swinging, cramping, excessively sweating fool. I felt that old familiar exhaustion creeping back up, and I could only remember one other time in my life that I had felt that way. I was falling asleep sitting up in the recliner in the middle of the day, sleeping when Ella slept, and falling asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow at night. I repeatedly informed Cody that something was off and he shrugged and said "You're in charge of two kids during the day, we had Stella for a week straight at camp and there's been no break since. I think you're just worn out." "Okay, Dear" I said, then opted to  ignore Cody and buy a pregnancy test... which was negative. Over the next week or so, I noticed my patience levels with my niece were just out of control... I struggle with letting her be a kid as it is, but I was a special kind of Malificent to her some days. After an attitude check and lengthy (shrugged off) apology to Stella... I took another test. Still negative. So after a slammed door and a hot flash, I called a doctor because clearly something was wrong with my hormones and I was pre-menopausal. I called a doctor that family friend recommended and was told I couldn't be seen until July 24th, and then if I was pregnant I couldn't be seen at all. "No problem. No pregnancies here." Famous last words.

On June 30th, I woke up in my usual state of sluggishness, and had some cramping... it felt a lot like ovulation cramps, and I know if you're not a girl that won't mean anything to you. Intrigued, I grabbed an ovulation test from under the counter. "Why did you have ovulation tests under the counter?" Well, they were meant to be used as a preventative measure after my next cycle... but because of nursing Ella, I didn't know when that was going to be. Anyway, I did the test... instant, immediate pink lines on the test. That was interesting and thoroughly confusing for me, considering that "ovulation" was over a month late. So I immediately sought the services of old trusty google, and one poster said "I always got positive ovulation tests when I was pregnant." Cue stomach dropping into the floor. We had to be a lunch function for Cody's work in 10 minutes, Ella wasn't dressed, and Stella's shoes were missing. Was this something I had time to deal with? Of course not, but boy howdy did I take that pregnancy test anyway. Negative. "Well, at least we're done with that," I said to myself... And then I scrambled around the house gathering babies and shoes. In a last ditch effort to find Stella's left shoe, I went back to the bathroom. There was a shoe... and another line on the pregnancy test. A line that wasn't there a mere 3 minutes before. My heart began racing, my phone rang, and Ella started crying all at the same time. I did another test, then another, then another. Double line, double line, double line. Another text from Cody saying "Uhm... just let me know when you get here." A quick glance at the clock said we were already 15 minutes late, and I left hating myself for taking the test right before a social function.  I cried the whole way to the church, which made Stella cry, which made Ella cry. There was an estrogen overload in that car, and I almost called Cody and feigned an illness. I dried my tears before I called him out to the help me corral children, and planned on telling him in a few weeks, after I played dumb at the doctor and found out then. JUDGE ME. 

Well... that didn't really work out for me. As soon as Cody made eye contact with me I lost it. He didn't even have to ask. Just said "You're pregnant. When did this happen?!" Tears. More tears. Collapse into his arms blubbering about New York and no break from breastfeeding. *I should add we were planning a trip to NYC for our 5 year anniversary* Cody laughed for ten minutes, probably to make me cry harder, then said "This is a good thing. Let's go eat." And just like that. I was pregnant and It was just another day for Cody.

Later that day, we sat down and actually acknowledged the bomb that those two pink lines dropped on our everyday mundane. "TWO BABIES UNDER TWO" was generally the only contribution I provided to the conversation, but eventually we cycled back around to what this meant in the more immediate tense. Did this mean weaning Ella? Did this mean we go to the doctor now, or play dumb until my appointment at the end of the month? Was there a logical first step in all of this? Well. I guess the answer is no. And truth be told, I wasn't very excited to learn that there was another human invading my womb (I think we can all agree that I'm just not a pregnancy person, okay?!) and I was avoiding the months to come like the plague. I finally called a local doctor that a few friends recommended and learned that he was taking new patients. "We can see you July 31st!" Well that's a month away, but swell. Over the next day or so, it started really bothering me that I didn't know how far along I was. Surely I was only 3 weeks, because that's when I found out with Ella, and the test last week was negative. I called the doctor back and requested bloodwork, only to be called the next day and hear "The blood test confirmed your pregnancy." The hormones spoke before I could stop them and I said something along the lines of "Well I could have peed on another stick to know that..." I ended the conversation frustrated and irritated, but still a little relieved (I dare say excited) to know that this was the real deal. It made me happy to feel happy about this tiny fetus, instead of tears and confusion. Thirty minutes later, my phone rang and the doctor's office basically said "Hey, we still have your blood, so we're going to run the HCG and Progesterone, but it'll be tomorrow before we know anything."

