I know I said I wasn't going to blog again, but I've actually had a few confused friends because of some loose ends I left on the last blog. So this will be short and sweet. I'll even use bullet points.

• I have officially been relinquished and banned from using the term "High Blood Pressure" in my OB's presence, under threat of public ridicule. I have been officially diagnosed with white coat syndrome, and when my blood pressure is taken manually, it's even considered borderline low. I have been assured that there is absolutely nothing to fear when it comes to pre-eclampsia, or even gestational hypertension. There's been blood work and multiple urinalysis tests to confirm those results. It's such a huge weight off of my shoulders, and so comforting to know that I truly know my body. The wonky readings I had a few weeks ago have been attributed to stress and taking it too many times in a short period of time. Basically, my OB laughed out loud when I told him the "elevated" numbers I was experiencing and said "I think my resting blood pressure is higher than that." SO, that scare is over.

• This baby is content where he is. I was so convinced that he was going to come early, but the contractions and symptoms of labor are far too sporadic to even convince the doctor to check me. We have a C-Section scheduled, and he told me that if I went into labor before then, Jesus was going to return. It's basically just what every pregnant woman wants to hear at 38 weeks and miserable, obviously. There's no medical reason to induce, despite all of my suggestions to sway his judgment. I am officially the most pregnant I've ever been, and it's so, so hard to keep a good attitude when I'm almost a week past the point of my last delivery. I was initially fine with him staying in a little longer, because Ella, but I'm just done. I've tapped out. I'm trying so hard to get out of the house and make the days go by a little faster, but I think it's just going to feel like the longest wait of my life any way we do it. But the end really is near. Truly.

• Why yes, those are the baggiest sweatpants in the world featured in my bump picture. The elastic on my jeans finally gave out after 38 weeks of holding on, and this cheapo isn't about to drop a ridiculous amount of money on more pants. This is probably a good thing, because I always have the hardest time letting go of my maternity pants. They're like real life spanx. And I was still wearing my maternity shorts when Ella was almost one, because they're not super short and don't require me to dance into them. Those are both great attributes in shorts.

I think that's all. This really will be my last blog. Here in a couple of weeks, the clock will run out and this baby will be evicted. And I'll probably be sappy and sentimental about never feeling a baby wiggle around my belly again... but right now, my ligaments and bladder have suffered enough abuse for 38 weeks, and they're letting me know that it's time. It's time. Bring me that horizon. Take me to the place where babies are birthed. Bring on double diapers. Forget about sleep. I want the baby toes and cheeks to chew on. These are a lot of really short and incomplete sentences. Sorry, fellow grammarites. If it's any consolation, I'm saying most of them in a "Jack Sparrow" accent, and exclamation points would probably be better suited for the ends of the thought, but that would imply that I have energy, and I just really try to keep things real on this blog. 

Until the end, my friends.

Weeks 32-36

I'm going to attempt a weekly section this go around. I don't necessarily mind blogging at this point, but my 18 month old is in a fun new "I run the show" Phase, and alone time to blog is scarce. That being said, here we go.

Week 32- The highlights of this week involved seeing Earp for the last time before delivery, and Ella eating chicken for the first time. Moms of littles all over facebook rejoiced with me, either because they remembered the joy that accompanied a baby willingly eating something you put in front of them, or because it gave them hope that maybe someday their own child would partake in protein. She hasn't been super interested in it since, but let me tell you, we've added the chicken finger recipe on the back of the bisquick box to our weekly menu. It's a hit all around the house, and super easy for my pregnant swollen self to crank out in a hurry. Thrilled. Even now, I rejoice at the thought that she ate TWO chicken strips. Two. Bless it. As for Sweet baby Gaines, the sonogram informed us that he  is thriving and significantly larger than his sister was at 32 weeks. This could mean we're actually farther along than we thought, or he's just a big kid. I'm way more relaxed this go around, and unfortunately that means that my eating habits are as well, so I'm thinking the latter. My body has been good to me, and my weight gain has been small at best, considering that at my 32 week appointment I had only gained 10 pounds. They've "guesstimated" Earp to weigh 5 pounds and 3 ounces, and I hear that your uterus and water sac and all of that junk weigh up to 8 pounds by delivery, so I'm pretty confident saying that I'm "all baby." He looked perfect, a mirror image to his daddy, and breech. I guess at this point it's a good thing we already had that c-section planned.

