The Days Are Just Packed

The last time I blogged was in May.

MAY.

I am sorry, dearlings, hopefully you didn't even notice due to your own busy schedules. I know mine (ours) has been chaotic to say the least. Between pregnancy, a toddler, my job, Mark's job, raising support, weddings, parties, and just regular life - I have not had a chance to catch my breath. So here it is, big breath in, and big breath out. Proper breathing is important, you know.

Honestly, I don't even know where to begin because of how long it has been... so, let's start here:

"May you be strengthened with all power, according to His glorious might, for all endurance and patience with joy, giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in light." Colossians 1:11-12

Here's the deal. Last night I was stressing out about raising support and how long it is taking, how difficult it has been, and how it will continue. The thing I asked God for above all else was endurance and patience - and then I flipped my Bible open here. God is creepy awesome.

For a more detailed Missions update, you can check out Rory's Blog, which has done far better than this poor one. We are 30% pledged. Which means we still need 50% to be cleared to purchase tickets and another 20% after that. It is overwhelming. Especially because we are having another child which actually increases the amount we need to raise. Sigh... It's hard to feel called to something and also constantly feel like it is never going to happen.



I am reading Rory Calvin & Hobbes right now - we have the entire works - and he loves it. On the pages where there are just pictures, I let him tell me when to go on. It's fun to watch his eyes scan the page and laugh. We are also reading A Little Princess - because children should read an equal number of books with female or male heroes.

Rory is speaking now; ball, dog, meow, goat, ice, bite, yes, no, bike, pee, up, down, brm (which is car), bat (which actually means batman), boom, baby, bye, and many more. There is a part of me that fully expects him to just look up at me any day now and speak in full sentences. He is learning new words every day and it is absolutely magical to witness.

We are also introducing the concept of potty-training to him. It is pretty early, but we wanted to make sure we talked to him about the idea of it all in the Summer when he can pee outside and run around naked a lot, as well as before new baby arrives. We don't expect him to be fully potty-trained by December, but we are hoping to make some strides in that direction.

Saturday we went hiking up to Denny Creek and Rory got to hike, run, play in the water, and nap on the way back down. That little boy just loves to be outside, and after bed rest and quite a few months of exhaustion, I have to say it is so great to be finally getting back into the swing of outdoorsy things! We are hoping to do a big hike every weekend as long as the weather and new baby permit.




Speaking of new baby, I am nearly 18 weeks along - almost half way! Which is absolutely insane because I feel like December is years away. It is also crazy that I am not only showing, but have a baby bump. With Rory I was flat as a board until almost 20 weeks, although I insisted to Marko that you could see my bump if you were really looking...

Baby loves to dance, for the love of the land. The little one is constantly shifting and moving - visibly. One minute I have a huge bump and then next minute I have washboard abs, it's ridiculous. Play some loud tunes while I'm standing and you can watch my whole stomach change shape, it is the craziest things. While there is lots of movement, even movement you can see, feeling it from the outside is still not the easiest. I am excited for that, primarily because I can involved Rory and Marko in that portion of baby-amazement.

Baby is healthy with a good heart rate and in just a couple weeks we will do the big ultrasound to see the four chambers of the heart, lungs, kidneys, brain, etc.!!! I am so excited to see our little one who already exhibits so much personality. We have decided to not find out the gender, but will let you know how everything else turns out. And we are still brainstorming names so feel free to input...

Rory just woke up from his nap, came to join me on our bed, and is now sleeping again with his foot in my lap. The boy is a riot.

The Pregnancy Files | Part Two

In case you haven't heard the news...

Yep. I'm pregnant. If you're wondering why we didn't do a cute photo shoot? It's because my 21 month old refuses to sit still. Especially when outdoors. We had to work at it to even get this gem. We keep telling him that he's going to be a big brother, reassuring him that when we have a new baby there is just more love to give out, explaining there is a baby in my tummy, etc... he is uninterested. But he definitely knows he is not the only one vying for our attention anymore. Our wonderful sleeper very suddenly refused to sleep in his own bed, Daddy became an unwanted creature, all-things-Mommy-all-the-time!!! Oh Rory knows we are having a baby, he knows.