The next day was our fourth wedding anniversary. Around 10:30, I got an email that said the HCG levels showed I was 5 weeks along (?!?!?!?!) and that they were prescribing progesterone because my levels came back dangerously low. There were phone calls and reassurances that lasted most of the day, but I was still extremely upset. I cried for most of the day, got extremely sick from the pill, and had an overall sense of despair. How could this happen? How could it be that when I finally get excited about this tiny fetus, bad news floods our ears? Trust. A sweet word laid upon my heart in the midst of my sadness. I took on a nonchalant attitude about it all toward everyone else, saying things like "It is what it is," and "Whatever happens, happens." While my journals and time alone were filled with fierce and forceful prayers for life over this baby. It's amazing how a mother can become such a lioness when it comes to one of her young. I plead with the Lord for a beating heart and a healthy pregnancy. It was a different kind of prayer from the early days with Ella. I think the prayers with her stemmed from fear, while these prayers stemmed from determination and boldness. This baby was going to live, and I was going to make sure of it. You will never BELIEVE what happened Sunday at church. I slipped in late just in time to hear the second to last song. What song was it? Never Once. If you don't know why that might be significant to me, you need to go WAY back to my first pregnancy blog and read through it. I made it through half of the first verse before I was in full on revival sobs. It was a sweet, tender moment with the Lord, one that required repentance for my lack of trust, and one of affirmation that the Lord is sovereign. A different part of the song stuck out to me this time, and I've written it all over everything I see frequently: "Carried By Your Constant Grace, Held within Your Perfect Peace." Sobs. Even now. And from then on, I really was okay. I wasn't fake okay, guarded okay, or timid okay. It was just going to be fine, and I knew it. After what felt like the longest weekend in the world (As in playing nonchalant at Ella's party that I wasn't beside myself with stress,) I went back to the doctor for follow-up bloodwork. I waited all day long, no phone call. The next morning, I called because I couldn't stand it another minute, and got the answering service for two hours. A frustrated email and three hours later, I got a phone call from the nurse. "Hey Kaylea! Everything looks good. Your HCG is registering at 6-7 weeks along, and your progesterone looks great!" Let's all breathe a collective sigh of relief together.

And that was all she wrote. As it stands, I don't know exactly how far along I am, nor do I know my due date. Based on the information I have, we're looking at Early March (probably late February.) An ultrasound will give me those answers, but that isn't until July 31st. I am aware that July 31st was well over a month ago to those of you reading this now, but I'm writing this on July 10th, and my plan is to just push "Publish" when we announce the news. I don't have a lot of answers, but I am confident in the health of this tiny little life in my womb. I am shocked that we're so far along, and I don't know why it took so long to get a positive pregnancy test, but in the grand scheme of things, I don't care. We are infatuated with this tiny love, and while maybe I regret that it took almost losing it, we are so blessed and thankful for it now. With Ella, I had a gut feeling that she was a girl, and I'm having that same gut feeling that this one is a boy. SO if I type "him," it's totally an accident. We clearly don't know the gender of our 7 week old fetus.

I think that's all for now. I'll only be updating once a month with this baby, as a weekly pregnancy update gets old quickly, and I dare say it's impossible with a one year old. I hope you're ready to venture through this with us again, because ready or not, here comes another Gaines!

***Update*** Our Doctor's Appointment on the 31st went wonderfully, we were measuring 9 weeks along, putting our due date in the first couple of days of March. The doctor told us to prepare for a February birth!

Happy Birthday, Ella Morgan!

I have a one year old.