Week 33- This week has sincerely felt like the longest week of my entire life. I think it's partially because I know we're really still too early to be "in the clear" in case of an early delivery, but close enough that I'm starting to get irritated with being pregnant. Sweet Ella knows that something is weird with Mom, so she's been uncharacteristically cooperative this week. She's eaten all of her meals, figured out new words to communicate with (Diaper, bottle, and juice topping the list,) and has honestly just been a dream. Sure, we still have an occasional meltdown, but perhaps the greatest thing about my third trimester hormones is that I literally have no problem giving her a "Seriously?" And walking away. I don't try to talk or reason with her, and these tantrums are growing shorter and shorter. Almost to the point that she let's out one frustrated shout and then immediately sulks in her ballpit. As for Earp, he's still as hyper as he can be, and it doesn't matter if I'm active or still, he still does all of his best tricks. Fortunately, and I'm not even shy about admitting that I pray it continues, he seems to be pretty quiet for most of the night. I don't really get awakened by any of his movements at night, so I'm either exhausted and in a coma, or he doesn't move much. Granted, all it takes is a gentle tap or a belly rub to wake him up and get the party started, but I've learned not to try those things until I'm ready to get up.

Week 34- Well, I kept waiting to hit "the wall" and I finally found it. At some point this week, I woke up and decided I was sick of being pregnant. It probably has a lot to do with my exhaustion, since I've consistently woken up at 5 AM for no reason at all every day this week. By the time I start feeling tired again, I get a tap on the shoulder and a sweet little "Hi!" From my morning baby. I hit the "wall" at full speed, and I'm still lying around whining about it. I'm not totally sure why, but my body has started releasing ridiculous amounts of relaxin this pregnancy, and my body feels like it's been hit by a truck. You would think that it would be nice for this nifty little hormone to come in and soften all of your ligaments and basically everything that can possibly stretch during pregnancy, but it actually has made my body extremely sensitive and more prone to aches and pains. I'll leave out some of the other gross that has plagued me this week, but just know that I have been whiny, teary, and all together miserable. I'm honestly trying to adjust my attitude and finish this gig strong, but right now, I'm just big fat over it. Sweet Ella is being so patient with me. It's like she knows that we're coming to the end of whatever is going on with Mom, and she's been great to play quietly by herself (as long as she can see me), or save all of her whiny needs for when her Daddy gets home to help me with them. The nesting instinct is strong this week, but only the desire to clean... not the energy. My mom promises we're going to tackle the big projects before he gets here, but I think by "we," she means "her."

Week 35- It's so funny how things change.  I truly swore that last week was going to be that one "miserable" week of pregnancy, and then I would suck it up and move on. Well, apparently last week was a foreshadow to this week. Y'all. I'm so tired... everything hurts, I'm having first trimester tired feelings, and I can say with total honesty that it feels like my body is tapping out on me. I did okay for the beginning of this week, but Cody finally got to witness that sobby snot fit that I swore I wouldn't throw this pregnancy. It's hard for him to try and be gracious and say "Can you tell me what's wrong? Can I help you? How can I make it better?" and have me just hang in my head in sorrow and say "I Don't know what's wrong! Everything is wrong!" Today, even though I feel like I'm not going to make it another day of pregnancy, I'm so thankful for a sweet husband that just holds me while I cry and promises that we're going to get this baby out soon. I'm thankful that I'm able to sit on my couch in my pajamas and watch Ella learn new tricks, and still be able to laugh at her throughout this misery I've embarked down. I'm thankful for parents who force me to give my baby up for a night, on the premise that even if I don't sleep, I'll rest. Yes friends, we're in a growth spurt at the Gaines, and Ella's baby legs can't keep up with the speed of it all. We're on night three of shrieks of pain, and last night, a night terror was even thrown into the mix. So Ella is staying with my parents tonight, while I stay home and watch my blood pressure. Yes. I said it. While certainly not in the "danger zone," it is certainly elevated compared to the past 35 weeks. I can only attribute it to the stress I've felt lately, but I absolutely dread going to the doctor next week and breaking the news. After an entire pregnancy of perfect blood pressure, I have to go back and say "Hi, so it's a little elevated." Ugh. Irritating. I'm sure my blood pressure spikes every time I think about it. Bleh. Oh well! We really are almost done, and hopefully the end of this stretch of misery ends soon.

