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.

The "Official" Proposal Story- 1 Year Later

On October 29, 2014- a year ago today- my greatest and bestest friend in the whole entire universe asked me "officially" to marry him.

Wait, wait, wait, you say- what exactly do you mean by "officially", and what is the grand story behind this proposal?

Here's the "short story":

In late September 2014, I began conversing with a silly goofball on eHarmony. The first thing that drew me to him was how ridiculously funny and awkward he was (Side story- he tried to find a nice Italian restaurant for our first date, but since he was totally unfamiliar with the local area, all he found on Google was an Italian place in a hotel downtown and "that would be just weird and awkward". To this day, I STILL haven't figured out what this mysterious restaurant was- and I know that area well- so I'm placing my bets that he was actually looking in Montgomery, Some Other State! He suggested CiCi's as a joke, I took it seriously and accepted, he asked me to marry him as a joke and we were "basically" engaged before even meeting). Sometime on our first or second date, we started talking about marriage, by date three or so- we were pretty set that we were going to do this thing, a week and a half into the relationship- we went ring shopping and got engagement and wedding bands (no we don't mess around), a month into the relationship we went to Texas and I met his family and we got engaged. Yes we move fast. No we don't regret it.

So how did it go down? Like this:

While we were in Houston, we went to the Galleria to go ice skating and to show me what a mall really looks like (since ours in Montgomery was super teeny small). We took a detour on the way from the parking deck and stopped at a nice little water wall, well, it was actually a pretty big water wall. We met up with his dad, who had gotten off of work- and his nieces were running around the park. He took me by the hand and walked me closer to the wall. As we walked closer, I got irritated and more irritated, because I was getting misted on and I HATE getting misted on. I thought about walking away, and then, he got down on one knee...and pulled out an empty ring box.

Yes. An EMPTY ring box.

I laughed.

He threw it to the side.

And then he pulled out another ring box.

It was empty.

Again.

I laughed.

He threw it aside.

And then he pulled out another ring box.

It was empty.

AGAIN.

I didn't laugh.

I was irritated.

I thought that he thought he was being funny and playing a joke on me.

He threw it aside. 

I considered walking away.

And then...

He pulled out a Ring Pop.

Yes.

A Ring Pop.

My husband, 'yall.

He very quickly handed the Ring Pop to me

And pulled out a 4th ring box,

The final ring box,

The one that held the ring that I'll wear on my left hand forever and ever.

He said,

"Will you?"

(I'm 99.9% sure he didn't specify the "marry me" part...so he might have been asking me something different, like to be his "Princess Leia in a slave girl costume"...but we'll never know now. I took it as a marriage proposal.)

I said,

"Yes!"

And that was that.

And that is the story of how we "officially" got engaged.

It's a...

It's a...

GIRL!!!

I completely spaced and forgot to post over here on the blog the results of our gender ultrasound/reveal! For some reason, I remembered to call family and post on Instagram and Facebook...but never posted the results over here! Haha, preggo brain= preggo problems. Thanks Adam for the comment to remind me, otherwise it might have been April and the baby being born before I posted over here! 

Yoda's a little uncertain of what he's going to do with the baby sister that he's getting for his birthday (yes, our due date falls right around Yoda's first birthday AND April Fool's Day!). We were pretty surprised and uncertain of what we might do with a girl child as well...we've been calling the baby a "he" since we found out- we were that convinced it was a boy, but God had other plans. :) I love how those kinds of things work out. After wrapping our heads around the idea that we had a baby girl growing inside, we've gotten quite excited about the idea of a girl! Little Miss is already cracking us up- the other night we discovered "Rockabye Baby" (pop songs redone in lullaby form) and she had us cracking up at how much she would dance when she liked a song (her current favorites are "Gold Digger" and "Don't Stop Believin'"- I'm not sure her daddy likes the idea of her being a gold digger all that much, and I'm questioning our parenting skills already- bring on the PraiseBaby). Right now, little one is enjoying using my bladder as a trampoline and enjoys sticking her head in my side and my back, both of which are quite painful and lead to me doing all sorts of jumping around to get her to move. :)

We have picked a name and are 99.9% sure on it (we had a name picked out before the ultrasound, but after about a week of calling our wee one that name, we decided it just didn't fit/we didn't really like it...so we've moved on to our NEW NAME that we love and adore and we can't wait to yell at our kid across the playground). Right now, we have shared it with family, but we're planning on waiting for the "official" 20 week ultrasound in November to get a second look at our baby girl and make sure she is really a she before we announce the name. That is- if this super impatient preggo can manage to wait that long/can go that long without slipping up. :) 

We're 16 weeks and 5 days today. We reach 17 weeks on Saturday. I can't believe how far we've made it with our little blessing. We are so close to being halfway there. I'm constantly in awe of how some people don't consider the little life growing inside of me to be a life. I just don't understand how my daughter who jumps and dances, responds to sound, and has precious little fingers and toes isn't considered alive, isn't considered a person. If anything, pregnancy has made me even more pro-life- which is hard to comprehend since I was already so so so prolife! :) 

Boots or Bows...soon we will know!