The words are so surreal, as this has been what feels like the longest year of my life. I look back and so many of the months are a blur. Sometimes I look back at my journals and think to myself "How in the world did we live through that?" I'm pretty sure I said it in my last blog, but I think it's okay to repeat that I wish babies were born at 10 months old. I loved different parts of the past twelve months, and Ella was always our greatest joy, but from ten months on... Bliss. It's an interesting thing, finally being at the "looking back" phase. Just three short months ago I was putting my nine month old in 12 month clothes, though 9 month clothes still fit fine. Today, I'm squeezing my twelve month old in 18 month, sad to know that she could probably wear 24 months comfortably. It's such a subtle and unrecognizable change... Somewhere in the past three months, I've transitioned from praying for an older baby to stumbling around the cliches of "growing too fast" and "wishing time would slow down." Her time with us has simultaneously been the shortest and quickest time of our lives, and for the first time, I can see how people look back and say "where did 18 years go?"

The wonderful thing about today is that my heart strings are tugging, but for the most part, I feel joy. I've avoided looking at the newborn pictures hanging in the entryway, and instead I hug a little tighter when my baby puts her head on my shoulder. She has been an outstanding infant, with only one visit to the doctor that wasn't a well check. She has had a healthy, thriving first year, and we are so thankful for it. She had tummy and teething issues like any other infant, but never colic and never multiple teeth at once. Her blocked tear duct proved troublesome, but we are working on week three of clear eyes, which leads me to believe that it has opened, meaning we will not need to pursue medical intervention.  She has tackled milestones with ease, some on time (crawling,) some late (rolling over,) and some early (walking.) She is truly a light, full of joy and enthusiasm, and is thrilled to be near water. I am convinced more than ever that names play such a fun and crucial meaning. As you'll recall, Ella (in the translation we prefer) means "Bright Light" and Morgan (again, translation preferred) means "dwells by the water."  I know in  my own experiences, the sea is a beautiful reminder of the beauty and power and attention to detail that The Lord is capable of ... So hopefully she'll take that same attitude and run with it. And if she lives close to water, that's just a perk for me.

As we round out our first year, Ella has two teeth. I don't see any indications that another is close, but that's okay. It certainly makes nursing easier to deal with. While we're on that, my daughter nursed for the first 12 months of her life. That's is my greatest pride and accomplishment of motherhood thus far. Nursing is hard, inconvenient, and probably one of the more exhausting things I've ever done, but you could not pay me enough to go back and do things differently. All babies eat, and some are fed by formula, and that's okay, but it was important to me that my child was breastfed. My original plan was to wean immediately after her first birthday, but we're transitioning into a later plan. Right now, I hope to have her weaned by 18 months. Maybe it'll be sooner, maybe it'll be later, but I'm okay with whatever happens. We're working on "baby led" weaning and she's already dropped two feedings because of it, so who knows where the path will lead. The point is, I've gone the last twelve months as the "exception," meaning I found myself surrounded by formula feeders. I had one other friend who breastfed for as long as I did, and now I'm the only one left. It's awkward to breastfeed in public, and the dirty looks are hard to deal with, but I tried to be subtle about it, and for the most part, I adapted. My daughter's health has thrived. No prescription medications, no fevers, no ear infections, respiratory infections, or instances that landed us in the hospital. I don't believe it's a coincidence. I'm going to step off of my soapbox soon, because I know that different things work for different people, but I will advocate and be proud of the path that worked for us until I'm blue in the face.

We are so captivated by this tiny presence in our lives. We are amazed at her vocabulary already, which includes 14 words so far... maybe she's ahead, maybe she's behind. I don't read the books to know. She's so efficient at figuring things out, even if she throws the cutest fit in the process. She's so curious to learn how things work, and I hope that never changes. She laughs until she falls over backwards, sings along to whatever song she deems catchy, and screeches with glee when she sees her Daddy. We love to laugh at her reactions to various things, whether it be kissing her when she isn't expecting it, jumping out from behind a wall, or stealing a bite of her food at the last minute. She communicates with her eyebrows, whether that be burrowing, raising one, or both multiple times. Her best friend in the world is our dog Todd, and greets him every morning with a pat (slap) on the head and "HI, Todd! Hi! HI!" If we would let her, she would move outside and dwell there permanently. The root of her temper lies in making her come inside when it gets dark. I would say we are outside at LEAST 4 hours of each day. She loves yogurt, cheese, and goldfish. She tolerates most vegetables and fruits, but refuses to eat carrots. Absolutely loathes them. She's a nursing machine, which is going to be interesting come weaning time, but I don't fight her when she asks right now. She's figured out how the whole system works, so while it's funny at home, having your shirt lifted in public is something I don't recommend trying unless it's NOLA and Mardi Gras.

