pre-partum update

I'm at that same stage of pregnancy where last time, quite abruptly, I was on my own for the rest of it... as much as I could be with family, friends, and church bodies immediately surrounding me and helping me to stand up through it all.

I'm trying to get out of my own head, for I've never given my subconscious too much rein. I'm praying that my expectations for the next six weeks would be reasonable. I'm asking that God would bless me with a therapeutic remainder of pregnancy, labor, and delivery. I'm asking that it not be a revisitation of past emotional trauma. I know it's too much to ask that it not include physical trauma - see how reasonable my expectations are?!

I'm scared and tired of every. little. thing. being hard. I just want a "normal" pregnancy with "normal" pregnancy fears and hopes and dreams, and I'm annoyed for everyone's sake that this family doesn't get that. Rob's navigating a wife who is doing her best to express what's going on in her heart even when it's hard and she'd much rather just wrestle quietly with God alone, to spare him. I'm navigating a husband who is keenly attuned to my spirit and has already warned co-workers that he might be distracted for my sake in the next weeks.

I'm starting every paragraph in this post with "I'm." I'm so self-involved!

I'm enjoying the movement of our little one, and it's fun to press back on them and murmur love to them, hugging my round belly affectionately. I'm in fear of sneezing unprepared, because then I have to change my pants. I'm chewing ice like there's no tomorrow, and though I'm a bit concerned for the potential for cavities, I can't stop. Rob wants to write a thesis on "pregnancy addiction" based solely on how I treat our ice trays. Blake likes hugging and kissing my stomach, and his response to feeling the baby move is just magical. When I told him the baby would recognize his and Rob's voices, as well as mine, he was dumbfounded. I think we'll need to find a gift for him to give the baby upon arrival, maybe a special blanket, which he can absolutely relate to, having two he sleeps with every night.

I'm not ready with a nursery because it just seems like too much work. The crib needs to be assembled and wiped down with hot, soapy water after seeing plenty of use in the last seven years. The hand-me-down changing table needs the same soapy treatment, but beyond that, I have no inspiration or plans. Baby will be in our room for the first good while anyway, and without knowing the flavor, I have no opinion on colors or decor just yet. I kind of want to paint, so we'll see how that goes, postpartum.

I'm off to make the boys puffy pancake for dinner, because that sounds yummy to all of us. If you're so inclined, I covet your prayers for these next weeks and months, for the same things I mentioned above. This post isn't about garnering pity/sympathy/admiration/concern/praise. It's just updating you on where I find myself right now. I haven't managed to post photos or funny stories because all of the above has me pressed down too much to carve out time here. I still have photos and funny stories, and maybe sharing my burden, my "heavy head," if you will, will enable me to shake some of those loose for you.

Because they are good. So so good. I regularly marvel at the goodness and blessing in my life. Usually while eating ice cream. So so good.

he's recovered, but we still have a phone date

We got to host Dan and Erin from Calgary this past weekend! It was delightful - they arrived Friday early evening and left Monday afternoon, so the visit felt substantial and good, not rushed. Though I was originally concerned when I learned they were vegan (and have been for years - where the hell was my head?!), not only were they really gracious about it, it was easy to accommodate. We even went out for pizza the first night.

I wasn't TRYING to be snarky by ordering the "Carnivoro," it's just what looked good to my baby-belly-eyes.

Blake was in heaven. He and Erin (whom we call "Ernie," a throwback to what I always heard big Blake refer to her as, from when HE was small and had a hard time pronouncing "Erin") have a special bond. They just love to soak each other up. He made her breakfast one morning, and I don't think she had the heart to tell him that Eggos didn't fit her eating plan (See what I mean? Gracious!). We hit the park, visited the Schuylers, ate REALLY well, shopped, bottled and made beer, enjoyed the sun on the back porch, and pretty much just had an all around good time. Rob and Dan hit it off especially, and Rob's been sending Dan photos of the dark beer they concocted together. They might plan a summer trip back down to both meet the baby and taste this dark brew that has to age for a few months.

I came to Blake's room this morning to find him sobbing on the floor, still in his jammies. "I just miss Aunt Ernie so much," he said between deep gulps, as I pulled him onto what little lap I have left and stroked his back, trying vainly to comfort him about when we'd be able to visit them again. The only effective distraction from his heartache was when the baby began gently kicking his back and head.

Being an only (lonely) child is for the birds.

someone else can drive next year!

For the last three years, Rob and I have attended Montana Beer Fest, first as our "bachelor/bachelorette" party before we got married, then as a celebration of our anniversary. This year, we knew I'd obviously be unable to partake, but we were still determined to go. I bought a maternity tank and some iron-on studs and made myself a "DD" shirt so that I could have a flashy answer to anyone who raised an eyebrow at my presence.

Though the tank top turned out just as I'd imagined, I didn't realize that each "D" would be precisely positioned over each one of my girls. It was a little too, uh, attention-getting. I put a cardigan over top and prepared to display it discreetly as needed, but figured my water bottle (not beer-tasting cup) and belly would speak the volumes necessary. Despite my plans to keep it klassy and have a photo for you, my tens of readers, I think you'll understand when I aim for modesty THIS ONE TIME.

Turns out that a pregnant lady gets either ignored or a LOT of focused attention at a beer festival. Most people didn't look twice, but the ones that did seemed to really take note. In fact, Rob was chatting up a work acquaintance when this same acquaintance's friend saw my belly peeking from my coat (it was a chilly night) and gasped, exclaimed "YOU'RE PREGNANT, OH MY GOSH!" and put his hand on my stomach in delight. He then looked at my bemused face, realized with horror that he didn't know me, and, eyes wide, snatched his hand away as if burned, apologizing profusely.

The guy was probably mid-twenties, and the whole interaction was so disarmingly sweet and unexpected that I mentally took back my declaration of a few weeks before:
Thought for the day (a warning to strangers that will never see it, but still worthwhile): Rubbing my belly for good luck only works if you think "good luck" is being punched in the face by a pregnant woman. I have very clear boundaries, and if we were on a first name basis, you'd know that already.

Granted, he wasn't aiming for luck and quickly introduced himself; the whole thing has made me laugh numerous times since then. It helped that he worked for the brewery who had the favorite beer for the night (I usually had a sip of whatever Rob was trying, but beer has largely lost its appeal in pregnancy, which is really really helpful!): a bourbon-barrel-aged oatmeal stout from Lone Peak Brewery in Big Sky. YUM.

And happy anniversary to RobRob, my heartthrob, who really didn't know what he was getting into but who has handled that with remarkable aplomb. It's been three full years, and when I asked what stuck out most to him, his charmingly sentimental answer was "My absolute favorite times are those when I make you laugh, really laugh. That's the best." I was thinking anything from miraculous sale of house or condo, trip to Hawaii, getting debt-free, building a home/family together... you know, the stuff to write home about. But after having experienced making HIM really laugh in surprise earlier that evening, I had to agree: That's the best.

all this after ice cream post-lunch!

Blake played my parents like fiddles today. Grammie got him a Coke for dinner, which I reluctantly agreed to, then Papaw walked in to inform us he'd already had a strawberry Fanta and a chocolate bar when they were hanging out in the shop. Blake grinned, then Grammie wondered aloud if he'd even needed the cookie she gave him to tide him over until dinner.

We split the Coke and he does not get dessert.

meant to post this yesterday...

but there's still time. Happy Easter, one and all - He is risen!

i laughed until i died