Due to this whole "it's-October-and-I'm-overwhelmed-and-tired-and-pregnant-and-struggling-with-antenatal-depression/anxiety-again" thing, I'm putting 31 Days of Prayer on the back burner. Is prayer something I'm still going to work on? Yes! But, this whole blogging every single day thing was exhausting and overwhelming last time I did it (and I didn't get all 31 days done then either), and it's stressing me out that I'm so behind, so I'm reminding myself that it's about #gracenotperfection and taking a step back. I still want to blog some about prayer, butI just need to take some time for my own sanity and remember that last time I pre-planned every blog post and this time I'm pregnant and overwhelmed, and that I don't have to do this whole #write31days thing to be the best blogger on the block, and that I don't really even need to be the best blogger on the block. I blog for myself, my family, to preserve memories, and to spread the light of Jesus to the world- not for notoriety, not for anyone else- just me and God. :)

Tonight, T and I will *hopefully* find out if Baby P is a boy or a girl! We say "hopefully", because baby does like to cross his/her legs a lot during ultrasounds, and we're only almost 15 weeks. I keep getting asked by people questions like "What do you think it is?" or "What are you hoping for?". To be honest, we think it's a baby, but we're hoping it's a velociraptor. :) Kidding.

We've had a gut feeling that it was a baby boy since the very beginning- we've had dreams, I've had symptoms, we just kept calling it a "he". We aren't "hoping" for anything more than a baby though. We would be so blessed with either a baby boy OR a baby girl- and we'll love them no matter what they are. If the baby is a girl, she'll have two girl cousins to love her and play with her when we visit. If the baby's a boy, I've got a little brother that's dying to teach him how to play football. It's a win-win situation, really.  While we're praying for God's protection over this precious child- we will love our child even if it is born with a health condition or disability. Our love for this child isn't dependent on its gender, health status, or anything else- we will love this child, simply because it is our child. We will follow the example that was given to us by our Father God- He loves us despite who we are- He loves us simply because we are His. Both T and I come from amazing, loving families that have loved and supported us throughout many endeavors over the years- we plan on following the example of the ones that went before us, and doing the same with our precious children.

But, in the spirit of fun- we decided to play a little game and designed a little poll where YOU can cast your vote on what YOU think Baby P is! Go here to vote, and we'll be announcing on social media (and a post on here!) when we find out! Here's some tips that might help you decide!

1st Trimester Bumpdate

I had really great intentions, really great plans, to blog my pregnancy. 

I mean, I was going to be all about the weekly belly pictures, in the same space, in the same shirt, at the same time each week...but that fell apart fairly quickly. To be completely honest, my 10 week and 11 week bump pictures are from the day before the week switches (Friday)...and well, week 12 is actually from 11 weeks 6 days, but I realized that I never took one for week 12, so it's going to have to work.

I also had great intentions of doing weekly "bumpdates" on the blog with updates on how I'm sleeping/eating/feeling...but to be honest, this pregnancy has been terrible and unenjoyable on the health side, so that didn't really happen. For weeks, I've counted down to the magical "Week 13"- the week when the morning sickness is supposed to subside, when I'm supposed to be happy and energetic, when *I thought* the 2nd Trimester began (it doesn't by the way- that's the END of week 13). To be totally honest, I'm still sick all the time, I sleep like 20 out of 24 hours a day, I'm really only able to keep down potato products, and I still feel terrible 100% of the time. On a frequent basis, I comment to T that if this is how pregnancy goes, this will be our last biological child, and we will be adopting the rest. I am just not made out for this 27/7 sickness. Sorry to be whiney- I know that being pregnant is a blessing, a blessing that I prayed for months about. It is hard sometimes to be thankful in the middle of it all, though. I keep telling myself that it will be worth it, that I'm creating another life, that I should be thankful...but it is rough sometimes. I did think it would be fun to do a bumpdate with the questions that I answered at 6 weeks, but this is really more of a 12 week update. I didn't feel like taking a belly picture or thinking about how I feel today, but today DOES mark 13 weeks! 

Sleep: Sleeping....all the time! As my body is beginning to grow and stretch, sleep is getting more and more uncomfortable. My daily schedule normally involves waking up around 9 for breakfast, napping until 1, eating something for lunch, napping until 4, spending a few minutes with T when he gets home from school, napping until 6, dinner, napping until 9, night snack/time with T, bed by 11. I live the life of a baby or an old person...I'm honestly not even sure who I am anymore. When I have appointments, the schedule changes, but at that point, I'm just even more exhausted because I've missed out on napping.

Nausea Meds: Each time I wake up for a meal/snack, I normally take a Benadryl and a Zofran, and that sometimes helps the nausea. I'm also on Diclegis, which I take at night, but I don't feel like it does anything at all. I've kind of had to come up with my own treatment method- the perinatal center
is fairly confused by my nausea. All signs point towards some type of hypermesis, but since I am able to keep some things down, and I haven't lost the magical amount of weight, and they don't really know how to handle the whole HG thing, I feel pretty alone. Several online forums suggested Benadryl, and that seems to be what handles the nausea best- it's not my doctor's advice, but the NP and midwife *feel* like I should only be on Diclegis (it's a pain in the face to get a Zofran script, I have to get the "deformed baby" talk each time) and I *shouldn't* be nauseous...so Dr. Google it is. I guess that's what I get with free healthcare. Thanks Tricare.

Symptoms: Nausea. Tiredness. Everything hurts because it's being stretched.

Cravings: Waffle Fries from Chickfila are a big one. Potatoes in just about any form- baked, french fries, chips....I can't get enough of salty potatoes.

Gender: It's still to early to find out, but T and I both think it's a boy. I'm starting to have thoughts that it might be a girl though. We are planning on an elective ultrasound at 14-15 weeks to find out the gender- I can't wait!

Maternity clothes: There are a few pairs of pre-preggo pants I can wear unbuttoned with a belly band. I'm about to outgrow my yoga pants, and I didn't even know that was possible. Shirts have to be stretchy or oversized or worn with a belly band, otherwise it's maternity. Dresses...let's not even go there. It's depressing. Only maternity ones fit anymore. It's actually quite humorous. 

