What a month. 

Certainly world's above the first month with Ella, mostly because I'm a second time Mom. When my newborn sneezes, I search for a piece of blanket fuzz or a hidden booger in his nostrils before I assume he has pneumonia. When he cries for no good reason, I throw him over a shoulder and go about my business. When his sister is screaming bloody murder for attention while he screams bloody murder for food, I watch "30 Rock" and tune one or both of the screams out. He gets his dinner, she forgets while she was crying, I laugh at Liz Lemon and hope that someday Tina Fey realizes that needs to cast me in her next Netflix series. Tina, when you find my blog, call me. I'll work for a hotel room with blackout curtains and a full night's sleep. It'd be fine if you threw in a dinner that I didn't cook... preferably not McDonald's, not because they don't use real beef or chicken or whatever the latest drama is... just because I feel like the food is utterly disgusting and gagworthy. I share the same sentiment about Burger King and Wendy's (with the exception a spicy chicken sandwich... sometimes the line at chick-fil-a is just too much.) Okay? Terms met? Call me. 

By the way, if you haven't watched "The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt," stop reading this blog and go binge watch it the way I did in three days. The best. The very, very best. I'll never say Pinot Noir the same way ever again. MOVING ON.

Our first month was simultaneously everything I expected and nothing I expected. My daughter was a total nightmare for the first two weeks, and I really thought I was going to contact some sort of child psychiatrist because I had clearly scarred her for life and she was permanently damaged. The kicker? The problem wasn't Adam. Homegirl has been in love and obsessed with him since the very first day. Kissing him, patting (read: hitting) him, sitting with (read: on) him, watching his every move, crying when he cried, laughing at his yawns... the whole kit-n-caboodle (aw, nostalgia.) Her problem was with me. I guess Adam was the root of our issues, but I was the blunt of her frustrations. I don't know if she felt like I abandoned her during my hospital stay, or if my Mama Bear instincts to protect his soft spot made her feel like I didn't love her the same way... I don't know. She wouldn't have a single thing to do with me for the first two weeks at home. She cried for me in the hospital, sat with me while Cody held Adam on the other side of the room, I mean, she made me feel like a Queen. But when I got home, the walls caved in on our bond, and things got complicated. Wouldn't let me hold her, play with her, ignored me when I talked to her, it was all a very big drama. At first, I tried to overcompensate for her rejection, and forced my love... which resulted in an explosive fit and running to her Daddy. After a few days, I gave up and figured she would come around when life started calming down a bit. I spent the first week cuddling Adam, napping with Adam, and all of the various newborn things that bonds a Mama to her baby. When Cody went back to work the next week, it was a hysterically awkward morning that I'll never forget. It was like a flashback to junior high, when you were paired with "that guy" that nobody wants to be paired with. Usually because they do things differently than everybody else, like eat Spaghettios or Spam out of the cans at lunch when everybody else brings a "Make Your Own Pizza" lunchable. Or the kid that says "I would vote for John Kerry because that's who my parents are voting for!" during Social Studies when the rest of the republican offspring proudly said "Bush because he's from Midland!" If you're wondering, both of those examples stemmed from the same kid, and he had the same birthday as me, and it was the worst day of my life when we had to stand at the front of class together. I know it's mean. I just really want to convey that Ella and shared these same feelings as we stared at each other that fateful Sunday morning. I text Cody and said "It's totally fine if you want to get chicken pox and come home." Fit after fit, tantrum after tantrum, doing the opposite of what I said just to spite me, throwing bowls of food into the floor... it was a whole thing. And I cried the whole day. I couldn't do it. Two under two was not meant for me. Two children in general wasn't in my wheelhouse. As soon as Cody got home for the evening, I went upstairs and fell into bed and dreaded the rest of this phase. The next day was just as bad, along with most of that week. But eventually Ella realized that I wasn't going anywhere, Cody was going to be gone during the day, and she could live with me or be miserable. I started seeing little peeks of my baby again, and these days things are mostly back to normal. She has permanently morphed into a Daddy's girl... and while at first it hurt my feelings, these days I kick my feet up and grin while I overhear "What do you want from me?!" followed by a frustrated shriek. I remember when it was me trying to figure out what she could POSSIBLY want now, and it's been a great break for me when he gets home. There are still bad days... sometimes terrible days... but for the most part, the Gaines are morphing into a sweet little family of four. We're finding out what works and what doesn't work for us, and it's usually the exact opposite of what our "peer families" are doing... but we have wonderful, non-judgmental friends that rejoice in our victories and say "Do what you gotta do." 

