New this Week:

Relentless Fatigue. Even when I'm awake, I'm not awake. It's not quite as bad as the first trimester, because all of my organs are functioning and I'm still in a pretty good mood, but I'm tired.

Inability to get off of the couch or floor by myself (in a timely manner). Or a ladylike manner, at that.

Hyper-sensitivity. I'm easily offended, quick to jump down your throat if I feel threatened, and annoyed over the little things. I blame fatigue, heartburn, and hormones. Because of it, a simple tear is no more. If Kaylea is going to cry, it's going to be a river. Justin Timberlake would be so proud of the river I've cried for him this week.

A feeling that I can't quite distinguish in my head. It's neither light-headed nor dizzy. It's neither pain nor discomfort. It's like a sampler platter of all of the above. How was that for a complicated explanation? I'm not dehydrated (I drink 4.5 liters a day. this is not a joke.) I'm not hungry. My blood pressure is fine. I've never had blood sugar issues, but I guess we'll see if it's because of that after my glucose test next Wednesday (blah!) It's not enough to make me feel like something is wrong, but enough to make me aware of it. Isn't that strange?

Pregnancy Brain. I think everyone is hyper aware of my obsession with spelling and grammar. Well, don't judge me if you ask me to spell a fairly simple word for you this week, because I can't do it. I don't know what's going on, but you should have SEEN me trying to spell Colossians at church last night. It was sad. And it's only sadder that I had to look up at least 5 other words this week.

Swelling. Nothing severe. Just enough that I took my wedding ring off (sad,) and kicked my shoes off anytime I sat down. In a restaurant, in Lowe's, at church, and even in the car. I still have ankles and wrists, but if I'm on my feet too long, they swell. And I blame the 90 degree weather for my fingers.

Pregnancy induced Insomnia. This isn't severe yet, but it's definitely starting. My mind moves a million miles an hour at night, usually about the baby. When my mind finally slows, I have a difficult time getting comfortable. It's amazing how heavy my stomach feels when I'm laying down. It takes a lot of effort to roll to either side. My back usually aches, or sometimes my hips join the party. But honestly, sometimes I'm just awake for no good reason at all. I'm tired, and my eyes are heavy, but I never fall into a deep sleep. They say your body begins to prepare you for life after baby, so maybe that's what's going on. I'm not sure, but I bet it definitely contributes to the extreme fatigue, eh?

Sweating like a Wildebeast in the middle of Africa. Y'all. I don't sweat. I'm not a sweaty person, a B.O. Person, or even a person in denial. I don't fight body odor or excessive sweating. This is probably because I am very rarely hot, because I'm generally pretty cold-natured. My husband freezes me out of the house in Winter and Summer, resulting in lots of screaming during the night when my frigid toes just so happen to graze Cody's thigh. Not anymore! At the moment, we have 2 fans blowing full blast at our bed. I have moved the bed from it's usual spot so that we are sleeping directly beneath the ceiling fan. I have cut my absolute favorite pair of sweats from pre-marriage (it was time. They're so white trash looking.) in to sweat shorts, and though they're miserably uneven and super baggy in the crotch (resulting in me looking like I carry an extra 40 pounds below my stomach,) I finally slept without waking up in a heat stroke. It's been a really interesting transition, because I always know that when my ears feel like they're on fire, then I'm about to start sweating. It's so strange. SO uncomfortably strange.

How was that for a big list of new symptoms? Week 26 was a little bit relentless, but I've been in pretty good spirits. There's something about knowing that we have less than 100 days left (91, to be more specific.) There's something about knowing we're entering into the third trimester that makes all of this seem more acceptable. There's a magical feeling that comes with knowing that we're approaching the 12 week countdown, because I've been through all of that before. It's WONDERFUL knowing that 37 weeks will be upon us in such a short time, because while I'm not crossing my fingers for early labor, I would be okay with going into labor before 40 weeks. I'm just being honest.

