Archive | April, 2012

It’s the Final Countdown

27 Apr

27 weeks. Beginning of the third trimester.

I don’t know if you know a lot about pregnancy, but it’s usually done in trimesters. “Tri” means “three”. And I just started my third trimester.

For those of you like me who aren’t math majors, let me inform you that that means I’m in my last trimester.

As in… this is the trimester in which I will give birth to this child.

Cue freakout.

This is also the trimester in which my husband and I will move to a new home. The house we’ll bring said child home to from the hospital. The home in which he will eat, sleep, cry, poop, and smile.

Phew. Lots going on.

So, how’s my body doing?

Everything looks great. Everything sounds great. Weight is good, blood pressure is good, my glucose test came back normal. At today’s checkup, Dan asked what we should be doing.

“Nothing,” our doctor said. “Just grow a baby.”

Well. All right, then.

Our next appointment is three (not four, three!) weeks away, and then the following appointment will be two weeks after that, and so on.

Eeep! We are seriously getting close here!

So, how’s my spirit doing?

Naturally, the sudden upheaval of my living situation has thrown my nesting out of control, and given me a minor panic attack. But our community surrounded us with love and support so quickly that I couldn’t feel scared or upset for very long. We are so blessed.

In the next couple weeks, we’ll start childbirth classes and then get showered! I got the invitation to my shower and, if the invitation is any indication, it’s going to be INCREDIBLE. I’m so excited! My bible study is also throwing us a shower that week. Seriously. Blessed.

That said, any of my mom friends want to volunteer to walk through my registries with me? I kind of think I’m missing some things that may or may not be crucial. (Do bassinets have mattresses? And what’s the difference between breast pumps? I DON’T KNOW THESE THINGS.)

— Lindsay

Absolute Craziness, and another way you can help

20 Apr

So, the past few weeks have been a bit crazy…

Lindsay and I were so crazy busy with ministry stuff for the week before and after Easter that we didn’t eat dinner at home for 12 days straight.

Part of that busyness was that our VW Jetta was deemed unfit to drive by our mechanic. Cost to just get it back on the road: $1000. So we went car shopping, which is NOT the most fun you’ll ever have in a weekend.

We eventually found a good deal on a 2008 Camry, which is probably the nicest thing Lindsay and I have ever owned/had the privilege of making payments on. We’re hoping that this thing will be what Dax drives when he’s 15. That gives me hope that we made a good decision.

Oh, and then, this past Wednesday night our home was broken into. They took our TV, my Xbox, and Lindsay’s two laptops.

Thankfully, Lindsay and I were not home at the time, and a lot of meaningful and valuable things were left behind. But it’s definitely a scary sight to come home to, and it’s very stressful to have to deal with.

As far as Dax goes, one of our biggest questions now is this: Do we move to a “safer” neighborhood for him?

I feel the need to care for and protect my family, and that need is growing just like the size of our family is growing. I’ve never really cared that any one area of town is “a good place to raise kids” until now. Can we ever feel safe in our current home again?

I don’t have a resolution on this whole moving thing, yet. We still have a little over two months left on our current lease, but do we want to wait it out and move when Lindsay is eight-months pregnant? Do we just need an alarm system and renter’s insurance, and we’ll be fine? Is it worth replacing our stuff if maybe it’ll just get stolen again?

It’s really scary to think that the only thing separating my family from danger is an easily breakable piece of glass…

I’m sure Lindsay and I will post more on the answers to these questions in the coming months…


P.S. A lot of people have been asking how they can help us deal with the crazy stress of being burglarized. One way to help, but definitely not the only way, is to help us get our stuff back. Lindsay is a writer, and she can’t really blog or do work for her PR job without a computer, so that needs to be replaced, for sure. We created a ChipIn account for anyone who would like to help us save up to replace our things. You can visit our ChipIn page here: Thanks, everyone.

25 Weeks and I Need Your Help

16 Apr

Time for a belly picture update! Ready to have your mind blown?

Yep. I’m getting pretty big now! Sorry for the less-than-enthusiastic look on my face. I felt really awkward posing this time for some reason. Whatevs. It happens.

Side note, I’m actually in a wedding this Saturday (so excited!) and I’ve been brainstorming ways on how to “not look pregnant” in my dress. But let’s be serious. That’s ridiculous. (FYI, when you’re pregnant you can’t just “suck in” and look skinny, evidently. What the? Who knew?)

Anyway. I need your help on something.

I’m really glad I’m taking these belly pictures periodically. I’d do them every week but the truth is, some weeks the change is so minimal that it isn’t worth the effort. Sorry. (I’m sure I’ll regret that at some point in life but for now, I don’t.) However, it’s making me ponder the possibility of having actual professional maternity photos taken. What do you think? Should I get them?