I think I can summarize the last 12 months in a phrase: You Adapt. Sometimes life makes sense, and sometimes it's just a big fat pain in the rear. Sometimes you're so thrilled to be in charge of human, and some days you look at your ghastly reflection and say "How in the world did I get here?" Some days you wish could be repeated over and over again, while other days go into the "PTSD" file. Most days, the child you expect isn't the child you get... sometimes that's a good thing, sometimes it's your demise. The days that require the most grace are the days that I find there's an issue with me that needs to be fixed. On the days that my curious infant chooses just the right moment to spill goldfish all over the floor, I usually laugh and make a game out of clean up. Though Sometimes, those goldfish are my demise, and I'm sent spiraling into a pit of "WHY did we pursue parenthood?" But we adapt. We recognize that Ella needs the same grace that the Father so lovingly bestows upon us. I am tired. I think I'm even more tired now that we sleep through the night than I was when we were in survival mode... but I adapt. I take a deep breath and sigh it back out before I get out of the bed every morning, but then I walk into a bedroom and find a blonde headed mess of hair grinning back at me, and I'm reminded that these are the moments I'll remember. I'll probably always guesstimate the milestones that carried us through the first year, or I might even have to look back at a baby book... but I'll never forget those teeth peeking through a grin. I'll think back and laugh at the way she said Thank you (Thas-chu!) I'll remember the look on her Daddy's face when he walks through the door every day, and the way she pats his back in the mornings when she's ready for him to wake up. I'll smile fondly at the way she puts her hands on my face before she falls asleep, the way she grins while she nurses, and of all the times that I chose to love on her instead of doing dishes. I'll remember the look on Alyssa's face the first time Ella laughed out loud for her. I'll hear the joy in my Daddy's voice the first time she said "PapPap." I'll remember her going potty on my mom every single time she bathed her. Joy. I look back over the last 365 days and I remember joy. Bless the Lord, O my soul, here come the tears. We knew that would happen at some point, right? Her first year was more than we could have hoped or imagined, and I mean that in the sincerest tone. We had some frustrating moments, but I think that's just life. The Lord is so Good to those who love him, and oh, do we love Him. We are so thankful for the sweet little love of our lives, and especially now that we're entering into more impressionable years, I hope that I take the time to stop and make sure Ella sees a reflection of Jesus in her Mama. Love. Joy. Peace and Patience. Kindness, goodness, Faithfulness. Gentleness and Self-control. Lord, Let it be.

So with our final disastrous socktopus picture, we conclude this particular blog series. I don't know for sure what that means for the blog, maybe I'll only write when inspiration hits... maybe I'll update every few months... I'm not totally sure. But I'm so thankful that you ventured down this road with us, because we have loved your support. See ya Next time!

Ella Morgan: Month Eleven

Can I just... say something CRAZY?! (I love Crazy...)

No. I will not venture down another path of "Frozen." I will NOT. I will BURN the disc before Ella finds it. Since last month, I've taken on a fun venture of Nanny-ing after my niece... and while I absolutely love having another human to talk to, if I have to watch "Frozen" ONE MORE TIME, I might have to be committed. COMMITTED.

Back to my initial thought. As Crazy as it sounds, I would absolutely love it if babies were born at 10 months old. This month has been so much fun, and I have adored every moment of it. Even the 4 o'clock in the mornings. We're slowly weaning out of night feedings around her, so when she wakes up in the wee hours of the morning, it's because she wants to be cuddled and rocked. And my soul just absorbs and adores every second of it. Sometimes I fall asleep in the rocker with her... sometimes I kiss her baby face until she wakes up irritated and we start all over. Regardless, She has been an absolute dream this month. Funny little words are escaping her lips more and more, including "Good Job!" (Coo Chob!) and "Night Night!" (NyeNye!) and it just slays us every time. She's developed an adoration for her Daddy that neither of us can explain, especially since this side of a month ago, she would only play with him from the comfort of my shoulder. I, for one, am incredibly thankful for it. It means that Daddy gets to take a shift from 6:30 to 8 A.M., since he's just so proud of her for being a happy morning baby. I don't care how cute she is, there will never be a smile from me before the sun rises. We have loved every bit of this month, and it is amazing to me just how much my morale has lifted by having a relatively happy baby.