Miss anything?: Everything. Sleep. Being able to eat without throwing up. Being able to poop like a normal person. Being able to bend down without a) throwing up or b)getting stuck down there. Being able to go grocery shopping without having to stop to catch my breath, stop because I'm dizzy, or stop to sit down. Being able to go grocery shopping. Having energy.

Best moment this week: Hearing baby's heartbeat at the 12 week checkup at the clinic! 

Looking forward to: Not being sick anymore.

Great. This seems really depressing.
I promise I'm not depressed. Actually, mood wise, I've been the best I've been in awhile thanks to an awesome med change (those are needed every once in awhile!). It's mostly just being sick of being sick. Sick of feeling ignored by my doctors. Sick of being told that I "shouldn't" feel this sick...meh. Hopefully week 13 brings some relief.

The Gift of Struggle

It all started when I was reading through my news app on my phone the other day and I came across this article where Rob Lowe reflected on "the gift of alcoholism" (now is probably the time to fess up and tell you that I have NO IDEA who this Rob Lowe guy is, so if he turns out to be some porn star when you Google him, don't blame me. I warned you!). At first, I was a little setback by him calling alcoholism a gift. I mean, it's a mental illness. It's an addiction. A gift? Doesn't he know how many lives are destroyed by overconsumption of alcohol? But, then I got to the part of the article where they quoted a part of a speech he gave- and suddenly...I understood.

"Being in recovery has given me everything of value that I have in my life," Lowe told the crowd. "Integrity, honesty, fearlessness, faith, a relationship with God, and most of all gratitude. It's given me a beautiful family and an amazing career. I'm under no illusions where I would be without the gift of alcoholism and the chance to recover from it."

It's the same idea that I've been taking about all this time- the idea that sometimes the best things in life come from lessons learned in the darkest night of the soul.

After I read the article, things just kept popping up in my daily life that seemed to reiterate this idea. Multiple articles on gratitude and being grateful seemed to show up on my Facebook newsfeed- people thanking God for "blessings in disguise".  It was then that I realized that I was receiving what many wise Christians in the faith have called a "God wink". There was clearly something that God was trying to teach me through all of this- and I decided that I needed to use the time that I had to think about what lesson he might be trying to teach me in this given moment.

To be completely honest (since I place a high value on being honest on this blog), I've been struggling with antenatal depression throughout (more often than not) this pregnancy. It's something that I just don't hear people talk about- so it brought a fair amount of shame to me. I mean, I've heard of postpartum depression. I knew that based on my history, it was something that I needed to look out for after the baby comes. But antenatal depression? I'd never even heard of that! After all- pregnancy- this is supposed to be an exciting time! I am excited, very excited- after all, this was a very planned and very wanted pregnancy. But since the beginning, I've suffered from extreme, debilitating morning sickness. Some days it is better, some days it is worse. On the days where it is better and I am able to get out of bed for a majority of the day and get stuff done around the house- things are good. I am happy. I am content. But, on the days when the nausea and vomiting is relentless and I've tried every medication that the doctors have prescribed- I can get very very down on myself. When this happens for days on end...it can be quite difficult. Last weekend, we spent Saturday night in the ER getting rehydrated, since I hadn't been able to keep fluids down in 24 hours. Hypermesis has been thrown around, but I don't fall anywhere near the severity for that, so it has kind of been a waiting game, trying to figure out how to make things better. Sometimes, it gets very difficult to celebrate this pregnancy, especially when I remember that I still have 29 weeks left!

I am blessed though, that I have an incredible support system. I have a husband that is willing to drop anything and everything to make sure that I am safe. I have a husband that is willing to call the psychiatrist office for me, make the appointment for me, and bring me to that appointment. When the anxiety and the depression build up, I have a spouse that will step in and meet my needs. T is so supportive about everything- and I'm grateful that I married a man like that. Thanks to the hard work, we were able to meet with a psychiatrist on base this last Monday for a medication adjustment, and other than being very very drowsy all of the time- it seems to be making a difference. The dark thoughts aren't quite as dark anymore, and I'm grateful for that.

Last Friday, I was browsing on Facebook and I came across a blog post that the organization To Write Love on Her Arms posted for Suicide Prevention Week. I'd encourage you all to click over and read the post in it's entirety, but for now, I'm just going to summarize what really stood out to me. The post is about endurance, and what "endure" means. When I think of endurance, I normally think of an athlete or someone running a marathon. I think of them having the strength to make it to the end- on their own, by their own power, without help. But, I'm beginning to realize that maybe it isn't about doing it on our own. The author of the post discusses three definitions of the word "endure":

1. "To suffer patiently"- I tend to get caught up on the word "patience". I am terrible about being patient- I am like a five year old, that desperately wants to grab the marshmallow on the shelf, rather than wait five minutes and get two. At first, I was like- well, there we go. I guess I can never endure anything. But then, I saw the definition of "patience"- it means "bearing pain, being tolerant, and persevering". Well, I am bearing the pain, I'm tolerating it, I'm not acting out or using behaviors. I guess you could even say that I am "persevering". If the act of suffering, the act of putting up with the pain, is a form of being patient- maybe I am a patient person.
2. "To remain in existence"- I am still here. After all of the illness and sickness over the years- I haven't given up. I am still here. Even through this difficult pregnancy- I have made it to eleven and a half weeks- that is a huge accomplishment. I may not be pain free- but I am still existing. 
3. "To undergo a hardship without giving in"- There have been many times over the last eleven weeks that I have felt like resorting back to old behaviors would make things easier to handle. There have been many, many temptations- many, many opportunity to act out without getting caught. But, I haven't. I have stayed on track. I am trying to eat a balanced diet. I am caring for myself. I am not harming myself. I am not giving in to the urges.