So pregnancy this time around is so very different. I was reading through my original Pregnancy Files and I touch on the fact that women are more often sicker during their first pregnancy because your body isn't quite sure what's happening to it. Second time around? Your body (like your almost 2 year old) knows. And introduces a new cast of characters. Firstly? You think you're welcoming your friend morning sickness again - but you're not. You're welcoming an entirely new creature called the same name. Because this time around, the nausea is different and this baby requires different things. Then bloating appears on the scene. You just suddenly have the same little kangaroo pouch you had right after having your first baby. Last time it took forever and two trimesters to have a bump, this time around it's 8 weeks? What the actual hell. Also introducing itself is a new brand of exhaustion.

I . Am . So . Tired . All . The . Time

I fell asleep at 7:30pm the other night and slept until 7:30am. And I was still tired. All I want to do is curl up in bed and drift into slumberland - all the time. And honestly? I do. I am all of the sudden the very best napper, rester, sleeper, or whatever else you want to call it. Something I seriously struggled with the first time around and have always had trouble with when Rory is napping. Second pregnancy, you are full of surprises.

 

 This is where Rory lives currently: in my lap, hugging one part of my body or another.

 My first prenatal appointment isn't for another several weeks, which is late, but I am hoping that because it is so late it will make me think I am not as far along as I actually am and then December will just sneak up on me! But maybe not... maybe I will just live through pregnancy knowing exactly where I am. Either way, I am so excited to be adding another little to our family. It might make things so much harder than they already are, but I am not afraid of that. Not because I'm amazing, mostly because I'm too tired to be afraid of it. Also because I believe that all of this is in the perfect timing of God. Aren't I neat? Sure. Why not. :)

To A New Mama

My sweet baby boy is now one; from breathing his first breaths, saying his first words, taking his first steps, throwing his first tantrums - it has been quite a year.

For this occasion, I wrote the Roranicus Rex, Destroyer of Worlds, a letter. But that is private. So instead, I will share with you what I would write to myself, one year ago...

Rory with his first Gelato Cone.

Darling and Blessed Woman,

This is it. You have been patient, at least, you were patient sometimes. You have have endured. You have been tried and tested; physically, emotionally, psychologically - some tests were easier than others. But this is it. That moment you have waited for. You, beautiful woman, are a Mama.

The little one you carry in your arms is your beloved child and you are his Mama. I know it doesn't feel real and you cannot believe that he is actually yours, but believe me? He is. Write down these moments, photograph them, but mostly just live in them. For as cliche as it is, your child will grow faster than you can grasp and you will never again have this second, this millisecond, with him.

Mama, you will get advice - so much advice. Some of it will be good, but most of it will be nonsense. You are the mama now, you make the decisions you feel are right. Trust your instincts. People will tell you that they "love this stage" and you will stare, open mouthed and covered in exhaustion from the night before. But be gracious, someday you too will be coveting the days before. Say "thank you" and move along. Time is the rosiest pair of glasses. Dear one, sometimes it will not be advice, but criticism. Know whose words to take to heart, and whose to let pass over you. There may be friends lost over such words, but there may be friendships strengthened through them as well. Keep heart.

Speaking of advice... Drink water. Carry that water bottle with you wherever you go, along with a string cheese. You won't realize you're hungry or thirsty until it is too late. And then you will be tired, grumpy, and still needing to feed your tiny one regardless.

Trust me when I say, it is okay to be frustrated. Sometimes you will not want to wake up at 3am. Sometimes it will be all you can do to not just put your fingers in your ears and bury your head in the covers. Sometimes, you will do those things. Say a quick prayer for patience, for calm, for love. Because it will not always be easy to just pour out love on a screaming little one, especially as he gets older. Practice doing it now. It is normal to get upset, it is normal to be frustrated, even angry! Don't blame yourself. If you need to take a moment away? Take one. That's what husbands are for, after all.