I've been trying to work on my attitude toward life in general lately. I was a little embarrassed on Sunday when I said "I just don't like being pregnant." and the person's response was "I can Tell." On one hand, I was like "Um, sorry I just stabbed you with a fork." But the other half of me was like "Yikes. I need to work through some 'tude issues, apparently." So I've been trying to make a very conscious effort to be happier. If you catch me when I'm NOT at work, life is pretty beautiful. But it's a real journey to stay happy at work. I'm in a great mood if I wake up on my own terms, get ready at my own leisure, and leave the house by choice. I am not in a great mood otherwise. I guess it's because I know I have to go to work. And I have to sit in an uncomfortable chair for most of the day. And I have to be nice to some pretty frustrating people because it's my job description. But my time at work is rapidly coming to an end. I have to survive a little over a month, and I'll be free to sprawl across the couch in whatever awkward position I can get semi-comfortable in. What I'm really trying to say is that while the first half of this pregnancy really was horrible (because of my gallbladder, not my daughter,) but I am making a very conscious decision to be happy for the last half. It's not the easiest thing I've done, but I'm a work in progress. 

Other than that, it's been a really sweet (as in precious, not the hip-hop-happening sweet) week at our house. We started our baby's nursery. The nursery itself never really bothered me, but I'm sure that anyone who's single, married, or a first time parent can laugh with us when we say that Ella's room has been the "junk room." Cody has a great passion for audio engineering, and unfortunately, that means that an entire bedroom in our home is dedicated to it. That left us one extra room in our house for all of the things that we simply couldn't find a spot for elsewhere. I have been dreading cleaning that room out for 26 weeks. Unfortunately, I'm not getting any smaller, and it's getting significantly harder to bend over without feeling it in my back, even when I bend with my legs. It's significantly harder to get back out of the floor when I plop down in exhaustion. So I knew that it was now or letting the baby sleep in the hallway for the first 3 years of her life. It wasn't too bad, but I'm sure my pregnant attitude of "just toss it" helped significantly. We went to Hobby Lobby and started the "decor" purchasing, and it was so fun to hang it on the walls. Before I post pictures, I want to warn you that we opted out of painting the nursery (gasp!) We didn't want a super vibrant color, and we just couldn't find a pale enough pink to live with for the next 5 years. So we're over compensating in wall hangings. It's actually really cute so far. We have a long way to go, but I feel better knowing that her room is at least her room and not our pile of "don't knows." Her room is basically full of pinks and lime green, so if you see anything reasonably priced, give us a holler! One of my favorite friends is in charge of making her curtains, so we'll hang those at another time, but until then, here are a few snapshots of the progress! 

Another weird conundrum is organization. Between my mother and my BFFL, Ella already has so many clothes hanging in her closet. I don't know the appropriate course of action. Should I have the clothes in the closet based on her size, meaning I pack and unpack her clothes as her sizes change... or should I buy dividers and hang everything in there at one time? What am I supposed to do with baby shoes? Keep them in a tub? What about bows that don't clip? Or headbands? I want our lives to be functional, but getting started seems to be the hardest part. I guess that's because I don't know where to start. I've heard you should only wash a few outfits until you see how big the baby is, because why wash something they'll never wear? Why wash when you can re-gift? haha! I'm just kidding. Sort of. But I've also heard to wash EVERYTHING because babies go through clothes so fast in the beginning. It's like... come up with a general consensus, pinterest and baby books. In the meantime, I'll open her closet and stare, just as I've done the last 3 times I've tried to organize. I appreciate any feedback. 

I think that's mostly it. I do want to share my first weird craving:

Yep. You read it right. Weird craving. It's time to be honest about something... I don't like Chick-Fil-A. I never have. I know, I know. Look of shock and disdain. Flaring Nostrils. Friendships questioned. Whatever. It's not my thing. I don't like it. I don't eat it. I flare my nostrils when it's suggested. And today, for the first time ever, I went to Chick-Fil-A by choice. I ate every bit of my meal, and my stomach was satisfied. I don't know how to exist in this universe, and I'm not sure I like it... but that's just my life these days.