To say that Adam is thriving is an understatement. He wore newborn diapers for exactly one week before transition into a size one, and today I put a size two on him. Two weeks ago, he weighed 9.8 pounds, and these days I can't support him while he nurses for very long. I have to have a pillow under my arms, otherwise they tremble. Does that make me totally out of shape? Definitely. But it also makes me exhilarated because I know my baby is healthy and thriving. Ella was not a chunky baby. I look back at pictures and say "Look how fat you were!" only because she's even skinnier now, but comparing her one month picture to Adam's was like comparing a mouse and a lion. Looking back at her growth charts, I see what the 16th percentile really looks like compared to the 80th percentile Adam is in. I've always wanted a baby with tons of fat rolls, so my fingers are crossed that I've finally got one. He's so healthy. Obviously healthy. And that's been the absolute best thing that could have happened for various reasons. Namely because one of his newborn screens came back abnormal, and while every test so far has confirmed that it was a false positive, we've agreed to make a trip to Ft. Worth to nip all of this in the bud for good. A quick blood test will confirm whether or not Adam is a carrier for this particular condition, and another test (done at the same time) will confirm the condition if the gene is present. From what I understand, the whole thing could have been a false positive, Adam could be a carrier but not have the condition, or something has been off in all of the bloodwork and he has it. Vague, right? Sorry. At this point, we are SO OVER IT ALL, man, and we're so OVER IT that we're going all the way to Ft. Worth so that doctors will just buzz off about it. I would like to clarify that I was a total wreck for the first two weeks at the very thought of it all, but in the midst of it, felt peace. My husband reminded me that Adam isn't ours, and the Lord is running the show, even when we don't see the end result. My Mom reminded me that Adam is fearfully and wonderfully made, and we know that full well. Adam's pediatrician was quick to remind me that he is thriving, and sick babies don't thrive. As a mother, of course I'm anxious about the upcoming trip and what the results may entail... but as a Christ follower, I know what I believe about the Lord, and I believe He is sovereign, and that He is who He says He is. In the words of our wonderful friend Tricia, "If He promises never to leave me or forsake me, then what could come into my life, GOOD OR BAD, that has not first passed through the hand of God?" And in the words of our Pastor from his latest series, "Circumstances are such inadequate measures of God's faithfulness." So, that's really all I'm going to say about it. The condition has no name to me anymore, which is part of the reason I'm not going into excessive detail about it. If it's something we have to deal with, I'm not going to become a spokeswoman or start a blog to offer support to others dealing with it. It'll mean a diet change for our entire family, a few supplements for Adam, and grace to absorb the change for me. And life will go on, sisters, because that's just the circle of life. And it moves us all. Through despair and hope. Through faith and Love. Till we find our place on the path unwinding. In the circle of life. Also, once again, we've never walked alone before now, and the Lord hasn't abandoned ship just because we had two babies in two years and feel like we're going to lose our minds. 

Basically, this entire month has been full of doctors telling us what our baby should be doing, and our baby doing the exact opposite of those things. He's basically just been the description of a newborn, and we've been so thankful. But to repeat, we are over it. I'll be so relieved when this appointment is over next month and we don't have to deal with "false positives" or "errors in lab work" ever again. His second newborn screen came back completely normal, and while Cody and I felt like that should have been the end of it, we're willing to do whatever it takes to put it all behind us and have two healthy babies. So I'm sure there's going to be a few "I can't believe you didn't tell me!" reactions, it's just not something we felt like needed to be shared. But I plan to update the blog with the results next month, so I felt like a brief overview was necessary. And the more I type the more I feel I need to explain, and that's the opposite of what I planned to do here... so I'm just going to stop. Imagine me saluting awkwardly and running out of the room. 