It was a big month for us in terms of milestones. Not only do we have a walker on our hands... we have a .... wait for it. Tooth. A Tooth! TOOOOOOOOTH! I cannot even begin to convey my joy. You would think that I would be more excited to have a walking baby, but I will always remember that she walked before she had a tooth. She started the walking thing 2 days past her 10 month birthday, and cut a tooth two weeks later. It has done wonders for her mood. I guess it really does wear on them. Once that tooth cut through, her sleeping patterns changed so drastically. We're really just in a good place. Let's call a spade a spade. I like this Ella a lot more than 6 month old Ella.

Other than that, we are just absorbing every minute of this hilarious baby. She is SO full of life, joy, and sarcasm. She keeps me laughing. She's figured out that she can communicate through her eyebrows, and it's the funniest thing about our day right now. Her hair is rapidly turning platinum, especially since she spends so much time in the sun. She inherited her daddy's love for vitamin D, and her complexion is identical to his. So now in all family photos, it'll be two extremely tanned Gaines and one porcelain doll, tinted a shade of scarlet. Seriously, fifteen minutes in the sun leaves me sunburned. I'm simultaneously thrilled and jealous for her. She walks in circles around our living room and actually asks us to go night night. For the most part, she sleeps from 9 to 9, but just like any kid, we have bad days... and nights. I'm so thankful for my sweet friend Kendal, who actually sat down with me and said "Hey, I breastfed too. So Believe me when I say, it's time to axe the night feeding." After two nights, she was over that night time feeding, and sleeping 11 hours a night. I was in heaven... and then we left for camp and didn't sleep for a week. But since we've been back, she's still sleeping through the night. I'm dreading an upcoming trip to Dallas, but hopefully she recovers quickly again. It was so nice to hear from another breastfed mom that it's okay to let them skip a feeding. I'm always so fearful that she isn't getting what she needs, but now that she's suffered through those few hungry nights, she's a champion sleeper, and what teeny trace of baby fever I had is gone like the wind. Kaylea loves her some sleep. 

I think that's most of it. It was an easy breezy month. I rejoiced in her every moment this month, because she's really just turned into so much fun. My heart strings tug a little because I already see a super independent spirit peeking through the surface of that sweet grin, but I don't have any room to talk about those kinds of things.  We read a book before Nap and bedtime, and she lays quietly on me while I read. She doesn't grab the pages or try to take the book away... occasionally she'll point at something that catches her fancy, but it's my absolute favorite thing to do with her. She's actually opting to read instead of nurse to sleep at night, so my hope is that she's kind of weaning herself. I cannot even bear the thought of doing it to her, so it would be ideal if she did it to me instead. For the first time in this entire blog, I welcome weaning tricks. I'm not super interested in weaning her completely, but I would love to mellow it down to one morning and one evening feed. 

To summarize: My child is a ball of sunshine. Maybe I'm just not feeling very "Bloggy" this month, so I'll try again next time for her 12 month if I can bear to type those words again. See ya next time!

Don't even ask about that face, I have no idea. But to sum up my entire view on parenting: Choose your battles. 

Ella Morgan: Month Ten

TEN Months old. Double digits. I'm so glad we won't have to deal with this again until her tenth birthday. Maybe I won't be as upset about that one, because I'll be over thirty and EW. Kudos to those of you that embrace the thirties... I'm not going down without a fight.