When I look at these definitions, I realize that even though I might not be running marathons- I do have endurance. I also realize that endurance is not about surviving until the end under your own power or strength. In order for me to "suffer patiently", "remain in existence", and "undergo hardship without giving in"- I need other people. I need to reach out and ask for help if I need it. Asking for help doesn't put an asterisk next to my name when I finish the race. We need each other. We need community. We need to be able to be open and honest about our struggles, because then we are allowing others to come beside us, be a part of our story, and give and receive gifts. Gifts don't have to be tangible objects. Sometimes they might be a pat on the back, or a warm hug. Sometimes a gift is a kind word of encouragement. Sometimes a gift is someone sitting in silence while you pour your heart out and cry out every tear in your body. Back in the beginning of the post, Rob Lowe said that die to alcoholism, he received the gifts of "integrity, honesty, fearlessness, faith, a relationship with God, and most of all gratitude". In my journey, I have received many gifts as well, but I think that the one that I'm just now open to receiving is gratitude. 

• I am grateful for the Hell that I've been through, because now I can enjoy life that much more. 
• I am grateful that I have discovered my imperfections, because now I can celebrate in being imperfect- and I can allow God and others to step in my life and help me- because I don't have to do this by my own power anymore. 
• I'm grateful for this pregnancy. I'm grateful for the opportunity to carry this child in my womb, for however long God sees fit. I'm grateful that I've gotten to see our precious baby on an ultrasound machine, and I've heard his or her heart pumping away like crazy. I'm grateful that I can receive quality prenatal care from a team of wise doctors, nurses, and midwives. I'm grateful for the invention of medication that can help curb the nausea and stop the vomiting. I'm grateful that my husband hasn't given up or gotten too annoyed by my whining yet. I'm grateful that in two days, I will be twelve weeks pregnant- and I'll only have 28 more weeks to go. :)

Maybe struggle is a gift after all. It helps us realize that we are not alone, that we are not an island. It helps us accept the fact that we are pretty much powerless, and we need others- we need a mighty God in heaven to save us. We need a God that won't just stay up on a big throne up in the sky, but rather one that will come down to Earth and save us from ourselves. We need a God that will run the marathon of life beside us, one that will carry us to the finish line when we are too exhausted to make it any further. Is there darkness in the world? Most definitely. Will I still struggle with antenatal depression after writing this post? Probably. But, what will help us make it through the hard times, what will help me endure this pregnancy is the idea that even in the darkness, there is light. There is a glimmering, sparkling, shimmer that is peeking its way through the cloud. It is a hand that is reaching down from above, saying "Come, my dear child. Come and drink of the living water. I want you to choose life over death. I want to walk beside you all of the days of your life, and when you get tired, too exhausted to walk another step, I will hold you in my arms and carry you the rest of the way- all because I love you this much."

Out of the Darkness and Into the Light

I used to joke that I was born in a church. Literally- born in a church. I've gone to church since I was a wee little baby child- many times it seemed like we lived there- even though where "there" was changed a few times over the years. Until recently, my "salvation story" went something like this: I was practically born in a church, I grew up loving Jesus, and when I was eight years old I walked down the aisle of a church at Vacation Bible School and said a prayer and asked Jesus into my heart. I was baptized when I was twelve, and I never really strayed from church. I'm just a super awesome Christian. I mean, I went to college and majored in religion and worked at churches..what else would you expect?

But, I've come to realize that I didn't meet Jesus in the back of a pretty little sanctuary off of backroads in rural Alabama. I didn't meet Jesus at Vacation Bible School. I didn't meet Jesus at Children's Choir. I didn't meet Jesus by doing Bible drills or playing Bible Jeopardy. I didn't meet Jesus on a mission trip or a ski trip. I didn't meet Jesus in a worship service, or during a great sermon, or at a college Bible conference. I didn't meet Jesus in the classroom- even though I did take a class or two on Him.

I didn't meet Jesus in a bible study or in Sunday School or at my youth group or even at bible college- even if these were the places that I learned about Christianity. 

Sure- I considered myself a Christian. I knew all of the right answers. I'd read the bible from cover to cover, written term paper after term paper, interned at various different churches. I could share a message in front of children, teenagers, and adults. I could write curriculum. I could "lead someone to Christ" and teach them how to pray that simple prayer. But, I didn't know Jesus. I didn't know the extent of His love. I didn't understand the messages of love and mercy and grace.

It wasn't until I began to recognize my own depravity, helplessness, and hit rock bottom that I could see just

how good,
how great,
how strong,
and how mighty

Jesus was and is.

Jesus met me in the mess, I met him in the struggle.
It wasn't until I started genuinely struggling with my faith, wrestling with all things holy, questioning the beliefs that I had grown up blindly believing because "that's what I was taught and why would I need to think for myself?"- that I really began to know Jesus.

It wasn't until I started questioning his love, that I began to understand his love. 

He came to me in the drugstore aisle as I debated which brand of laxatives would be the most effective. He met me in the grocery store as I walked away from a full buggy, once again, because I felt too guilty buying food. He sat by me as I sat on the bathroom floor, vomiting in a toilet, watching all of my hopes and dreams get flushed away, down into the sewer. He was with me as I lay in bed, begging him to just make it stop- to just make it stop- to just make it all stop. He sat with me as I sat on the tiny white bed with the scratchy pink blanket at the psychiatric hospital. He was there with the blood and the razors and the pills and the treatment facilities. He was there as I tried over and over again to hide the pain, to numb the pain, to stop the pain once and for all. He was there as I cried out in hopelessness, "my God, my God, why have you forsaken me?".