Other than that, it was a month of dealing with twenty month old that cannot possibly fathom the idea of picking up her toys, a hormonal mother throwing every toy she tripped on into the trash angrily, and a tiny baby sucking every calorie she consumed away. I'm so exhausted, but in the best way. Adam has his days and nights mixed up, and they rarely sleep at the same time during the day, but these days are short. Soon I'll be able to throw them both in the backyard and say "Okay see you at lunch buh-byyyyyye!" And they'll have each other, and we'll be so thankful for the serendipitous occasion that this whole "two under two" drama has placed into our laps. We're not there yet, and I think it's totally okay that we're not there yet. I think maybe that anybody that reproduces more than once feels the same way, whether their babies are nineteen months or five years apart. There's a transition required, and it's not always a quick transition. C'iest La Vie. 

Daddy decided Adam needed a Buck for his "socktopus" pictures. Clearly my speech about not shoving redneck traditions on him was a waste of time and effort. But it's okay. It's the only boy we'll ever have, so it's crucial that he learns how to shoot a gun. Anyway! Here's his one month picture!

Adam Jace: The Arrival

We made it! There's a sweet, fat baby in my lap. The pregnancy is OVER. Forever. For-ev-errrr.

Truth be told, we knew he wasn't going to come on his own. From 32 weeks until the day the doctor pulled him out of my uterus, he was breech. And now we know that he was entirely too large to turn himself. I was so hopeful that the doctor was wrong and I would randomly go into labor on my own, but alas, his medical degree proved that he was smarter than me, and I was forced to wait until I was exactly 39 weeks pregnant before we could have a baby. It was a blessing and a curse, especially since I was having tons of contractions and tons of awful other "here comes the baby" symptoms. For three days before the baby was born, I told Cody "this is it, this is it, we're having a baby tonight." And at the exact same time every night, they stopped. It was so frustrating and so disappointing. So all that to say, the day was extremely planned, extremely uneventful, and altogether wonderful. Here we go.

The night before the baby came, I wanted a "Bye-Bye Fatty" dinner, and we went to my favorite mexican food restaurant. It was so sweet, as it was just me and my family. The entire day had been extremely emotional for me, as I knew that this time I was very intentionally laying on a table and saying "Filet me, Doc!" and I was very purposefully saying "Hello, anesthesiologist! Why don't you stick that enormous needle RIGHT HERE in my spine?!" I googled "second c-section recoveries" and worked myself into a panic. It was a bad day... so to sit at a table and watch my baby dip cheetos in her queso made my heart settle a little bit. My husband and I talked back and forth about how crazy life was about to get. Peace kind of settled in. Anxiousness remained, but I knew I wasn't going to die of some freak accident on the operating table, and though pain was unavoidable, I would be back home with them soon.

Of course, there was very little sleep the night before the surgery. We were scheduled for a noon c-section, meaning we didn't have to be at the hospital until ten the following morning. I laid and combated the usual contractions, and around 2:30, dozed off. At 5 A.M. my phone rang three times in a row... I knew it was the hospital, but still found myself annoyed and silencing it. Finally, I called back and a nurse said "Well we were just wondering when you might get here for your c-section at 7:30!" After a slight panic attack, multiple phone calls, and thirty minutes of waiting, a final phone call said "There was a communication error, we'll see you at 10!" GREAT! I trudged back up the stairs, fell into bed and fell into a coma. I even snoozed my alarm three times before I rolled out of bed at 9. I showered, put make-up on, and blow dried my hair. Yes, Make up. I look back at Ella's pictures and appreciate the journey that my face shows (31 hours of labor is brutal, then the c-section swollen face... it's all very prominent), I always wish I had least thrown on mascara. SO I put on a light layer of "welcome to the world," and off we went. I expected to cry the entire way to the hospital, but I inherited this fun trait from my Dad that allows us to kind of shut down when we're on the brink of a major event. We open up when we're ready, but don't expect anything until then. We made it to the hospital and found a parking spot after 3 trips around the lot, and made the trek to labor and delivery. I caught one final glimpse of the basketball hiding under my shirt, cradled it one last time, and then held my husband's hand a little tighter as I fought off the nerves. 