It was a fairly quiet month, and by quiet, I mean we slept. We only had to fight cry it out for three nights before she figured out that she was staying there until she slept, so that was bliss. She still isn't sleeping the entire night, and she usually doesn't stay in her crib from dusk to dawn, but we're making  massive progress, and my heart is so thankful. Most responses to that statement are met with "Makes ya wish you had tried it sooner, huh?!" Well, the simple answer is no. It would've have been nice, but it took me Ten months to feel like I knew my child well enough to know the difference between upset and whiny, and it made it a lot easier to stay downstairs because of it. We're on our way. We're not there yet, but maybe by her first birthday, we'll have a baby sleeping through the night. In the meantime, I soak up having four hours of blessed silence with my husband at night, having the opportunity to clean up dinner messes, and time to work on her "One Year" book. My morale has lifted so significantly, and Ella is finally comprehending that sleep is a good thing. Hal. le. lu. jah.

That was about as quiet as things got around here, because Ella found her voice. She's been a rambling machine for about two weeks now. Noise, nonstop. Always talking. She's super successful at saying "Dada," "Hi," "Bye Bye," and "Mama." The only time she chooses to say Mama is when she's mad, upset, or knows that it's bedtime... I'm conflicted as to how I feel about it. She's been rambling those syllables for a few months now, but she really comprehends what they are now, because as soon as Cody walks into a room, she yells "Dada!" In the mornings, when I pick her up, she puts her hand on my face and says "Hi." When I wave at her, she waves back and says "Bye bye!" It's so fun, and of course, I always shriek and clap like she's doing things that no other ten month old in the world has ever done, so judge me, because I don't care! Sometimes out of left field, she'll accidentally form a word that she couldn't possibly know, but we still celebrate and encourage it like she did it on purpose. For example, she says "Dared" probably 3 times a day... that just so happens to be what I call my little brother. There's no way she would know... but we still point at a picture of Jared and say "Dared!" over and over. Pre-Motherhood, I was always puzzled as to how we as humans learn the english language. I see it now. The greatest teachers in the world are mothers that get too excited about words that babies don't realize they're saying, so we shove them down their throats until the baby eventually starts repeating it just to shut mom up. Truth. But regardless, she rambles random syllables all day long, and it still makes me laugh out loud. It's my favorite "Ella-ism" right now. Maybe someday I'll miss communicating with her using only facial expressions, but at the moment, this phase is super fun.

We took another brief road trip this month. Most of Ella's family in the Northern part of Texas don't make it down here too often, so we made a quick trip to see them. The last trip to Wheeler involved a 2 month old that nursed every two hours, and a house that was too hot for three people to share a bed. This time around was much smoother sailing, we made excellent driving time, and our sweet Baby showed all of her best tricks for her grandparents. Those trips are hard, and I'll be the first to say that Wheeler isn't my first choice to "vacation," but I never want to look back and regret that we didn't introduce her to that side of her Daddy's life any chance we had. We were ready and anxious to get back home, but we also enjoyed the quiet and horrible cell reception. The winds were less than favorable, so we were stuck inside the entire visit, but it meant extra quality time. Here's a sweet picture of Ella playing in the floor with her Papa. It was so sweet to see them interact together. It made my heart swell and my eyes water.

All of that to say that I am SO THRILLED April is over. There are very few times that you'll hear me complain about my husband's job, because it's truly one of the greatest blessings in our lives. However, in December and April, you'll hear me complain a lot. April is the busiest month of the year in my marriage, between women's conferences, marriage conferences, Easter, special events focusing on Easter, out of town trips, regular job commitments, and extra lunch and work meetings for my husband. He's the sound man, and if there's an event at the church, he's there. Last April was tough, but I was also pregnant, and didn't care what happened in life. I just wanted Tums and a brief Coma to get me through the day. This year, I had a miniature human in my life, and my usual relief buddy was gone most nights of the week. When he came in at night, there was a silent battle for who was more exhausted, and I think really the answer was that it was a tie, mine being in the mental realm and his being physical. I think he tracked his footsteps one day, and they equated to ten miles of walking. I would never keep track of such a thing, for I would either find myself incredibly depressed or inspired to work out. Those are both things that I try to avoid. It was a hard month, and I battled feeling sorry for my husband while simultaneously sorry for myself. Dangerous road, that one is. It's hard to be supportive of your husband for chasing after the call on his life while you feel guilty for saying "It's a job!" Where's the line? His job pretty much revolves around making sure the name of Jesus is heard (literally, he controls the volume). When I wanted quality time with him, he was either recovering or preparing for the next event at work. My selfish tendencies tried hard to reveal their ugly heads, and it was a battle all month long. But it's over! And to the best of my knowledge, life should be pretty smooth sailing for the next 3 months. I'm so thankful for my husband's job, and I know that there are wives that rarely get to see their husbands every month of the year, so I'm willing to sacrifice two months out of twelve if it means we maintain this routine.