That's it! Week 26 was fun because it became the week that I was obviously pregnant and not fat. Strangers asked me my due date, my husband fell in love with the mound that I can't hide anymore, and my doctor gave me a "well done" on the baby growing. Baby is measuring a little big, but not enough to change the due date. I look pregnant, feel pregnant, and I'm beginning to think "Wow, 13 weeks isn't very long!" instead of dreading how much farther we have to go. I'm super excited about my baby shower (one month from today!) and I'm really looking forward to seeing her on our 3D ultrasound next week! Here's the bump!

Week 25

Week 25 was exhausting, and it's only partially because I'm pregnant.

I have been so desperate to escape town for awhile, if for no other reason than I needed a change of pace. I haven't been anywhere since April of 2012, and I was itching for a change of scenery. Fortunately, I have two of the grandest parents in the land, and way back in February my dad called and said "Let's go watch the Rangers smash on Hamilton for your birthday!" and I said (rather wearily) "Okay..."

The trip came at a perfect time, because I was about to pull my hair out because I was so ready to be away from Odessa for awhile. It was a fast and furious trip, but I feel so much better. I missed my husband horribly (you'll recall my hormones have grown rather attached to his adorably hot bod), but I was able to get away one more time before I have a baby to carry around with me, and it was nice.

On Saturday morning, I met my parents at their house at an hour that I usually opt out of being awake to witness. We set out on I-20 and I tried my best not to cuss at other drivers (seriously, we drive like dillholes in this town. Something has to change.) while my dad slammed on brakes and accelerated past 18 wheelers. It was not my favorite part of the trip, and we were only thirty miles away from home. My dad is a great driver, fortunately, and we survived. It took us entirely too long to reach Sweetwater, mostly because of overactive bladders, and I was already feeling a little bit sick of riding in the car. Fortunately, we managed to survive the rest of the trip with only one stop, and we were soon in the hustle and bustle of Dallas traffic on a gorgeous Saturday. We stopped at P.F. Changs for a quick lunch, and devoured the cucumber-tomato salad that was served alongside my plate. About this time, I noticed how quiet my daughter had been, because she normally gets SUPER active when I eat. She was still and silent. We left lunch and went to one of the million malls in the area, and while I enjoyed myself, we were already working on an eight hour day with no nap. I was feeling a little sleepy, but tried to soldier on. Then I made the mistake of going to Grapevine Mills...on a Saturday. It was a stupid, stupid decision, and I made it about 3 stores in before I noticed a giant empty room with chairs next to the ice skating rink. I sat down with the intention of catching my breath (You try being pregnant and walking at the pace of crazy outlet shoppers) and ended up staying for about 50 minutes. My parents tracked me down, and I tried to make it to a few more stores before we gave up. I ended up finding a bench and I hung out with my dad while my mom shopped her life away. This did nothing for my mood, because I was so excited to walk those malls. I just really wasn't prepared to get so tired so easily. My daughter still refused to wake from whatever coma she chose to take that day, and as a first time mom, even though you know that everything is probably fine, your hormones can really wear you down. We ate dinner at a fun restaurant called "Uncle Bucks," and I ate an enormous bowl of pasta. It was divine, but made me aware of how tired I was. In spite of the sleepy, We all needed an "emergency" item from Target, and all I could think about was going to the hotel and going to sleep. Let's envision together what you feel it would be like to wake a Bear from hibernation in the middle of winter, and you probably have a pretty good summation of my mood that night. Half way through Target, I ended up on the phone with my husband and I was in tears. I couldn't tell him what was wrong, because I really didn't know, I just needed to cry. I blame exhaustion and hormones, but you really never know. Through it all, Ella stayed completely still through two meals, a five hour car ride, and my tear-filled meltdown. I was truly growing incredibly anxious about it. We went back to the hotel and I think I made it about thirty minutes into the movie we were watching before I was out like a light.