He was beside me through the darkest night of my soul- and he never ever gave up on me- even when I started giving up on him. 

He met me in the darkness,
he rescued me from the pit,
and he brought me up and out and into the light.

I learned about God in church, sure. But, I learned to love him when I hit rock bottom and Jesus didn't just leave me there, but rather he came down into the muddy, dirty, pit of depravity and wretchedness; and he embraced me, wiped the mud from my eyes that had blinded me all of these years, and he grabbed my hand, and led me out to start a new life.

I walked out of the darkness and into the light, from fear of shame into the hope of life. Mercy called my name and made a way to fly-out of the darkness and into the light. 

-Ellie Holcomb, Marvelous Light 

mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be strippers

Growing up, my parents had always stressed the importance of modesty to me. I remember being in middle/early high school and my father telling me that I could wear shirts that showed my belly if I wanted to, but that he would be accompanying me with a belly shirt, as well. :) That was enough incentive to not challenge the rules too much. I was blessed to have a group of friends that also dressed modestly and covered their bodies, so it was an easy enough thing to follow through with. I also attended a church that placed a high emphasis on the idea that my body was a temple that should be saved for my husband. In general, I dressed in a way that showed respect to myself and others. This carried over into my actions. I was far from perfect, but I knew that if I wanted to respect myself, others, and my God...my actions needed to shine a light towards God and not towards sinful man. There was no booty dancing done by me at my prom. There was no making out in the hallways at school (technically, there was no dating or hand holding or kissing either...but that's just because I was different...I'm not here to try and say that this is the way things SHOULD be, it's just how I did it). There were times that I crossed boundaries, that I disobeyed, that I wore things that were borderline inappropriate. In most of these situations though, I always had someone in my life that was there to call me out on what I was doing and help me get back on the right path.

As I started interning at churches, I began to realize that there was "a whole 'nother world" out there. I had been able to shelter myself from much that was going on, but I began to realize that there were so many groups of girls that did not have the same support systems in terms of modesty and how young ladies ought to act. I realize that times are changing. Please know that I'm not hear to tell you that you shouldn't be dressing in pants or shorts or dresses above your knee. I'm not hear to preach about the dangers of wearing a bikini. I feel that these are personal decisions that should be discussed between a parent and child, and eventually is up to the young woman (as she becomes an adult) to decide what the convictions that God has placed on her heart, and her heart specifically, to follow. I think that we can agree, though, that our precious little ones, that especially our elementary and middle school girls do not need to be encouraged to live life or dress in a way that is "sexy". 

I just don't get it. I don't understand when it became "cute" to encourage a toddler to shake her booty, do the "whip and the nae nae" (WHATEVER those are...I'm not completely sure), all while wearing a bikini that shows up body parts that have not yet developed/should not be shown to others. Can we not see that we are over-sexualizing these young girls, putting thoughts in their young minds that have no place in their minds. We videotape them pretending to dance like they are "all up in the club", posting it on social media, saying "oh this is so cute, I'm saving this to blackmail them with later", not thinking of the fact that we are not just encouraging this behavior further...but we are also flaunting our young girls' bodies in front of an audience of men that DO NOT WANT to be tempted by them...but due to biology, can have a difficult time if they are predisposed to these temptations. 

Mamas, let us love our girls enough to tell them no. Please, let us love them enough to say no to that shirt that it cut too low, for a chest that has nothing to show. Let us love them enough to have hard conversations with them, to explain to them why we don't share our kisses with just anyone, why we don't dance "like that" (and by that, I mean strippers...use your own brain and knowledge of your child to decide how to have THAT conversation). No, you cannot shelter your child from the world. You have to make the hard choice and find out how to have these hard conversations in age-appropriate ways. Trust me- they are going to find out. Wouldn't you rather be the one to tell them the true meaning of these things, the lies of the world....rather than a friend that might be leading them into a life of depravity? Rather than a boy that takes advantage of them, because "he thought she wanted it"? Mamas, love your child enough to not let her unknowingly grow up to be a stripper. Teach her to respect herself, respect her body. Teach her to respect the boys and men around. Teach her to guard her own heart, and to do all she can in her power to guard the hearts of those around her. Teach her the difference between right and wrong. Tell her the facts, so that one day, when she is old enough to make her own decisions, she can make wise, informed ones...so that one day she will have the knowledge to be able to raise her girls to be young ladies that make decisions that bring glory to the Father above. We may not be able to change the world, we might not be able to change the culture on our own, but we can change our families, we can love our girls enough to tell them no.

Bumpdate: 6 Weeks

So, we've now settled in at a "comfortable"...6 weeks and 3 days. That's not to say that the last 2 weeks haven't been filled with much anxiety. Being that this is my first pregnancy, I have no idea what is normal. I find myself asking my Mom and Dr. Google way too many questions (Note to self: Mom is a better resource. Dr. Google will convince me I have cancer and I'm dying and my baby is a dinosaur). Since the very very early days, I've had lots of nausea, fatigue, and abdominal pains/stretching. To be completely honest, it's been completely terrible. Why did nobody tell me how horrible the first trimester is? I've told T multiple times through this pregnancy already that we are never ever having another baby and we are going to just have to stop at one and adopt the rest because I can't deal with this morning night all day sickness. I mean, I've heard morning sickness was bad...but I didn't imagine it would be this bad. I didn't imagine that I'd spend my days in bed, subsisting on a diet of saltine crackers and gatorade. The first week after I found out, the anxieties that I'd been struggling with for months and months seemed to disappear....well, I'm a super emotional wreck now and all I can seem to do is worry about the baby. I'm trying to remember that God has a plan for whatever happens, and that he and my loved ones will be with me every step of the way...but this whole pregnancy thing is a giant leap of faith. I didn't get what pregnancy and being "with child" really meant during the whole trying to conceive process. Honestly, I don't think I really realized just how much this baby was going to change our lives.