I know what you're thinking. "Kaylea, all I want to know is if Ella has any teeth."

The answer is No... but there's HOPE. I can see her top tooth! I can SEE it. I have no clue where her bottom two are, and at this point, I could not care less. They're on the horizon. Or so I've convinced myself... who knows. I've probably convinced myself that I can see a tooth and there's really nothing there, but I remain hopeful. Hope. Hope Guides me. It's what gets me through the day and especially the night. Oh, look, another "Knight's Tale" reference. Sometimes they just slip out before I realize what I'm doing. Anyway, I don't know what else to say about it other than I'm 99.9% sure that there is a tooth protruding through her top gum, and that I have a baby that would probably make most teenagers abstain from bad decisions if they were left with her for more than ten minutes. We have depended on tylenol and hyland tablets, because otherwise I think I probably would've locked myself in a padded closet. I've lost my patience with her a couple of times, but for the most part, I try to remember that she's responding to pain the only way she knows how, even if it makes me want to consume an entire bottle of something fermented.

I think we've all established that I'm fairly honest on this blog. I'll say boldly that I didn't enjoy the 6-8  month phase of child development. Learning to sit up and learning to pull up were not fun for me to watch as a mom. The battle for independence from a mom that knows better is something that I'll fight for the rest of my life, but I saw glimpses of it for the first time in those stages. Exhausting. I was just a title bit crazy feeling during those months. However, I LOVED having a 9 month old. It was such a fun month full of new tricks, and a sweet time of bonding between Ella and myself, and an all around awareness that we're moving out of "baby" and into... well, not baby. We adore the sweet giggle that invades our sleep, and most days dread that her first birthday is rapidly approaching. We celebrate her life and her growth, but we hurt because we already know how badly we'll miss these days. But that's enough of that. It was a sweet month, here's her disaster of a socktopus picture!

Ella Morgan: In the Stillness

I am aware that it's May 6th and Ella's monthly update is nowhere to be found. It's coming, I guess. Sooner or later. My life has taken on a special kind of exhausting since Ella has figured out the purpose of her legs, but it's all working out. She's wonderful. 

Tomorrow night, Ella Morgan is being dedicated to the Lord in front of our friends and family at church. I know, she's 10 months old. We're a little behind, but it is what is is, because LIFE. Something has come up every month, and we finally just had to put our foot down and say "make it or don't, she's getting dedicated in May." So with that, we made our plans and attended the class and wah-la, tomorrow we make official what we declared on November 8, 2012. From the very moment we found out a tiny poppy seed was inhabiting my uterus, we made the same declaration:

Every minute, every moment,  and every facet of this baby's being belongs to the Lord. 

For the majority of my pregnancy, this was a great struggle for me. I was afraid of losing this sweet little fragile embryo for the first trimester, I battled a baby that didn't move at all my second trimester, and I was terrified of cord disasters and early labor for most of the third. I knew the Lord and his faithfulness, but those fears still surfaced. I'm only human, and I wasn't proud of those fears, but there was a never-ending battle for peace vs. stress.

When a baby with a head full of hair was placed in my arms for the first time, there was an overwhelming feeling of joy in my heart, but almost immediately, a great wave of anxiousness. How could I possibly prevent anything bad from happening to this baby? As the weeks went on, thanks to social media and various web sources, I became increasingly aware of the horrible things that can happen in this world. Fear of the unknown overshadowed some of the happiest days of my life, and I wish I had been bolder in casting them down... I knew God and his sovereignty, but just as a Lioness protects her cub, I felt an overwhelming need to protect, and I felt alone in doing so. And while we're on it, Lioness is probably not an accurate description of my persona... we could probably lean more toward a hummingbird, because I hovered almost excessively. I'm just being real. I sat and watched the child breathe, just to make sure she didn't stop. 