You will be overwhelmed, Mama, by the love you feel for this small inscrutable human. Tell him. Tell him everyday. Show him. Especially on the days you don't feel like it, especially on the days he yells at you, especially when he bites you, especially when he throws his head into his hand and screams because he cannot communicate.

Put down your phone, get off the internet, turn off the television. Spend time doing whatever it is he wants to do. Whether that is to tear all the books off the book shelf and hand them to you one by one so he can climb onto it, or run around outside eating the lettuce out of your garden. Encourage him to play by himself, but always be there to engage when he wants to play with you. Because there will be a day when he is no longer interested in asking you to join his fun. Show him how to help you do the things your doing, because he loves to do laundry with you and drawing is fun!

You were made for this, you were made to do this. It doesn't mean it will all come naturally, it doesn't mean it won't be so difficult it brings you to tears - it simply means that it can be done and you can do it. And yes, someone else might seem to be better at it, but they aren't you. They were not made perfectly for this child in this moment, you were. He will look like his daddy, but have your eyes. He will be strong willed and full to the brim of emotion! Just like his mama.

There is so much I could tell you, sweet new Mama, but I think I'll let you find the rest out for yourself. Pay attention, there will be so much!

With infinite love,
Malia

With Every Broken Bone, I Swear I Lived

My son is a darling.

A strong willed, vocal, stubborn, decisive, independent darling.

You're surprised, I know.

I love Rory. He is truly a blessing and he is so sweet and well-behaved for others. He is kind and likes to share, he loves to talk and laugh, and he is also bold and a risk-taker. But at 1:00am when I am up for the umpteenth time and he pulls my hair or screams at me? I begin to wonder if I am really cut out for this.

"A sweet and obedient child will enroll and father or mother only in Parenting 101. If you are blessed with a child who tests your patience to the nth degree, you will be enrolled in Parenting 505. Rather than wonder what you might have done wrong in the premortal life to be so deserving, you might consider the more challenging child a blessing and opportunity to become more God-like yourself. With which child will you patience, long-suffering, and other Christlike virtues most likely be tested, developed, and refines? Could it be possible that you need this child as much as this child needs you?"

Lynn G Robbins

I have never heard of Lynn G Robbins, but I adore her already. I needed this. I needed the reminder that when people ask "Is he always this sweet?" my response needs to be one of kindness and truth - not begrudging angst about the night before. And the truth is that Rory is a blessed gift regardless of whether he is sweet all the time. He comes with angry sobs of frustration that he isn't big enough and needy nights, fevers that leave him a sweaty mess and dirty diapers, days where all he wants is to be held and many many growing pains. But I have this opportunity to experience a different kind of growing pain, a maturing that only comes with a child who tests you. And damn, does it ache.

Rory's real gift to me is not just his sweet smile or his laugh. It isn't the waving or "mama." It isn't the ability to watch him grow or know that I created him. It is the patience that comes at 3:00am when all I really want to do is duct tape him to the wall. It is the love that comes when he's screaming at me about I have no idea what. It is the laughter even though I haven't had a shower in three days. It is the appreciation of alone time with my husband.

I don't know what my life would be without Rory - whether I would "have more fun" or stay up later or if I would already be traveling or have more money or more energy or what. But I do know, my life is one million times better because I have him. I am one million times better. And I wouldn't trade all my exhaustion or all of my joy for my life before.

Dinosaur AND Ninja

Soap Boxes and Guy Fawkes Masks

Yesterday was Orphan Sunday, also known as Hope Sunday, but I like Orphan Sunday better. Orphans deserve a Sunday, indeed they deserve much more than I was obscurely given. I look at my little one and think about what if he was orphaned some how (I realize ten or so of you just jumped in your seat and said, possibly outloud, "I'd take him!"). But this is imaginary land and in it, Rory is an orphan. The estimated number of orphans is somewhere between 150 and 210 million. That's a lot to compete with. And with each day Rory ages, the less likely it is he will be taken into someone's home. How can we have possibly allowed so many children to live without a family?