I'd been waiting to do a "bumpdate" until we saw Baby P on the ultrasound. Even though I believe deep down in my heart that Baby P IS a baby...it can still be difficult to allow myself to love the life inside of me, when all is not certain that everything will be okay. After a midafternoon ER visit because we thought the pregnancy might be ectopic and an early dating ultrasound at the OB- we now know that there is a baby, he/she measures right on track, and baby has firmly implanted itself into my uterus. So, I'm going to go ahead and cautiously begin these updates. I don't want to look back in regret that I didn't record these early days with the baby.

How far along: 6 weeks

Size of baby: A lentil? (which is quite scary since last time I ate lentils, I had an anaphylactic reaction and ended up in the ER...so saying that Baby P is the size of a sweet pea sounds so much...sweeter!)

Sleep: Very very little. While I am nauseated most of the day, I spend the night getting up to pee and throw up--maybe it should be called Night Sickness. Add in the fact that our puppy is still being trained and likes to bark in the night and that the movers have come to get our stuff so we are sleeping on air mattresses- and you have one VERY tired preggo.

Symptoms: Nausea. Tired- ALL THE TIME...I could sleep all day (if I had a real bed, that is). Crying for no good reason. Crying for any good reason. Aches and pains everywhere....and I just hear that it's just going to get worse and that makes me cry some more.

Cravings: Salty things, especially chips! Sweet things hold no appeal at all to me (which is strange for this sweet tooth!)- except those frosted sprinkle cookies that they sell in the bakery at WalMart- those are an exception. I eat way too many a day. Other than that- no sweets, not even cupcakes. The thought of cupcakes slightly nauseates me....and that just seems wrong for this sparkly cupcake princess.

Gender: Too early to find out! But, T and I both have this strong feeling that Baby P is a boy. 

Maternity clothes: Some- mostly because they are so much more comfortable with all of this bloating (I know that it's not the baby yet, and it's just bloating). The bloating never really went away after recovery before I got pregnant, so it can be very uncomfortable. At least now I don't feel like I have to hide my belly and the bloat...I'm pregnant and proud! :) I already didn't have any jeans that fit- so adding a belly band and maternity jeans to the mix seemed like a good idea.

Miss anything?: My heating pads! I'm so used to using them to fight the nausea that I've fought for months- I'm sad to lose them. Oh, and Advil, Benadryl, Sudafed, and Ativan. This walking pharmacy might lose it over the next nine months.

Best moment this week: Seeing Baby P on the ultrasound! I mean, Baby P wasn't really visible (it was at 5 weeks 5 days), but this early, you wouldn't expect him to be. :)

Looking forward to: Our follow up OB appointment this Thursday (right before we move) to see how Baby P is growing and if we can *fingers crossed* see a heartbeat! 

Why I Believe in Early Pregnancy Announcements

I've been peeing on sticks like a crazy lady, and I finally got the two pink lines last weekend. I know what you are thinking- why are you sharing this pregnancy this early? Why would you announce a pregnancy that isn't past the first trimester, the first twelve weeks, I mean- at least wait until the ultrasound. I know the risks of announcing our bundle of joy this early- there is the chance that something could happen and I'd have to share my grief with the world. But, let's get real here- that's what I do. I believe in sharing my story, sharing it wholeheartedly, and being vulnerable. That's how I do life- so wouldn't that be how I do pregnancy?

We are early- possibly very very early. According to my estimates, I should be around 4-8 weeks. When I went to my PCM on Monday, they only did the simple pee test, so I have no clue how my hormones are going or exactly how far along I am. But- between the positive tests, nausea, constant peeing, fatigue, this weird stretching stuff- I feel confident that we are indeed brewing a baby- even if it is early. Morning sickness (or all day sickness, as we refer to it around here) has been in full force, and looking back, it's been around for at least two weeks.

At first, we held back. We told our parents and our siblings. We swore them to secrecy because "it was early" and anything could happen. But then, I began to feel deeply convicted that I needed to share about this baby, our baby- because it is exactly that- a baby. I mean, I claim to be "ProLife" and feel that the things that Planned Parenthood and abortion clinics are terrible, heinous acts because- "it" isn't just a blob of tissue- "it" is a baby. Yet, I hesitate to announce my own pregnancy to the world, because its "not quite enough of a baby yet". I decided in that moment that I was not going to spend my pregnancy in fear. For, God did not give me a spirit of fear, but a spirit of power, love, and a sound mind (2 Timothy 1:7), and I do not want to make decisions out of fear. I am going to celebrate each moment, each hour, each day, each month, each year that I can with this precious child. Even if God only blesses me with him for a small time, I am going to rejoice in that small amount of time that I get to spend carrying this child. I believe that for all of eternity- I am going to be a mama to this baby. I will always carry this child in my heart- why can I not share him with the world?