I’ve been weighing out the pros and cons. Here they are:

– They’re, like, professional and stuff.
–  I’m sure that, at some level, I’ll find them beautiful and meaningful and stuff.
– Uh. Everyone else does it and stuff?

– I know that the intention behind professional maternity photos is for them to turn out like this, but a lot of the time they turn out like thisand I’m not sure that’s a gamble I’m willing to take.
The only professional photographer I trust with my likeness now lives four hours away and, at the time I will need the photos taken, she’ll be up to her face in kisses from her own newborn boy.
–  Will people see those pictures, especially if Dan’s in them, and be totally creeped out by the obvious “we had sex” factor? Not going to lie, sometimes I feel that way when I see other people’s pictures. NO OFFENSE, YOU GUYS. I’M JUST BEING HONEST.
– We just had to buy a car out of nowhere so now we have a car payment and, you know, no extra money at all. So we’d have to find someone to do it for free basically and I know how absurd that idea is.

Alright. So there you go. Should I try to make it work somehow? Right now, the cons list is much longer than the pros list, therefore I’m leaning heavily toward hecks no. (The last con really seals the deal, to be honest.) However, if someone is super convincing, maybe I’ll change my mind.

Diary of a Mad Mom-to-Be: “You don’t even look pregnant!”

10 Apr

Upon finding out I was pregnant, a very dear friend of mine sent me the book Diary of a Mad Mom-To-Be by Laura Wolf. I put off reading it for a while because I was so immersed in “real” pregnancy literature, a la What to Expect When You’re Expecting but, after a while, I got to a place where I was comfortable enough to attempt some lighthearted close-to-home chick lit.

The book, written as a diary, completely parallels my life! It centers around a woman named Amy Thomas who works as a busy PR/marketing writer (cough cough ME MUCH?) in New York City (I wish…)  and gets pregnant. The “diary” accounts everything from her struggle to find a lucrative writing job to figuring out how to conceive to stressing over turning her tiny, 600 square foot apartment (uhhh, yep) into a fit place to raise a child.

And, of course, she writes about what it means for your body to become pregnant.

I came across a section that addresses an issue I’ve been meaning to blog about but couldn’t seem to find the right words. So I’ll let Amy explain it in lieu of my writer’s block. (Chalk that up to pregnancy brain or, as Amy calls, it, “CRC — Can’t Remember Crap.”)

January 15th — 10:30 P.M.

It occurs to me that it’s been a while, a LONG while, since anyone told me how great I look. In fact, people stopped saying I looked great the minute I started to look pregnant.

So what are we really saying when we tell pregnant women that they look great?

I’m sure many people actually mean it. That the woman looks happy, or healthy, or pretty. But I’m beginning to realize that a lot of times it means that the woman doesn’t actually look pregnant. As if being heavy, and tired, and all the other things that happen to our appearance when we’re pregnant aren’t good. That it’s wonderful to have a child but not so wonderful to look the part. Stay slim and perky. Let’s marvel at how you still fit into your prepregnancy clothes.

I fully admit that I, too, was guilty of such thoughts. After all, how proud was I to look less pregnant, “better,” than that other four-month-pregnant woman at Balanced Breathing. And how often did I boast that I could still wear my jeans?

Only it isn’t natural to look the same if you’re walking around with another creature inside of you. It’d be like asking someone with a sprained ankle not to limp. Or, more to the point, asking someone who’s won the lottery not to shout for joy because it wrinkles their forehead.

Yes, most of the comments I got about looking great were inevitably followed by comments like, “You barely look pregnant.” Or “You’re so small.” Or the unabashedly straightforward, “You haven’t gained an ounce!”

Without a doubt, my weight gain has made things more difficult. And certainly I complain about it all the time. But it’s wrong to wholly begrudge it. Because unless it’s excessive or threatens my health, it’s natural. In fact, being pregnant is one of the most natural experiences the female body can have. So isn’t it our loss to deny it?


“Have a day.”

5 Apr

When I left church this morning, Eric said, “Have a day.”

Not have a good day. Not have wonderful day. Just. A day.

Have one.

I had one of those on Monday. Not a great day. Not a wonderful day. Not a happy day. Just a day. And I chose to blog about it. While my post did prompt some folks to thank me for being honest, mostly I just made a whole lot of people seemingly upset and/or concerned for me.

And I really didn’t mean to do that. I promise. I just meant to communicate what sorts of craziness pregnancy hormones (along with a past eating disorder diagnosis) can create and the tricks they can play on your mind (i.e., making you think that gaining weight while pregnant is a bad thing.)

