Bumpdate: 20 Weeks

Heyyyy....so we haven't done a bumpdate around here in awhile. 
We had our anatomy scan today, and baby girl looks nice and healthy. We confirmed that Baby P is indeed a girl, so we also are announcing our name!

Since we had been so set on the idea that Baby P was a boy (up until 15 weeks), we didn't really have a great girl name picked out. Eliza Beth was our original girl name, but we both started feeling that baby wasn't really an Eliza (and it sounded a little old lady-ish), so after considering a few names, we settled on Sarah Claire, and we both love and adore it, and it fits our little fireball quite well. She's definitely a princess, and has brought much bright and joy to our lives. :) Some other names we considered and ruled out (for this pregnancy, at least) were Mary Catherine (too Catholic for my Baptist husband- my fault for mentioning that it was after my two favorite saints...), Emily (someone dated an Emily in the past and messed up my baby girl name from childhood), Lily (I think I was the only one that liked this one), Kara, Tamera, and Kelly (those last three were ALL Travis)...and a few more that I haven't totally ruled out using for future babies. :)

And an updated bump picture would go here, but to be totally honest, I don't have an updated bump picture...so...here's a picture from 17/18 weeks (so, about 2 weeks ago). I'm pretty sure I look pretty much the same.

How far along: 20 weeks! (Yay, we are HALFWAY there!)

Size of baby: A banana. Somewhere around 10 inches. She now weighs 12 oz, and she's got ridiculously long legs that are measuring 2 weeks ahead.  

Sleep: When I'm not fighting insomnia, back pain, or trying to figure out a way to sleep on my side...I'm sleeping quite well. :)

Symptoms: Super tired. My husband would say I'm moody and I cry all the time over nothing. My back hurts so bad. If I sit or lay the wrong way, I get dizzy. And then, there's the fact that I have Little Miss Leggy kicking me everywhere. :)

Cravings: Does water count as a craving? I'm all about the ice water right now.

Gender: She's definitely a GIRL! We got a pretty clear shot at today's ultrasound- so unless she's super sneaky, we're 99.999% sure we're having a little miss. 

Maternity clothes: Yep. The only thing comfortable right now is leggings and tunics...so that it is. And pajama pants.

Miss anything?: For the first time this pregnancy...not really. Not pregnancy related, anyways. I miss Alabama something terrible.

Best moment this week: Our anatomy ultrasound today! We got to see all of the parts and systems of Baby P, and hear that she's healthy and growing! 

Looking forward to: 1 month from now reaching viability (24 weeks)- it's our next big milestone. :) 

"I'm Offended"

"I'm offended."

I'm tired of hearing that phrase come out of people's mouths. I'm tired of people being offended that they aren't always 1110% fairly treated. I'm tired of people claiming that they deserve something or that a certain debt is owed to them by society. I'm tired of this season where political correctness is all that I see, all that I hear about. Why do we have race quotas? Why do we have gender quotas? Why am I "required" by society to to accept a person's sexuality, when it is something that based on freedom of religion, I should be allowed to disagree with? 

I'm tired of the lies. I'm tired of people saying that all police are brutal, or that only "black lives matter"- in my mind, ALL lives matter, including the wee ones that have no voice that are growing in their mommies wombs. I'm tired of people claiming that women are just the same as men- we aren't, we have different parts (and if you want to argue about that, I recommend you go back to middle school biology or ask your parents). I'm tired of constantly having my beliefs degraded, discarded, and not considered. I am willing to debate. I am willing to have a constructive, respectful discussion on topics that I might not agree with a person on. I am not going to give in though, just because you call me a racist, a bigot, a woman-hater, or- my personal favorite- a conservative. 

I don't understand how I'm the intolerant one. I'm not trying to tell you that you are less than human because you believe that women should work outside the home. I'm not trying to make you feel less than a person because you are a different race, and I'm kind of race-blind, so I don't really understand what the issue is. I'm not trying to make you feel unloved because I feel that homosexuality is a sin- you are a person, you have certain unalienable rights, in the society we live in you can be "married"- but I'm not going to go out celebrating and condoning your sin. I'm not going to say it's right- just like I wouldn't tell an adulterer that what he was doing was right. 