The next morning I woke up feeling a million times better, less like a crazy person, and even sang opera in the shower to impress my mother. We drove to UPtown Dallas and I fell so in love with the vibe of the area. Cute shops, gorgeous townhomes and complexes, Countless food choices, and away from the hectic traffic. I wanted so badly to buy a pink bicycle and move there. But then I realized that it wasn't an environment that I would want to raise a baby in. It was an environment that I could have pictured myself in if I was single and 23, rather than married and 23. Don't misinterpret or blow that out of proportion... it's just a statement. It's the life I would've pursued if the Lord hadn't wrecked my world when he brought my husband into my life at eighteen years old. It's a weird thought, because my little brother seems SO young to me at 19, but I was already engaged at 19. I never really ponder what life would've been like if I hadn't married young, because every day of my life is such a testament to the Lord's faithfulness. I adore my cute little house, my rambunctious pups, and that I get to fall asleep next to a man that pursues my heart every night. I love that the Lord took the dreams I had and showed me just how much greater his dreams are, and that I was willing to listen. It makes me so excited to see the path that Ella embarks, and if the Lord intends that she ends up 23, single, and living in a shack by the sea, I hope that she loves it the same way I love the way my life played out. She will, no doubt. Anyway, I loved UPtown Dallas, visiting my sweet Uncle Danny, laughing at stories from their childhood, and really just being content in the moment. I love being content in the moment. After a bit of shopping (mostly at Crate and Barrel because it's my FAVORITE), my dad and I sped back to the hotel in Arlington to prepare for a baseball game. I love baseball, especially live. I love the environment at ballparks, hearing stadiums sing the national anthem, and taunting refs over bad calls. This game was even better because the Rangers were playing against Hamilton (Booooo!) and the team spirit was extra hyped. After I survived countless flights of stairs (because my dad hooked us up with All You Can Eat Seats), I settled into the game, and for the first time in almost 2 days, the baby started moving. And she moved the ENTIRE game. Non-Stop. It was hilarious, so sweet, and a sign that she'll be a Rangers fan. 

The next day we packed up and left for home. I was ready to see my husband before he escaped for Las Vegas (a "work" trip), and sleep in my sub-zero temperature bedroom. After a fun date, we both collapsed into bed, and the next day was my BIRTHDAY! I had a great day, with a super hyper baby, and my birthday also marked 100 days until my due date. I captured the moment, and then spent a wonderful evening with my family. I was a little sad, because I know that my birthdays from now on won't really be MY birthdays. I'll have a 9 month old baby this time next year, and after that, I'll likely never open my own presents again. Or it'll look a little silly if I (as the mother) have a Princess cake. I'll be breaking a 23 year tradition next year, and it's been a little hard to get over. That's probably hormones, but it doesn't make it any less annoying. Regardless, I soaked in the day, smiled every time a foot kicked me in the stomach, and went to bed early as a gift to myself. 23 will indubitably be the best year yet!

That's mostly all. Kind of a short and boring blog, but fortunately, it was a short and boring week. Well, It was really scary week for one day, but after my sweet baby chose to embrace jazzercise instead of comatose states, it was a really good week. I am thankful I had the opportunity to get away one last time, and even though we couldn't be together, Cody had the same opportunity. I guess our next major step will be buckling down and starting her nursery (blah). We're entering into the final phase of this pregnancy, and while it feels that time is dragging and flying simultaneously, I'm ready to hold that baby. And kiss her sweet toes. And see her sweet nose. AGH. 98 days to go! Here's the bump!

Week 24

I'm running out of witty introductions to this blog. I also lack the witty creative thinking I had pre-pregnancy.

So we'll dive right in. This week has been so easy, breezy (not in real life. It's been like a tornado in real life), and laid back. I've battled a little bit of fatigue. As usual, my back hurts pretty much all of the time. I wake up several times a night, but usually fall back asleep pretty easily. Basically, I've grown accustomed to aches and pains during pregnancy, and so they really kind of roll off of me like water on a duck. No new symptoms, no doctor visits, and no severe discomfort. It. Has. Been. Wonderful.