Upon entry into the "surgical prep" area, we were so blessed and fortunate to have the best nurse in America. She is the mother-in-law of one of my favorite people, and she is 110% of the reason I was wheeled into the O.R. room relaxed and not hyperventilating. I ended up calling her Barbs, never asking if she was okay with it or for her permission, but she was kind enough to let me roll with it. She prepped me for surgery, asked all sorts of personal questions for MMH's records, and laughed at our jokes. Most of which were made out of nervous energy and not funny. I could talk about her all day long. All day. But I'll stop before it gets creepy. Anyway, she made Cody wait outside the room while I got my spinal, and as soon as I was wheeled into the frigid O.R., I started feeling the nausea that always accompanies knowing you're about to be sliced in half. The anesthesiologist was probably the best thing about the O.R., as he was very chatty and very distracting. He complimented my beautiful back (it wasn't as awkward as it sounds) and then gave me the first shot, which was intended to distract from the second shot. It wasn't pleasant, but things really got ugly when he couldn't find the "sweet spot" for my spinal. He shoved a needle into my spine four times... FOUR TIMES... I finally started tearing up on shot three when I felt a hand grab mine. Good ole' Barbs to the rescue. I practically broke her thumb during the fourth needle, but then felt immediate warm and tingly feelings in my legs. Finally. The "sweet spot." They rolled me over and prepped my stomach, applied something that had to sit for 5 minutes or I would burst into flames, and then brought Cody in. The doctor started the surgery without discussing it with me, and the chatty anesthesiologist noted that during the spinal, my blood pressure jumped up to 160/100, but during surgery, hung out at 115/60, prompting a snarky remark from my Doctor that I was able to roll my eyes at in the most gracious way possible. The needle man continued to talk me through the surgery, and when the doctor said "Get ready, Kaylea," the anesthesiologist said "Lots of pressure coming." My Lanta. The pressure. There was a lot of it with Ella, but nothing compared to this. I finally shrieked something like "What is happening?!" and the doctor said "Get a camera because here comes your LARGE and hairy baby!" and maybe three seconds later, I heard a boisterous, angry cry come from sweet baby Adam. And the cries never went away. He was unhappy about being on this side of the world, and he wanted everybody to know it. I waited anxiously to hear the weight, as my guess was 7'7, and suddenly Cody started laughing and the pediatrician said "He's 8'9!" Redemption. Sweet redemption. The hip aches, the back ache, the whining, the painful heartburn. Everything. All worth it. A fat, healthy baby entered into our lives at 12:40, and it was the best possible experience that somebody with a C-Section could have asked for. 

To say that things are different with your second baby is just a huge understatement. Honestly, to say that it's anything short of wonderful still wouldn't do it justice. Everything is so much calmer, and you don't sit and watch their breaths. But the feeling that you get when you hold them in your arms for the first times is one of the only things that remains the same. Delivering at this hospital was wonderful, because I got to hold my baby for the first time 20 minutes after I had a major surgery. I was the first one besides his Daddy to hold him, and if we're being honest, they offered to let me do skin to skin WHILE I was being sewn up. "No, Let his Daddy see him first." I said through a yawn while I was still filleted on the table in front of them. Ten minutes later, they wheeled me back to my recovery room and my husband was waiting for me with my baby. The sweetest, chunkiest, funniest looking little thing in the world. He was beautiful in all of the ways that I hoped he would be, but super swollen. Plus, he was 8 1/2 pounds, so he was significantly larger than the barely 6 pound baby I had delivered nineteen months earlier. Cody put him in my arms and I let the sigh of relief I had been holding in for 39 weeks out. The same rush of emotion that I felt with Ella rushed over me, but I didn't cry. I don't really remember crying with Ella either, but I was super drugged, so who knows. All I could do was look at his face and see everything I believed to be true about the Lord reaffirmed. I looked up at my husband and grinned like a school girl, and a snippet from a song we sing at church played through my head. "Come and See, Come and see what God has done. Come and see, Come and see what love has won." I closed my eyes. In the quietest of moments that I would experience for the next two weeks, I thanked God for my husband. And that we chose each other seven years ago, the same way we choose each other now. Over and over, love has won in our relationship, and we have two of the most beautiful babies in the world to show for it. God has been so faithful to us, even when we didn't see it. In some of the slums of the first year of marriage, when you really learn that marriage is a fancy word for added finances. From the struggles of getting pregnant the first time, to the shock of learning you're eight weeks along with a second one, the Lord has been constant. I kissed the nose of a baby that looked just like his Daddy and put my head back on the pillow. Not even a minute later, he was moving his head to and fro across my chest. "Surely not..." I thought to myself as I gave him the opportunity to eat for the first time. No problems at all. Latched immediately. Ate for thirty minutes. The nurses came for him three different times and were sent away each time by the lactation consultant. It was everything I could have asked for. Me, my husband, and my baby. The first hour of his life was spent with the two that made him, and it was so wonderful for me that I wasn't the last person to see him. Ella was three hours old the first time I held her, and while equally wonderful, to hold Adam in the first thirty minutes of his life is something that I'll always cherish. 