I think it's easy to pass off responsibility to someone else, to say you don't have enough money or space or time. But if you're reading my blog? You have enough money to access a computer, more than a 50 square foot mud house, and plenty of time to waste on blog reading (not that I don't appreciate you!). I'm just saying, there are three self proclaimed Christians to every orphan. By these statistics alone, assuming only Christians adopt (which is vastly untrue), there should be no more orphans due to the fact that we are called to look out for the least of these, the lost and the broken and those without. Who is more lost, broken, and without, than a little orphan?

To prove this is not just another soap box, Mark and I are beginning to diligently pray about and research adoption as we save our pennies to go across the world on mission. Yes, we have a brand new baby. No, we don't have a lot of money. Yes, we are still planning on living in the dirt in some developing country. I don't know if adoption is in our near future or a little further out, but I would urge you to consider as we are considering.

Orphan Sunday

This week was a weekend of reminders:

We are called to Africa, the heavy sun on red earth. We will raise Rory there with a love of drum centric music and bare feet. He will learn to speak more than just English and hear more than just words. It isn't normal and I don't pretend to imagine it is for everyone. But it is for us and what we are called to. And we are eager to follow that call to the heart of Africa and the heart of God.

The mission field is not just Africa, but here. For now, we find ourselves in a small corner of Suburbia in the Pacific Northwest and we are called to love each of these as much anyone else. Here people are poor internally rather than externally, starving spiritually rather than physically, and have deep needs that cannot be met by material gain. And as much as they pain and frustrate me, as much as I cannot stand their accumulation of wealth and complaining manner, as much as I find their stagnant consumerism and lack of desire to go into the rest of the world infuriating? I must love them. They know nothing but the life that they live and for many, that is enough. I do not know their call as they do not know mine and if I desire for them to allow me my dreams, I must allow them theirs. Loving each person where they are at, seeing them for their potential, and praying for them each and every day.

Adoption is in our future. Maybe not today or tomorrow or even next year, but it is an ever present weight upon our minds. A needed focus in our prayer lives. Somewhere there is a child (or children) we are parents to that we have not found yet. Perhaps we may not discover each other for some time, but they should still be in our hearts as we seek them out.

Rory has had an upset tummy several times this weekend and we experienced an inconsolable little boy for the first time. Not just cries, but screams and tears and so much sorrow wrapped up in the package of our sweet son. It was difficult, but we have managed. And that got me really thinking about our relationship with God. I cannot imagine having 7 billion children to hear hurting, mourning, and in pain, a lot of them all at once. Trying to comfort them with many pulling away, desiring to deal with it on their own or not wanting to recognize Your arms attempting to wrap around them. I can't fathom the time, energy, and pain spent on all of us rebellious children who refuse to see Your comfort and love as such and still You yearn for us. Never turning Your back on the difficult moments or falling apart because we won't allow You to intercede. All I want is to follow that example of parenting, to have even the smallest bit of that kind of devotion towards my little boy and future children.

These are the sweet reminders that have blessed me this weekend. Each reminder often tearful and overwhelming, but lovely and delicate all at once. I am so grateful for my amazing husband who battles a frustrated Rory 3 out of 4 mornings they spend together and still has enough love and compassion and joy to pour over onto me as I stumble over being a good wife. And that Rory is communicating what he wants and needs a little better and we know what to do when he goes into a fit. I am glad of our beautiful little house with it's donkeys and goats and gravel road and extensive property. I am blessed by our wonderful church and community, my dear friends and my flexible job, and our laid back hippie demeanor that allows us to be grateful for our "below the poverty line" life.

Quickie last thoughts: Regardless of who or what you're voting for, if you are able? There is no excuse not to vote! And, "Remember, remember the fifth of November, the gun powder treason and plot. I know of no reason the gun powder treason should ever be forgot." I am not just discussing V for Vendetta, I am discussing Guy Fawkes. Ideas live even after we are gone.

Three

Heart beats fast, colors and promises, how to be brave? How can I love when I'm afraid to fall? But watching you stand alone, all of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow.