1. I believe that life begins at the nanosecond of conception. As the cells multiply, my baby is growing and forming- but it has been a baby all along. A baby is a life, even when it is the size of a poppyseed or a pea. I will honor this life that God has blessed me with by celebrating it each and every step of the way. I believe that God already has given this baby a purpose in its very small life- part of that has been to bring me and T great joy! I want it to be said that from the very beginning, my child's life was worth celebrating.
2. Why should we wait to announce the pregnancy? If I truly believe that this baby is a baby, then why am I buying into the lie that the world tells me that it isn't a life until 12 weeks or 20 weeks?
3. We are so excited and want to share our joy with others. I feel like I have been waiting so so long to be able to be a mama- since I was a wee little girl. We also want to share with others so that they can join us in beginning to pray for this precious life, and the life of our little family. Pray for the baby grow and grow and grow! Pray for the morning sickness. Pray for our family as we prepare to move to a new base that is nine hours away in a few weeks. Pray for T as he deals with my hormones and my complaining. :)

While we are choosing to announce early, I do believe that it is a personal decision. There is no judgement on my part if you choose to wait until the end of the first trimester. Whether you announce at 4 weeks, 12 weeks, 20 weeks, or some other time- it is all about what YOU choose and how God leads you. As for us, I'm a terrible secret keeper combined with my adamant ProLife feelings, so we chose to announce early. I also knew that I wanted a village surrounding me in prayer, so that we could keep the anxieties down and I could be supported through this transition. We are so excited about the coming months ahead- no matter what God brings our way. Yes, the threat of miscarriage scares me sometimes, but I can rest in the fact that no matter what- I've got a God, a husband, and a village that will love and support me every step of the way.

And if not, he is still GOOD

But even if he doesn't, we want to make it clear to you, Your Majesty, that we will never serve your gods or worship the gold statue you have set up. 

-Daniel 3:18

This verse has been echoing through my mind the last few days. 
There's just so many things that I seem to be waiting for, and sometimes it feels like they are never going to come. It can be really really hard sometimes not to lose it. It can be really really hard sometimes to not give in and blame God. It can be really really hard sometimes to not turn to false idols, to not let my dreams and ideas and plans become these idols. I mean, sure- I'm not worshipping Buddha or Baal- but these things- these good things- can still become idols in my life if I keep building them up and letting them get in between me and God. 

I'm about to get a wee bit personal here- and vulnerable- and I'm a little scared to write what I'm about to write and publish it on the internet. I SO so so don't want to hear lectures about how we aren't ready, or now is not the time, or about how I just need to be patient and give it some time. I know, I know...if I'm overwhelmed with our new puppy- I definitely shouldn't be wanting to add a baby to the mix. So please- I'm asking you- don't offer advice. I just want to sit down with a cup of tea and chat with you guys for a minute and let some thoughts out. Okay? Awesome. With the knowledge that we were going to be making a nine hour move five months after our wedding- T and I started discussing the idea of having a baby. I mean, it started innocent enough. We weren't going to be super-psycho-serious about it- we were just going to let things happen if they happened, if you know what I mean. Well a month later, a day late, and a negative test later- I was devastated. Sure- I "knew" that making babies wasn't that easy. I knew it could take some time. But suddenly- I really really wanted to be pregnant. I really really wanted a baby. Its become a bit of an obsession over the last four months. From ovulation testing, to other things that I'm not going to discuss on a public blog that my father reads (Hi Dad!), to obsessive peeing on a stick- I began to feel very very negative about myself. I mean, surely- if God had put this desire to be a mommy in my heart all of those years ago- wouldn't he make it easy? Why are we not getting pregnant? Why can't a stupid line show up on a test? Why do I feel the need to let the results of a test define my worth and value? I feel like everybody that I know is announcing a pregnancy. No lie- I had three announcements on my Facebook timeline last Saturday. I began to beat myself up internally. I began to believe awful, terrible lies about myself and about God. My innocent longing to be a mommy turned into an anger against God. What horrible thing had I done to deserve this? Does this mean that I'm going to be infertile? What if we can never have a baby? What if it's just me and T and our new puppy forever and ever? I began to fall into the shame spiral. I began to let the darkness engulf me. And--I might have wasted another pregnancy test that I knew was going to be negative because it was way, way, way too early for anything.

No, I don't have a cute little announcement at the end of this post about how the last four months have been insanely terrible but that some magical glitter sparkle baby dust flew into me and decided to form a baby. It hasn't yet. Like months 1, 2, and 3...I'm still waiting. But, when I came across this verse at the beginning of the post, it really made me began to think about how I'm made my ability (or lack thereof) to bear a child into an idol. Even if we don't get a positive this month- HE is still GOOD. Even if we don't get a positive this year- HE is still GOOD. Even if we never ever ever get a positive pregnancy test or are able to carry a child- HE IS STILL GOOD. I don't have to turn to false gods, I don't have to curse the name of God, I don't have to say that he is an evil evil god because he won't give me a child to carry in my womb. I can know that all things work together for good for those who love God and are called according to HIS purpose. I can know that God DOES have a plan for my life, and T's life, and our life together- and if it is his will, he can make any kind of miraculous act occur. Patience. Patience. Waiting. Waiting. This really really stinks. But, in the middle of the mess, I know that even if my plans don't come to fruition, even if it takes a long time, or never happens- he is still good and I will worship Him.