Adam was a name that people still kind of tilt their head at. I'm not sure why, because I think it's the cutest. He's always been an Adam for me. It was the very first name I ever suggested and the name I kept coming back to. There's no fancy meaning, it means 'Man' or 'Red Dirt,' just depending on where you look... but I couldn't shake the name. I've never met an Adam that I didn't like, and I can't say that I know very many Adams these days anyway. Cody wasn't always on Team Adam, and so until he was Adam, he was also Hudson, Grayson, and Carson. We obviously liked the "son" names. Grayson was the front runner until Cody said "Gayson Graines" for the umpteenth time, and I was forced to veto it. I was all about naming him Andrew, but Cody was not. I didn't think the baby would ever have a name, and I guess I was about 6 months pregnant when I finally said "I want to revisit Adam and I want the opportunity to make my case." to which Cody calmly said "I like Adam?" like he had been for it the whole time... which is not true. So I took my opportunity and said "If I can have Adam, you can pick his middle name." So in 2 minutes, baby No Name became Adam Jace, and we never looked back. And he is the epitome of Adam. Every time I look at him, Adam is the only name that fits. 

Adam was greeted in our hospital room by his Nani and Ella, and despite our fears, Ella was hooked immediately. She kissed his forehead, said "Hi!" and has loved him ever since. I'll elaborate more on that in a later blog, but it's been wonderful and horrendous at the same time. We suffered through the typical hospital stay. Somebody coming in the room every second, rolling eyes at nurses for saying they're concerned about blood sugar levels because he was such a "large" baby... which, by the way, infuriated me. Apparently if your baby is over seven pounds these days, you had undiagnosed gestational diabetes and so they prick your baby's foot every three hours. I appreciate the concern, but after 3 good readings, Mama Bear came out to play and refused anymore of that nonsense. I was in a great deal of pain for most of day two, and unlike my first go around in recovery, this time I stayed in the bed and cuddled my baby while I kicked back the painkillers. We waited around for most of the day on Friday, because though we were both discharged at 10 A.M., the pediatrician missed a signature and was caught in an emergency that took several hours to remedy. Anxious to get home, we drove as quickly as we could in the snow and ice (it was 70 degrees on the day of his birth, mind you. I hate that groundhog) and came home to our new family of four. After about an hour of incessant screaming from Ella because we wouldn't let her kiss Adam repeatedly, she went home with my mom, and we spent the next two days adjusting to life on this side of post-partum. Again, I feel like my pain levels in this recovery were exponentially worse, but I feel great now, and I'm so proud of the scar my Doctor was able to give me. My last scar was jagged and red and hideous, and I was embarrassed by it. This scar is virtually invisible and noticeably less sensitive than my last one. A petty thing to be excited about, maybe, but also something I'm extremely grateful for.

And I think that mostly covers the "birth." He's already two weeks old, so it won't be long before it's time for an update. It's been a stressful, hectic couple of weeks, but none of it has anything to do with the sweet chunky baby sprawled across my lap. He has the sweetest demeanor, sans bath time and waiting too long to eat. He's tolerant of his sister's affection and his mother's love for a canon. He cuddles closer than any baby I've ever held, and he makes it near impossible to put him down. I'm so thankful that the Lord chose me to raise this baby. He was a shock, and he bruised just about every inch of my torso, but he is the great love of my life. Well, besides Cody... but I am absolutely crazy about this kid. I had to laugh at myself last week when I told him "No woman will ever be good enough for you!" Even though I know it's not true. Ella is the light of my life and he is the love of it. I am completely exhausted and pondering how in the world we're going to get through the next two months, but I'm not letting a single second of his existence escape me. I cuddle both of my babies, usually at the same time, and I'm reminded of the grace of God each time I look at each tiny eyelash. Every hair on their head. Every finger and every toe. Each a perfect design and a perfect reminder that God is faithful, and we've never walked alone. I have to go now, or my hormones will surely destroy us all. This picture is a great example of our life these days, so I'll just leave you with it. 

38 Weeks

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!