Our Garden is finally in the ground, which usually makes the next 60 days of my life fly by, which is wonderful, because 60 days puts us in June. And June puts us a very short time away from D-Day. I always find myself super suckered into the 60 day germination process of plants, whether that be a vegetable or a flower, because I get to watch the process from seed to harvest. I watch the tiniest of plants weather the wind, occasional thunderstorm, and relentless heat. Plants really are the prettiest in the morning, and I actually get out of the bed to have my coffee on the porch to watch the flowers open during the summer. I guess I'll be doing that with Orange Juice this summer (agh, I miss coffee so much.) Anyway, I see what the plants overcome in order to grow, and it always makes me aware of the Lord and His faithfulness. That may sound weird to some of you, but I love that I need an evident and obvious Lord in my life, whether that be through Sunsets, Babies growing where doctors said they wouldn't, or through the process of plant growth. Maybe that's why I hate Winter so badly. It's harder for me to see the creative wit of the Lord. ANYWAY, it's exciting to know that the same process is happening inside of me, and even though I can't see her growing, I know she is. And though it takes much longer, I'll see the fruit of my labor in such a short time. I already get entirely too emotional when I think about seeing her in the flesh, so I already know it's worth it all. I would be okay if time moved a little faster, though.

I typed about the garden on Monday, and then a stupid cold front blew in. What?! In a way, it's one of those examples I talked about, where you look out the window and see the shivering plants in the wind... and you just know that they're dying and you'll have to buy more plants in three days. But they always survive. And produce enormous tomatoes. And I hate them by August because there are SO MANY TOMATOES. So I stop watering them. And then they really do die. And then October rolls around and all I want is a tomato, but I can't have one... because I killed the plant.

...I do believe we just went down a rabbit hole. Back to the original point: It is cold outside. Not cold enough that I wear a jacket, but cold enough that I feel silly wearing Spring colors. I demand a new groundhog, because at this point, I prefer that he would've just seen his shadow. At least these temperatures would be more acceptable. We had dinner on the porch on Monday night, and it was warm outside. I loved it. I was telling Cody that one day we can watch our baby play in the yard while we sit on the porch and hold hands. Or this summer, I can sit on the porch and watch him work the garden while my sweet baby sleeps in my arms. OR at the end of the day, when I'm exhausted from being a human vending machine and he's exhausted from hearing her cry in the middle of the night, we can sit on that porch and cry together while she snores inside. I was so excited, because her impending arrival seemed SO close... and the next day, the cold was back. And she felt so far away again. Isn't it funny how the weather can dictate our moods? Especially if your hormones are feeling a little out of control anyway. And they have. I don't know what's going on this week, but I need Cody's affection, affirmation, or presence. I think he secretly loves it, because I'm generally not super clingy to him. I love talking to him, texting him, and being around him in general, but I've never really NEEDED the display of affection. Um, I sure do now. Like, I literally get sad if he doesn't reach for my hand while we're walking somewhere. Or if he doesn't hug me as soon as he walks in the door, my world crumbles. Or if he hasn't said "I love you" in an appropriate amount of time, I feel strangely out of place in my own home. It's weird, and I hate it. It's hard enough to feel like I'm getting fat, but it's even harder to feel like a clingy girlfriend. Fortunately, he knows that it's my hormones, and he's been so wonderful about random displays of affection, "You're so Pretty" comments, and more snuggles in general. It's been wonderful. And weird. It's like the first 6 months of marriage all over. You know, those days where it's okay to kiss with morning breath and it's okay to cuddle in bed on a Saturday until noon. Don't pretend like those things are still okay. They aren't. I know it, you know it.