Since you keep throwing it in my face that I'm the intolerant one- let me take a minute to tell you the ways that YOU, that society, has been intolerant of me.

Let me tell you the story of how my faith and my religious beliefs were tolerated at the religious institution of higher learning that I attended. There's so many instances, it's hard to decide which story to tell.

Oh, HC. I don't miss you. Nope, I don't miss you one itsy-bitsy bit.

• I could tell you about the once a month GYT (Get Yourself Tested) days in the dining hall. I mean, when I go to lunch, the first thing I always want to think is, "Oh yes. Got to remember to get myself tested this month. I'll do that while I eat my chicken sandwich".
• I could tell you of the time that Res Life decided to do a dorm social called "Sex on the Shore"- that's an interesting story. I couldn't leave my dorm room that night for fear of being exposed to unknown debauchery on the hall. I mean, why wouldn't I want to watch Jersey Shore, while eating pizza, and passing out boxes of condoms??!
• There was that time that ResLife wouldn't tell my roommate that her boyfriend couldn't spend the night and shower in our dorm room- and they were trying to get ME kicked out of the room for disagreeing. (They had sex in my bed and admitted it- I feel like I had a right to complain)
• Or there was the fact that Planned Parenthood visited campus for meetings- and I never once heard of the college working with various pro-life organizations based in the city, that were supported by churches in the area, and the denomination that gave us funding. 

Or, my personal favorite, that time when a professor marked me down a letter grade on a presentation/paper on Biblical Womanhood because he said I took a heretical, unChristlike, unbiblical point of view by-get this-saying that I personally believed:

• that a woman's role was to be submissive to her husband (based on mutual respect and the example of Jesus).
• that I was called to be a wife and a mother first- and that I was convicted that when the time came that I should not work outside the home.
• that I would not be able to attend a church with a female as the senior pastor. I didn't say that the Bible said it was wrong- I simply stated that it was a personal conviction and that I did not want to attend a church led by a woman. I didn't say that women could not serve as associate pastors, or that women could not be senior pastors- just that I had a personal conviction on the issue.

I didn't shame women that chose other paths. I didn't claim to have all of the answers. It was an opinion based assignment. But, because I took a conservative view at a liberal arts college- I had points deducted from my grade, which let to me receiving a lower grade in the class. I also had many other professors that enjoyed the discussions and debate, that respected my views on the issues, and allowed me to maintain my beliefs and dignity- as long as I had evidence to back it up- but there was a reason that I was known as a woman-hater in my classes, even if it was jokingly.

Let me put it this way- my faith was more respected at public universities that I attended in the state than the United Methodist private school that I received my degree at.

But yet, I'm the intolerant one. 

I'm the one that is "offensive".

Here's an open call for discussion. If you want to respectfully discuss an issue, let's chat. Let's meet up for coffee and talk about life and how we feel on different issues and just agree that we're probably going to disagree. But, if you want to just put me down and degrade me and call me names because I'm not going to bend and break and give in and agree with you- I'm not interested. You aren't really wanting change- you're like a toddler that's throwing a fit and stomping their feet- and I'm not interested in that nonsense. 

If you just want to go on a hunger strike and call it my fault that you're effectively committing suicide because you aren't getting your way, and your way exactly- I don't think I'm the one that is being intolerant- I think that you need to have a good look in the mirror for that one.

Dear NP, I'm Breaking Up With You

Dear Prenatal Nurse Practitioner that belittles my pains and complaints at every appointment,

I understand that you deal with many pregnant patients day in and day out. I'm trying to see your point of view when you dismiss my nausea (that still hasn't completely gone away at 18 weeks), or my concern with my blood work, or one of fifty other complaints that I brought up at the appointment that you told me was "normal". In your mind, in your training, in your world- it probably is. Those twinges and cramps are just my uterus growing to make room for baby. My excessive tiredness is fine, because once again- I'm growing a baby and in a few months, I'm going to be wishing for these naps. But, can I explain my point of view to you? Can I try to recreate the world in my mind that is the reason that I'm worried about these issues?