Week 36- I am so, so happy to report that we made it through whatever I was going through. I think it was a mixture of me knowing that we still had well over a month before we were "full term," but also knowing that our chances of baby being totally fine were like 9 out of 10 if he was born. I don't want my words to be twisted, so I'll clarify that I was not, nor am I praying for an early delivery, but I promise you, the way I felt last week, I was positive that labor was imminent. I just knew that I was going to wake up in the middle of the night and say "Oh no," and head to the hospital. It was that bad. I think the biggest problem over the past couple of weeks was the fact that the baby is breech, and we were both extremely uncomfortable because of it. I don't know if he's turned or just recognized that maybe he's not going anywhere, so he's stopped trying. We currently have a C-Section scheduled for 39 weeks, but as the pregnant one carrying this baby, I'm predicting we won't get there. I don't feel like we'll have an early baby, but I also don't see us getting that far. Maybe he'll surprise me and stay put, but I very, highly, seriously completely doubt it. I'm having too many painful contractions that aren't braxton hicks, and the overall sense of sudden relief I have in my lungs and ribs just have me convinced to be prepared. Of course, having said all of that, he'll probably decide to make me look a fool and stay right where he is, but that also wouldn't be the worst thing that ever happened. Ella is trucking along with us, and even though we're pretty much done with this whole gig, she actually appears to be coming around to the fact that there's something going on in my stomach, and has started kissing it before she goes to sleep at night. It MELTS me. To the core of my soul. She's also become excessively clingy lately, which is one trait that I'm not used to at all. She wants to be in my lap or in my arms every second, which makes me wonder what kind of "vibe" I'm putting off. It's all very strange, but very sentimental for this Mama. Though I will clarify that once Cody walks through the door, I'm dead to her, and those two are the best of friends for the duration of the evening. Sweetest Ella. A Daddy's girl with a sweet little soft spot for her large mother. The worst part of this week was that I got hit with a stomach virus. I don't know where I picked it up, but it was horrible. Like, I couldn't keep water down, people. I was so thankful when my body finally stopped heaving and evacuating itself after 6 straight hours. After an additional 24 hours of a headache, fever, and body aches, it cleared up, and I was able to eat toast and white rice for two days without irritating my stomach, then I finally felt like myself again. I had the world's cutest baby shower during recovery, but I've already blogged about that. So I guess that wraps this week up!

Well, that's the end. It's so weird to know that we're done with the pregnancy side of this blog. I know that in some aspects, this has been a whirlwind of a pregnancy... but on the other hand, I'm ready for it to be done. The last 6 weeks of pregnancy are so hard for me. I wouldn't say that I'm totally thrilled about double the diaper changes and double the loss of sleep, but I will say that this hyper little baby in my belly has completely captivated me. Ella was the greatest baby outside of the womb, but I had such a hard time connecting with her in-utero because she just never moved. I'm so anxious to kiss the toes and see the sweet little elbows that keep me awake at night. Plus, I hear boys are just obsessed with their Mamas, and I feel like it's my turn to be "the favorite" around this house. I've earned it. I'm excited to nurse and cuddle that sweet little newborn face, like, I'm so anxious to smell the top of his head that I practically weep just thinking about it. If you think that's weird, you've never had babies or never been around a newborn. That's all I have to say about that. Anyway. This is it. The next time I blog, I'll be introducing a sweet little boy, and I hope he looks just like his Daddy. I don't even care if he has hair. I have enough food to clean out of Ella's everyday. Also, he BETTER weigh more than she did, because other wise I've walked around with this huge stomach for NOTHING. Yes, I'm way bigger with him. I put my two 36 week pictures next to each other to compare. I can't even discuss it anymore... but here's Baby Earp and I at 36 weeks!

The Baby Shower

Today, we celebrated our sweetest baby Earp's arrival with a diaper shower. Honestly a dream come true for any mom, but especially one that will have 2 babies under 2 years old in diapers. It's a new part of our lives that I can't say I'm looking forward to, physically or financially... but we're going to make it. We'll survive. I think...

I've always heard that 2nd baby showers are "tacky" and "in poor form," so I didn't originally plan to have one... even though I found it extremely unfair that I was going to tell my kid "Oh, you were born second, so you didn't get a shower. Sorry." And honestly, if this were another girl, I probably wouldn't have had one. But this is my son, and he is my last baby, so I know it's my last shower. So when my sweetest friend Melissa said "What are you doing for your baby shower?" and I mentioned that I probably wasn't having one, she basically said "You are an idiot, pick a date." So I picked a date and recruited two other hostesses. I told them not to make it a big deal, not to spend a lot of money, and that I wasn't going to register anywhere. I also forced Melissa to theme the whole shebang as an outdoorsy baby lumberjack charade, and to say that it looked like something straight out of pinterest was an understatement. It was incredible. My heart was so proud and so full for everyone to see it. 

That's just a small sample of the cuteness that ensued at this shower. It was simple, yet still each detail was thought through so intricately that it makes me dread the day that I have to help throw a shower for them, especially considering my house looks like a cemetery for failed pinterest projects. 