Have I ever told you how much I HATE charley horses? I've only had a few of them the first 23 weeks, and if we're being honest, it was the kind where you recognize the very beginning of the pain and you instantly freeze what you're doing so it passes. Well, THOSE days are over. Last night, I woke up and noticed that my right leg was twitching. Kind of the same sensation as when your eye twitches when you're tired. Intrigued and confused simultaneously, I rolled over and stretched my legs before I prepared to fall back into my coma. Except when I stretched my leg, I felt that same familiar twinge. I stopped moving, but my leg didn't. Pain. So much Pain. Sometimes it felt really cool to feel (and see) the muscle contracting; but most of the time, it hurt. I survived the first wave and thought to myself "Well that was less than pleasant." And not even ten seconds later, it flared back up. Twelve minutes, I fought that charley horse. TWELVE minutes. And then the left leg flared up around minute eight. I had two charley horses at the same time, in different legs. Ask me what Cody did throughout the torture? Slept. And snored. I don't know how he slept through my contraction-like breathing. I tried to stretch my legs while the pain hung out, but it only made it worse. I finally stood up beside the bed and noticed that it brought a little relief, so I paced my bedroom floor for awhile. Since then, my right leg has been so horribly sore. I wake up at night whenever I move my leg, though I'm not sure if the pain or fear wakes me up, but to say that I'm tired is a bit of an understatement. I eat at least 3 bananas a day now, and I haven't had any problems since.

I am entering into the "Tired of being Pregnant" phase. And before you laugh to yourself and shake your head condescendingly, just be aware that I know that I still have 3 more months. Be aware that I KNOW that the hard times are coming. I know that a baby is going to be too big for my stomach and in my ribs. I know that a baby is going to make it feel like I'm in a continual state of exhaustion. I know that the pressure from a baby preparing to make her appearance is going to be fairly uncomfortable. I know. I have been warned, informed, terrified, and made aware of each of these facts. That doesn't change the fact that I have been pregnant for the past six months. I've been pregnant, irritable, tired, and achy for six months of my life, and I'm really just ready to move past this phase. I've had surgery, been poked with more needles than I care to count, felt completely out of control, and cried more tears than I've ever cried in my life. I am SO thrilled to see this baby that the Lord so craftily put together inside of me through it all, and I don't think there's anything wrong with being more excited to see her than to keep her inside. When she moves, my heart takes flight. When I look at her ultrasound pictures, my enthusiasm is almost uncontainable. I love bonding with her through the limited resources available, but it's time. It's time to be okay with her coming into our world and wrecking it completely. It's time to be okay with knowing that even though this world is so scary (I was never really aware of how scary until I was responsible for another life,) she's not mine. It's time accept that she belongs to the Lord now, tomorrow, and forever... and there's something comforting about it. I know that when she's in my arms and looks so much like her daddy that I burst into tears, it'll be harder to acknowledge that she doesn't belong to me, but I would prefer that her life belong to the one that made me her mom. I want to be okay with sending her to school, playing at a park, or even going to an annual check up. Pregnancy hormones bring so many negative thoughts to light, whether that be everything that can go wrong in a pregnancy, or everything that can go wrong after she's here, and I hate it. I love that I already love her so much, but I'm ready to be captivated by peace instead of battling my hormones for a positive mindset. I'm just being real, honest, and open with all of you at the moment. I used to be so judgmental of whiny pregnant women. Because at that phase of my life, all I knew is that those women had what I wanted more than anything, and that I would be the most thankful pregnant woman in the world. Everyone would be blown away by my love and appreciation for my growing fetus. I am so blessed and thankful to be so incredibly humbled by my ignorance. Pregnancy is hard. And your outlook on life is continually transitioning. You learn quickly that there are things that matter, and there are things that don't, but every facet of your life revolves around how it will affect your baby. It changed my outlook on my marriage (in a positive way,) friendships, relationship with the Lord, and life in general. Growing this baby has eternally changed the way I think, and though it's made me entirely too cautious at times, I will never judge another pregnant woman's complaints. I understand now that sometimes you just want your back to stop hurting long enough to eat dinner. Sometimes, you just wish that the baby on your bladder was asleep on your chest. Sometimes, you're so sick of opinions from other people that you want to retreat into your closet and stay there until your baby is born. Pregnancy is worth it all, but it's hard, and I'm ready to kiss my baby's toes.

Okay. Soapbox Sermon over. Here's the bump! I took my regular picture, but I accidentally deleted it and cried for at least five minutes. So this was three days later:

Please excuse my sweatpants. The weather was cloudier, windier, and colder that I originally planned. They aren't maternity sweats, so they made a weird line around my stomach. But I was comfortable, and that's really all that counts.

KG

Week 23

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.