My chart should tell you that I have an anxiety disorder- what it doesn't tell you is what that means, or the fact that I've had one since the day I was born. This anxiety monster that lives in my brain makes me assume the worst in every twinge, every symptom. Yes, the rational side of my mind will try and reassure the other side by asking "Self, isn't this a completely normal part of pregnancy?". But, most of the time, I'm too tired to fight, too tired to listen. So, that twinge becomes cramping which leads to a miscarriage which leads to a dead baby. That headache becomes a brain aneurysm. The migraine combined with back pain becomes preeclampsia.

What my chart doesn't tell you is that I know the pain of miscarriage all too well, even though I've never personally had one. You may see that this is my first pregnancy- that much is true. But, I've seen many women that I love suffer through the pain of losing a child. I've loved a child that was carried within someone else's womb, only to have to hear that the child was gone. I've loved children that were born prematurely, that had to spend months and months in the NICU, fighting various complications. Miscarriage and prematurity are a part of a "normal" pregnancy in my mind- thus, I fear them greatly. Even at 18 weeks, I'm still afraid to get too attached to the baby that I'm carrying inside of my, afraid that it could be taken from me at any moment.

What my chart doesn't tell you is that I'm a scared 25 year old newlywed that moved 600 miles from the only home that she's ever really known three months ago, at 7 weeks pregnant. My chart doesn't tell you how hard of a time that I'm having adjusting to life in Ohio. It doesn't tell you how my anxiety makes it hard for me to make friends. It doesn't tell you how much I'm struggling with being a military wife, being thrust into a whole new world. It doesn't tell you about the adjustment issues that I'm having from moving away from the town that I knew as home. It doesn't tell you how hard of a time that I'm having that I can't just go over to my mom and dad's house and ask my mom, "Is this normal?" and hear her tell me honestly a yes or no. It doesn't tell you how hard it is to have to share these pregnancy milestones and first kicks through Facetime, rather than in person. It doesn't tell you about all of the times that I've laid in bed with my husband crying over the fact that I "just wish things could go back to how they were before we moved". I'm new to the military lifestyle- I don't think I really understood what being a military wife was until we PCSed in August.

What can you do? 

You can offer me grace and compassion. I'm begging you to stop just telling me that everything is normal, and show me actual tests and lab work that prove that it's normal. I need to see concrete evidence that everything is normal. The first two doctors that I saw in the ER this pregnancy and the OB in L&D got this- I'm a nervous, anxious first time mom, you can't win me over with false promises- I need evidence, I need proof. I get it- this takes time. But, don't tell me that there's not a way to make this work- I've seen multiple doctors that pressed forward and offered me compassion in these situation and found ways to make it work. The ER doctor that pulled out the ultrasound and showed me that my baby was okay, and explained that his wife was the same way with their first child. The L&D doctor that went through the process of measuring my cervix, even though all signs pointed to everything being "fine"- just to give me some proof that it was indeed "fine". I get that you've had two children- that's great. But, please don't play the role of Super Preggo with me- it's fine if you didn't have issues, or if you pressed through and persevered through them with no worries- that doesn't mean I don't.

(Oh- and you can quit telling me horror stories of babies born to moms that took Zofran. I told you, I've done my research, weighed the risks, and I feel that it is perfectly appropriate- given that the alternative is puking up my guts all the time. Just because you were Super Preggo and you didn't need medication and you were able to go all natural, doesn't mean that I have to or want to.)

That's why I'm breaking up with you, NP. That's why I'm valuing myself and my complaints and standing up to say that enough is enough and asking for a different provider at my next appointment. I was afraid to ask, for fear that you might "get mad at me" or something crazy like that (blame the anxiety disorder). But, when I think about it, I realize that it wouldn't be my problem- that would be on you. I'm standing up with confidence and proclaiming that I'm worth quality prenatal care and I have a right to ask for someone that respects me. I'm realizing that I'm worth it.

Saying "Yes" To the Dress- A Year Later

Apparently, I'm all about the flashback posts right now. Since I didn't blog much about dating/engagement stuff on my old blog, and I didn't start this blog until after we were married, so much of my story is left to be told.