*INSERT PICTURE OF SISTER-IN-LAW LEXIE, WHO RUNS AWAY FROM CAMERAS AND YELLS AT ME FOR POSTING PICTURES OF HER. THANKS FOR BEING A HOST, LEXIE.*

It was a wonderful day, preceded by chaos. I came down with a stomach virus on Thursday night, and immediately sent Ella to my mom's. I writhed and suffered all day Friday, and we almost had to cancel the whole shebang. I'm so glad we didn't, but we did have to exile Ella from the party, which is why there aren't any pictures of her. She's a child of familiarity, and she doesn't like it when that's interrupted. So it made me sad, of course, but it is what it is. I didn't get many pictures because I still wasn't feeling like myself, but if you came to shower, thank you so much for being there and celebrating with us and not finding me too tacky with my second shower. If we're being totally honest, I hate showers of all kinds. I don't go when I'm invited, and when I'm the center of them, I get really anxious and tend to hide in the kitchen or the corner. I won't lie and say I'm not relieved that we don't have to have anymore showers, but I also won't lie and say that I didn't enjoy today. I'm so thankful that we had the opportunity to celebrate this sweet baby that could honestly choose to join us whenever he wants to. It was a special day for me, and a real special day for our diaper budget. 

***disclaimer*** This was an extremely small shower and we only invited a handful of people, because once again, I didn't want to look like a greedy Gertrude by sending an invitation if we really don't talk much. It was just something I wasn't comfortable with. The end.  

Weeks 27-31

It's the third trimester, and it feels like the third trimester.

My back is ready for this baby's eviction date. My hips are fighting me every hour of sleep of each night. I cannot breathe on my back. My ribs are thrilled and awaiting freedom from a certain baby boy Gaines' feet. These are the days that are simultaneously the hardest and the sweetest about pregnancy. I have loved and adored every second of this baby's acrobatics. He has been so faithful and consistent to move for me, day or night. It was the absolute worst thing about Ella's pregnancy and it has been a dream come true not to deal with a quiet baby this go around. I'll admit that sometimes I yell "GO TO SLEEP" after enough jabs in the ribs, but I mostly obsess, grin and giggle over those sweet rolls and kicks. I'll miss it so badly, and there's something about knowing this is my last pregnancy that makes savoring these moments all the more important.

Kaylea, don't be silly! You need at least one more baby! Three is a good number!

No, YOU need one more baby. Two has always been our plan, and two is where we're comfortable stopping. Also, pregnancy is not for the faint of heart, and two babies in two years has done me in.

I'm already so tired of hearing those comments. "Don't make any rash decisions after the baby is born!" or "Just give it a year or two before you make any permanent decisions!" Um. Thanks for all of your thoughts and plans for our lives and finances, but it's really, truly okay with us if you stop offering them. I know it's just my hormones making it ten times worse, but I feel that the lack of boundaries around pregnant women is something that should be addressed anyway. Maybe I'm catty, maybe I'm just in a bad mood... but it's something I find little tolerance for when there ISN'T baby in my womb, so there's that. Moving onward.

It's been a good month. A slow month, but good. My 28 week appointment was the dreaded glucose test, and like I said last time, I don't have a problem with the drink. Would I PREFER a
Comparable amount of sugar compliments of my favorite holiday themed Starbucks? Yes. Would I PREFER to drink a giant Dr. Pepper? Yes. But it's also not the end of the world that I didn't get those things. This go around, I was given "fruit punch," which tasted almost exactly like Hawaiian Punch. Well, the way I remember Hawaiian Punch. Not exactly something I keep stocked in our pantry. I had the drink finished in our five minute timeline, then spent the next hour having a regular checkup and chasing Ella around the doctor's office. Maybe it was the exercise, maybe it was me expecting to come back for the 3 hour test... All I know is that I passed the one hour and I. Was. Pumped. Do you understand the torture that would've ensued if I had taken Ella to a 3 hour glucose test? I was in tears just thinking about it. I was so, so relieved. Baby Gaines was rewarded with chick-fil-a and a big fat Dr. Pepper. Because cravings.

Ella has been on a tyrannical rage this month, but she's been forgiven, considering I found four molars and 2 other belated teeth in her sweet swollen mouth last week. It was almost a relief, like "Oh! These raging flashes of psychotic bi-polar tendencies aren't your personality!" She was instantly forgiven for a wide range of sins. She's been a sweet, cuddly, talkative little girl since we got the molars through, and though I'm beginning to see glimpses of the crazy coming back around, I would prefer she cut whatever teeth she can while Earp is still in-utero. Maybe she'll magically have all necessary teeth by his birth, and my sweet angel baby will be ready and willing to accept her brother without a single ounce of jealousy. No? Delusional? Fine.