PCSing with an Anxiety Disorder: PreMoving Tips

Part of being married to the military means that every two or three years, our lives will drastically change and we will take part in what is called a PCS, or Permanent Change of Station. I go back and forth on a daily (maybe even hourly) basis on how I feel about this issue. T and I will be PCSing this August to Ohio- a place nine hours away, that until a week ago I had never been. As the date of our departure inched closer and closer, my anxiety went up and up and up. I mean, I already have a diagnosed anxiety disorder. I already have attachment and separation anxiety issues. I already have gone through a massive life change this year (getting married). AND NOW THIS? It's enough to cause a girl to lapse or relapse in recovery, it's enough to cause various different health issues due to stress/anxiety, and it's enough for me to want to just spend my days in bed, in bed, with the lights off, pretending that none of this is really happening. But, in recent weeks, T and I have made some conscious choices to try and make this move a little easier- hey, PCSing with a dependent is something that he's never done either. I thought that today might be a good day to share some of the steps that we've been taking to make this transition go more smoothly.

1. Operation Find A Home: T took permissive TDY so that we could spend 10 days in Ohio searching for a place to live, exploring the city, and getting oriented with our new base. Honestly, I don't know how people do a PCS and wait until they get into town to find a home. That's a super important thing to me, as my home is my "safe place", the place I can retreat to when I feel overwhelmed. The idea of living in an extended stay hotel or on-base lodging for weeks didn't appeal to me or my anxiety. Luckily, I can report that after only a few apartment tours, we found a place to live. Yes, we wanted a house, but we couldn't find one in the area we were looking in for a price comparable to our BAH (basic allowance for housing)- everything was too expensive, if we were looking for something comparable to where we live now. For 18 months while we are at AFIT, I think we can handle the tiny spaces of a two bedroom apartment. We can make it work. Finding a home took a major stressor off of my shoulders.
2. Therapy Plans and Continuation of Care: I'm special. Since I see a therapist and a psychiatrist for mental health issues (i.e. anxiety), I am enrolled in the Exceptional Family Member Program (EFMP for short). Basically, this is just to ensure that the Air Force does not send us somewhere where I cannot receive adequate care. This has been a bit of a learning curve though- most resources out there for the EFMP program are for children with special needs or adults with severe special needs. There isn't much out there for "the girl that's just trying to get a therapy session before January". It doesn't help that we are changing Tricare regions, so I can't get ANY referrals until we actually move up to Ohio and I get reenrolled in the program up North. I've spent hours on the phone with various people (both at our losing and gaining bases) trying to get this figured out. As it is, I normally see a therapist every 1-2 weeks. The idea of going months without therapy is scary. I called both EFMP programs, both Tricares...and nobody had any answers for me except to wait it out. Well, I don't like taking no for an answer, so I kept calling various different places. I finally decided to call up the on-base mental health clinic and ask them what to do...and they figured out a way that since I'm technically in their system due to EFMP (they approved the move), they could bend some things around and I now have an appointment about a week after we move to see a psychologist. Hopefully, from there we can figure out a treatment plan so that I can ensure that I have a provider that will meet my needs and so that maybe I don't have to wait until January to see a psychiatrist to get meds either. Lesson of the day: Keep calling, don't take no for an answer, and if you ask super nicely- sometimes people can make things magically work. :)
3. Lists, Lists, and More Lists: I'm a to-do list person. On my desk, beside my computer, I currently have three pages, front and back of lists and phone numbers, and to-dos. I feel so much less stressed about everything that I have to get done when I have a place that says exactly what I have to get done. The goal isn't to get everything done on these lists today- just sometime before midAugust. :) Progress, not perfection. I do have a couple "dailies" that I'm trying to find a place to fit in my schedule each day- read a chapter of a book, yoga, and journal. This is for my personal sanity and stress relief, not necessarily to get anything done for the move.
4. Cook What You Have: We are currently playing a game called "what can we cook with what is in the fridge, freezer, and pantry?". It means we've had some adventurous meals (I made meatloaf the other night!), but it also means that we will use what we have up, save on grocery bills, and since the moving company won't move our food- it means we won't have to throw it away! Some of the things on our list for the next week or so include: burrito bowls, chicken with whole wheat pasta, chicken stirfry, Hamburger Helper, chicken and rice casserole, and english muffin pizzas! I'm also trying to use up our muffin mix stash that I have by baking muffins for us to grab for breakfast. Our main thing to use up is the meat that we have stored in the freezer- chicken is easy enough for me to cook with, but ground beef is hard for me to come up with ideas for. I mean...tacos...and tacos....and...I don't know. Leave ideas of yummy ground beef recipes in the comments below! :)
5. Capsule Closet: I've been reading online about this concept called a capsule closet for eons. While I was drawn to the idea, I always thought that I had too many different clothes, too many different styles to make it work. But, since changing sizes (yay recovery!), I've cleaned out and simplified my closet and dresser quite a bit. Since we are PCSing soon, I decided to go ahead and pack up most of my clothes (fall/winter and dressier items--all things that I will wear again and that do fit) and try this whole capsule closet thing out for the next month before we move, and for the time after we move until we get unpacked. Who knows...maybe I'll love it and stick with it. For now, it means less clothes and less laundry, so I'm all for that. Look for a post on this project in the coming days..I just have to find a time to write it. :) This whole capsule closet gives me so much less to be anxious about- getting started packing, simplifying, having clothes that fit and that I truly love, and less laundry! I hate laundry. T hates laundry. Thus, we have fifty-bazillion stacks around the house of clean and dirty clothes. 

So, that's what I'm doing to prep my brain for our upcoming move. Honestly, I think most of these tips could be useful for any move, or even just everyday life (hello, capsule closet). Now, it's time to get started on dinner- burrito bowls/tacos tonight. I think I'm going to have to run to the store and grab some Mexican cheese...I feel like my husband wouldn't think tacos were tacos without taco cheese.