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