Ella still doesn't do much eating these days. She eats cheerios and yogurt every morning without a fight, but the rest of the day is a hit or a miss. We went through a four day period of consistent macaroni eating (one meal per day), but she now hates macaroni and cries hysterically if I even pull it out of the cabinet. We're working through all sorts of things. Eating is one of them. I've grown increasingly relaxed about it. Maybe it's the third trimester, maybe it's just accepting our reality. It is what it is. I have it written all over this house. We've made it this far, right? Surely the day is coming that she asks for seconds and I laugh at the days that Ella wouldn't eat. Or I say "Ella, you cannot have anymore broccoli or your bowels will explode and we will all be subjected to that torture. No more broccoli until you're completely potty trained." No? Delusional? Fine.

Christmas came and went. It was a slow beginning of the month and an insanely fast paced end of the month. Kind of what I was expecting. Ella was a total party pooper when it came to gifts, and refused to open or acknowledge a single one. The highlight of her Christmas extravangaza was a ball pit that we begrudgingly gleefully accepted from my parents. The thing is a blessing and a curse for us. Pros being that we don't see Ella for thirty or forty minutes at a time, she's adorable with her static hair, and it's really not too space intrusive. Cons being that there are pink and purple balls EVERYWHERE, and she uses the actual ball pit as her own personal hoarders nest. I have to clean it out everyday, or who knows what kind of cesspool of disgusting we would find ourselves in. I find Nilla wafers, juice cups, carrots, all sorts of things that I celebrate and reward her for "eating" in it at the end of every day. It's gross, but also a handy "Go To" spot whenever we can't find a remote or something equally detrimental to find in a Toddler's hands.

I feel like this blog is super vague and lacking in details. It probably isn't, as I tend to overshare details when it comes to these things, but if it is, it's not intentional. Truth be told, my heart is so content and so at peace right now that I wish I could extend this joy from now until I take my last breath. I am married to a man that loves me through the ugliest days of my life (one can only tolerate so many days of pajamas and messy buns full of hair that isn't the cleanest it's ever been.) I haven't dyed my hair since June, my roots are a disgrace. Makeup is a chore for me, therefore rarely gets put on my face. But that man makes me feel like a queen. I know he probably misses his wife that cared. I know he would probably prefer a wife that didn't sigh "Ugh. I have to wash my hair today. It's been like 3 days" once a week. In retrospect, my hair is way healthy and shiny because it hasn't been charred and burnt to death by various heated irons in all shapes and sizes. He makes me feel wanted, loved, cherished, and pursued, and I can't wait to get my motivation for general hair hygiene and beauty products back. I have a beautiful 18 month old baby that is so full of life, giggles, and joy that I very rarely find myself exhausted by her existence. She has a temper like I've never seen, and I'm sure my genes contributed to it, but I can usually laugh through it. Are there bad days? Definitely. But most days, I can't get enough of her, and I have a feeling that's never going to change. She has a Daddy that is absolutely mad about her, and chooses to love her, and spend time with her... which only makes my heart swell to three times its normal size, because I know how blessed we are to have him. My husband comes home to us every single night, we eat dinner at our table together, we don't play on our phones or watch the television while we eat. We're there, present, and engaged with each other throughout the meal. We're renovating this precious little house we've fallen in love with it, and in spite of an occasional "I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE SHAPE OF THE CABINET DOOR!" from me, and a "I cannot begin this kitchen if you keep changing your mind." from him, it's a house we're building together. And raising our babies in. I cook dinner for my family and get extremely upset if it doesn't taste the way I planned. It gives me pride and honor as a wife to do those things for my family. I am a terrible housekeeper. If you showed up unexpectedly on my doorstep, I would weep because of the state of my house. I wouldn't let you past the dining room. There are toys, infant clothes, and overall stacks of "Needs to go upstairs" all over this living room. There are dishes in my sink and my stovetop burners would make Julia child weep. I have a real problem with letting the water boil over the pan and misjudging pasta amounts for dishes. It is what it is. This is a life that I never imagined living, but always hoped to find. Does that make sense? I feel like it doesn't. I am in love with this sweet little life, and to imagine that we're bringing another baby that we made into it NEXT MONTH... I can't go there right now. Too many hormones. It's a brand new year, but I hope that our routine stays mostly the same. I have no complaints or need for change.

The next blog post will be my last before I introduce our son, and THAT is insane to think about... but at the same time, I still have another blog post before I can introduce our son. Meh. Here's a bump picture from somewhere over the past 4 weeks!

Weeks 22-26

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.