A year ago, my Mom and I went wedding dress shopping. It was a traumatic, horrible, terrible experience. We knew we on a tight schedule to get a dress ordered, tailored, and ready by a March wedding date, so we set off for David's Bridal. I had gotten both of my high school prom dresses there and was comfortable with how things worked, plus we were confident we could find something in the price range- and being from a small town, you only have so many options. We walked in and were greeted by enthusiastic, helpful employees and grabbed some dresses off the rack to get started. That's where things went downhill.

You see, while I'd been "recovering" from an eating disorder for years, it had only been a small period of time since my last relapse, which consisted of mostly bulimic behaviors. Thus, I wasn't really underweight, so when the behaviors stopped, the water weight/bloating/weight gain came on rather quickly (even to a "nondisordered" onlooker- I gained 30 pounds in 4 weeks, which is enough to freak just about anyone out). In the midst of the weight gain and swelling, here I was, trying to find a dress that could make me feel beautiful. I was in the middle of an experience that I had dreamed of for my whole life- I mean, what little girl doesn't dream of trying on wedding dresses and becoming a bridal princess? That day was nothing like I dreamed of though. It was just me and my mom- I didn't have many friends, and none that I was close enough to to invite to such an intimate event. I was attempting to find dresses, having no idea what size I wore, what size I'd be on the wedding day, if the swelling would go down, if I'd keep gaining weight- I was freaking out.

By the time I tried 3 or 4 dresses on, I was a mess. A terrible, horrible, crying mess that just wanted to lay on the floor. I didn't want to do this anymore. I didn't care about the stupid dress anymore. I told my mom that enough was enough and we'd have to come back another day. Every dress had something that accentuated some body part that I was uncomfortable with. They all seemed to squeeze the fat under my armpits. I felt like I was oozing out of my dress. Then, the wonderful angel of a lady that was working with us said, "Let me try to find just one more". We described the issues I was having, and armed with that information, she went looking for the dress...and boy, did she find it.

For the first time in ages, I felt beautiful. It was a little snug, so we ordered it a size up.
And I rang the little bell and said yes to the dress. :)

Now, that isn't really the end of the story.
Nope, of course not.

You see how those buttons are unbuttoned? That caused a problem.

In January, when the dress arrived...we had a bit of a problem.
The dress I tried on in November was a size 6.
We ordered a size 8.

Come January, the size 8 didn't fit once it was fully buttoned- yet I was the same size on the scale and in all of my other clothes- thus we blamed the buttons. DB was wonderful, and we tried some more sizes on, ended up reordering the dress- this time in a 14. For someone that is obsessed with numbers and sizes and body image, this was a terrible thing. I cried. I sobbed. I screamed at T that I wanted to relapse. That I wanted to get all of this water weight (that still wasn't gone) off of my body.

In February, I was hospitalized to try and figure out what the heck was going on with my digestive system. Why I was still retaining all of this water.

After many test, we still had no answers. I was more bloated than ever. I remember taking a picture of my stomach one night...I looked nine months pregnant, and that wasn't just the eating disorder voice talking- anyone I shared it was agreed. I was in pain, in agony- physically and emotionally.

A week later, I had my dress fitting for the tailoring.

It was terrible. I cried. My dress "fit", but I was so uncomfortable. Everything seemed so big. We couldn't take the part around my stomach in to make it as fitted as planned, since that would just accentuate the bloat that much more. I felt miserable, but I pressed on. The tailoring was finished. The final fitting, everything fit, and I "kind of" low-key liked it.

March 14, 2015, I walked down the aisle in the size 14 gown, and my groom told me I looked beautiful.

He didn't care if the bloat showed a little.

He didn't care about the number on the tag.

All he cared about was spending the rest of his life with me.

All he cared about was me being okay.

He thought I was beautiful.

He taught me I was beautiful.

And that's when I knew that all of the tears cried over the dress,

All of the pain that the process created,

It didn't matter anymore.

My beauty wasn't defined by a number on a tag.

It wasn't determined by whether or not I had "fat arms" sticking out of my dress.

All of that went away, all of that was meaningless, when I saw the look on my groom's face as I walked down the aisle of the church.

I was a beautiful bride.