Somewhere along the line, my hormones figured out that there was no need to continue acting like an angry hill of ants, and I started to ease up. I started sleeping through the night when my baby slept in her crib instead of next to me. I started enjoying dropping her off at my mom's instead of worrying about her the entire time. I still miss her something horrible when I'm away, but I see now that we both need that separation. It's not a bad thing. At some point, I started believing it when I said that The Lord is in control of this whole shebang, and I'm mostly here to push her toward Jesus and pursuing him in her life choices. I cling daily to the promises that He is FOR me, and that means he is FOR Ella. 

However, as we creep on this dedication, the weight of that decision has weighed heavily on me. It's not even that we're making it "official," because our sweet friends prayed with us while we were in Labor that we acknowledged that Ella belongs to the Lord, and since then we've maintained the mindset. He's carried us here, so it's not like when we stand in front of our peers, he'll say "Oh yeah, I forgot about Ella Gaines! Let me start watching over her now that she's OFFICIAL." 

It's the weight of truly being okay with whatever His plan is. Stop and ponder the heaviness of that statement. Anything, Wonderful or horrible, I have to be okay with. A few weeks ago, one of the sweetest gems on this earth made a video for our church, and in that video, she said "If God promises never to leave me or forsake me, Then how could anything good or bad come into my life that is not filtered through the hand of God?" Oh, I wish you could be sitting here with me now, because tears are streaming down my face. Every time that sentence plays through my head, I just weep. Dedicating my baby to the Lord means washing my hands of responsibility. Not in a literal sense, I do plan to continue feeding my child, even if Jesus is the bread of life. It means that I say "I trust you with my whole heart, Lord, and I trust that your way for her is the best way. Thy will be done in her life." It's so hard. Especially as she gets older and I fall deeper and deeper in love with her as I start seeing her personality and her heart. It's been a heavy feeling.

So of course, when you're already worn down mentally, what's the best thing that can happen? Oh, just your daughter deciding that she doesn't want to sleep through the night. Last night was just a mess for us. She was not content anywhere. Not in her bed, not in my bed, not in the floor. She wasn't interested in eating... I was at a loss. For the sake of my husband, I picked her up and carried her to her rocker, where I said "Sometimes I wish I could put you in a box and throw away the key." Out of nowhere, she looked at me dead in the eyes and put her hands on my face. I smiled at her, she smiled at me, and she put her head on my chest and sighed. Not even ten seconds later, she was asleep. I cannot begin to explain the peace and the stillness of the room in that moment. Never, in ten months of parenthood, have I felt closer to the Lord. Never have I been more aware of his presence, his peace, or his sovereignty. For all of the days that I said "Is there a distinct possibility that you've abandoned ship and left me alone here with this screaming baby?," for all of the times that I cried because I felt so overwhelmed, for all of the times that I felt certain that I would go gray before I saw any sort of redemption in motherhood, the Lord showed up. I sat in the rocking chair and wept while she slept peacefully on my chest. I immediately knew that the Lord was choosing his own way to show me that He truly does love us. He truly sees us. His thoughts toward us truly outnumber all of the stars in the heavens and all of the grains of sand. There is nothing, Good or Bad, that could come into our lives that did not first filter through the hand of God. 

Peace. The peace that passes understanding. I don't know the answers to a lot of things. I don't know why children get cancer and I don't know why horrible things happen that will affect this Country and  the future for her generation... but I don't need those answers. If I knew why there was bad, I wouldn't need Jesus. I wouldn't need His comfort or His peace at the end of the day. I don't know why he chose to bring me the answers to my questions at 3:44 in the morning...well, yes I do. I probably wouldn't have paid attention if it had been any other nap on any other day. His eye is on the sparrow, and his eye is on Ella Morgan. She is his child just as I am, and I believe now, more than ever, that He's alive and present in our lives. 

So, all of that to say, if you're around Wednesday Night at 7, come to church and watch me proclaim confidently and proudly that I promise to Love and raise her to follow Jesus all of her life, and I whole-heartedly dedicate her life to Him and His will.

Tis so Sweet to trust in Jesus. See ya next time, friends!