His name is Rory Heleumau'lanihekilikahiaualepo'i Dullanty. He is 6lbs 10oz and 19in long with brown hair and steel blue eyes that I'm sure will change. He is strong enough to pull his head and chest up when he is on his tummy and sounds like a teradactyl when he cries. His ears are perfect and his nose is perfect and his hands and feet are ridiculous big. He eats well, he sleeps well, he makes dirty diapers like a champ. He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. And he is mine.

One step closer.

I started having regulars contractions Friday, roughly 15-20 minutes apart, but I didnt't want to get my hopes up. Waiting to go into labor is essentially torture. Because you want your baby to get here and every little twinge feels like "Maybe this is it!" But, at the same time, you don't want to go to the hospital too early and be told to go home or have to sit around forever. By 7pm my contractions were 6 minutes apart and I had to really concentrate to talk through them, but I could do it and was not convinced. I wanted nothing to do with spending 36 hours in labor and I wanted to do as much as possible from the comfort of my own home. My parents took me out to dinner and Mark asked that they hang out with me afterwards (he was at work), just incase this really was the real thing. At this point my parents were sure and Mark was sure, but I still had reservations. By 9:30 contractions were between 4-5 minutes and had been that way for at least an hour, even I had to concede that this was the point I had been told to get my butt to the hospital. So I got in the shower and let my parents drive me to the bar.

I have died everyday, waiting for you. Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more.

Mark had the bar shut down and the car ready to go by the time we pulled up at 10:30pm. He kissed me and we drove ourselves to Bellevue. If I thought really hard about it, I could still talk through a contraction, but maybe one or two words and they were breathy. Contractions don't hurt initially, they feel like a rather grumpy nurse has placed a blood pressure cuff around your insides. But then that blood pressure cuff starts to get too tight and squeeze things that do not want to be squeezed. By the time we got to the hospital, my contractions were still 4 minutes apart and I was terrified they were going to tell me I was a whiney little bitch and to go home. Triage nurses treat you in that exact manner. They expect that you are a whiney little bitch and that they will tell you to go home. It's not that they aren't nice or polite, but they probably send about half of the women who come in back home. Even I was surprised when she checked me and found me at 4cm, 90% effaced. But women can spend hours, even days at 4cm. So they had me walk around the hospital for an hour to see if I was idle or progressing in labor. 12:45pm came around and I believe the nurse's exact words were: "Wow. This is going to blow your mind, but you're at 7cm." Needless to say, I was checked in.

Time stands still, beauty in all he is. I will be brave, I will not let anything take away what's standing in front of me. Every breath, every hour has come to this.

Contractions are no longer blood pressure cuff twinges when you are 7cm dialated and headed quickly into labor. They are rolling waves of pain unlike anything I have ever experienced. Not because they are so horrible or anthing - it's just literally unlike any feeling I've ever had before. It's almost like a kaleidoscope. It starts in the middle of your low back and gets bigger and bigger until it wraps around to your stomach and gets small and tight when it suddenly starts spreading out again, rolling down your legs. I am GBS positive, which means absolutely nothing for me and never would have come up if I hadn't been pregnant, but it can cause infections with babies (especially if your water breaks early in labor) so they want to give you at least two doses of antibiotics through an IV. After setting all of that up, taking vitals, some paper work and other things I vaguely remember, the nurses ran a bath for me. And when I say bath, I mean jacuzzi. It's meant to be sensory overload and water aids in taking gravity out of the equation when it comes to contractions, and quite honestly? It feels pretty nice. But it was too hot and I didn't want to have my senses overloaded, I wanted to just get it over with and have my baby. Mark read to me and squeezed the pressure point between my thumb and pointer finger as the contractions rolled over me. If he was scared, nervous, or uncomfortable, I couldn't tell. He was an unbelievable anchor during the entire process and seemed to know exactly what I needed and adjusted the moment I was uncomfortable. Have I told you how much I love my husband?

One step closer.