The truth of the matter is, being pregnant is really awesome. It’s fantastic! I love most things about it! I even love getting fatter. Seriously, I do. Sure, none of my clothes fit and my belly button is almost nonexistent. But dude. I don’t have any stretch marks yet! And I can still somehow (HOW IS THIS EVEN POSSIBLE) sleep on my stomach! Pregnant life is good,  y’all. Swearsies!

So. Let’s just pretend that post didn’t happen, okay? Cool!

Now that that’s over with, let’s talk about the fact that as of today, I’m six months pregnant! That’s right! SIX! Time is flying faster than I can catch it. I’ve been pregnant for half a year now, and that means that I’m only three months away from meeting my sweet little man!

The newest development on the baby front? Our child has taken to reenacting scenes from Alien. The other night, while Dan and I were laying in bed, we saw Dax kick my belly. Yes! We saw him! My belly was doing all kinds of weird bumps and flops, right in front of our eyes, while our son (I assume) tried to violently escape. It was the craziest, most miraculous thing ever.

He’s kicking the heck out of me as we speak. I love my little alien kid!

Feelings I’m Not Allowed to Feel

2 Apr

I can’t count the number of times I’ve gotten the question, “How are you feeling?” And I answer the same way all the time:

I feel awesome!

And for the most part, that’s true. Physically, this has probably been the easiest pregnancy in recorded history. I’d put money on it. I’ve had no symptoms whatsoever. Just an ever-expanding midsection and superhero-like taste buds. (Most everything tastes like magic. The few things that don’t taste great anymore aren’t good for me anyway, which is a plus.)

But emotionally, I don’t feel awesome. In fact, some days (not most, but some) I feel pretty crappy. I feel sad. I feel kind of like a failure. I feel scared. I feel like I’m going to be a bad mother. And most of all, I feel really really really really really really really fat. 

But this post isn’t about feeling crappy. (Although, yes, today is one of those days where I feel particularly fat/fail-y/sad.) This post is about how I feel like I can’t be honest about how I feel. Because as soon as I answer the question honestly as opposed to uttering the same old awesome, this is what happens:

You shouldn’t feel that way! You’re not fat, you’re pregnant!
You shouldn’t feel like a failure! It’s just hormones!

You shouldn’t feel X! Because Y!

Well, you know what? I do feel those things, whether I “should” or not.

Today? It’s fat. Majorly fat. I stepped on the scale this morning because, apparently, I hate myself. I’m three pounds up from Thursday (WHAT) totaling 18 pounds total gained so far this pregnancy. I know I normally set the bar pretty high (low? unhealthy? whatever) for myself when it comes to weight but JEEZ, three pounds in just as many days is even bad by pregnancy standards.

Here are the facts:

  • I’ve never been pregnant before so I have no idea how my body works during pregnancy.
  • I’m 23 weeks and up 18 pounds.
  • When I first got pregnant, my doctor said that I should gain 20 total. That’s it. 20 pounds. I thought that was pretty reasonable, but because I’m a prego NOOB I honestly didn’t know what to expect. She could have said 10 and I would have believed her. 40 even. Or 80. But she said 20. So 20 is that number in my head that is invading my brain like a steadily growing tumor.
  • 20. 20. 20.
  • It’s impossible for me to make it another 16 weeks only gaining two more pounds (since Dax himself only weighs about a pound and, even if the last two go straight to him, three pounds is hardly a healthy birth weight). So this means I will most definitely surpass my doctor-given “max” and now I have to figure out how to mentally cope with that and the implications that brings (mostly that I’m already failing as a mother by not following my doctor’s orders strictly enough).
  • At my doctor’s appointment on Thursday, she told me I was doing great and everything looked good. This is so hard for me to reconcile, given the number on the scale. I’M CLEARLY FAILING AT THIS, HERE, BECAUSE 20 POUNDS IS SPEEDING TOWARD ME LIKE AN ONCOMING TRAIN. Why aren’t we talking about this?!
  • Unless there’s nothing to talk about. Which I’m sure is the case. Because Dax is healthy and kicking and rolling around, and his heartbeat is at a steady 150ish bpm, and his mom (that’s me, btw) is the only one freaking out here. My doctor’s not. My husband’s not. Sweet Dax is doing everything he should be. And so is my body. (UGHHHH BUT THERE ARE SO MANY POUNDS…)
  • Stop it, self. Everything is fine.

Okay. So now that that’s all out in the open… I feel awesome, thanks for asking.

— Lindsay