After the tub I was still only 7cm dilated which was so discouraging to me, but the midwives and nurses seemed completely fine with it. I am, apparently, impatient. Or maybe I just knew that I was going to have a quick labor and needed to be further along than that. They had me stand next to the bed and lean down, putting my arms and chest on the bed. Gravity works. They say that alcohol lowers inhibitions and that's why people love to drink. We like feeling loose and not really caring what people think of us. Labor is like that, only your inhibitions aren't just lowered, they no longer exist. Before Friday night, I had never thrown up in front of anyone. And while I'm not necessarily the most modest of human beings, only my husband gets to see me in anything less that a swimsuit. Even in a swimsuit, I'm not the most comfortable human - at least, I wasn't until Friday night. As of Friday night? I am a wild woman who throws up in front of complete strangers and allows them to hold her hair and dab her mouth with a wet cloth and wanders around completely naked because it is too hot on top of the nausea and the pain and the inability to think straight. Oh yah, alcohol has nothing on labor. I ended up getting back in the tub and then out of the tub and wouldn't you know it, fully dilated.

I have died everyday, waiting for you. Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more.

At this point I had been at the hospital for 3 1/2 hours, just a half hour to go before round two of antibiotics. The nurses and midwives let me know that I could push if I wanted and gave me tips. So I pushed through my next contraction. Pushing hurts, but I much preferred that to just allowing contractions to riddle my body. It's a much more tangible pain and therefore makes it seem more manageable - at least to me - plus you are actually participating in the labor at that point, rather than just letting it happen to you. I think everyone initially thought they had a little bit of time and were very encouraging, but I didn't make that second half and hour. The one thing I very distinctly remember was the midwife very suddenly saying that they needed to get gowned, "Yah, the quicker the better." I pushed through my second contraction. Mallory, the midwife in training, looked at me, smiled and said, "If you want, you could push your baby out on your next contraction." And I did. They dropped a towel on my previously bulging stomach and then placed my beautiful little boy there, toweled him off and then rolled him so he was on my skin.

All along I believed I would find you. Time has brought your heart to me, I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more.

His name is Rory Heleumau'ilanihekilikahiaualepo'i Dullanty. Born on the 11th of August 2012 at 4:34am. 19 inches long, 6lbs 14oz, brown hair, big feet, wiry hands, and already strong enough to pick his head and chest up while he's on his stomach. He has dark steel blue eyes that I am praying turn green and is so expressive it makes me laugh on a regular basis. He eats well and makes dirty diapers like a champ. He lets us get just enough sleep and keeps us up the rest of the time. Mark says he looks like me, but I think as he grows we will find out he looks like us. He tested perfect on all his response tests and everyone tells me how beautiful he is, but I think that is partially just what you say to anyone with a newborn. Most importantly though, he is ours. He is ours and we love him. Most ardently. I suddenly cannot imagine our life without him and I can't wait to write more of it with him.

One step closer. One step closer.

We had a nurse as well as a nurse in training, a midwife and a midwife in training. I didn't mind in the slightest, they were all phenomenal and encouraging and treated me like I actually knew what I wanted. Helen, the nurse in training, talked to me for awhile while everyone was out of the room and let me know how amazing it was that I had a natural birth. I thanked her, but she persisted. She has been doing rounds at Overlake for a year and had never seen a natural birth until me. Even the women who come in expecting to do natural child birth end up asking for drugs. That absolutely shocked me. Did labor hurt? Oh yah. Was it worth it? No doubt in my mind. Now, I was lucky and my labor was relatively short and I got to spend most of it at home, but still. The thought of not being able to feel any of that trauma to my body and then having to deal with the consequences afterwards anyway along with a longer recovery time? Far more terrifying. Plus, I wouldn't have been able to hold Rory until I could wiggle both my big toes and he would have been groggy and probably unable to feed for several hours. Far. More. Terrifying. To be honest, being pregnant again is more daunting to me than labor. Do I discredit women who want an epidural? Nope. I think labor is 90% mental. If you genuinely believe that your body was created to do this and consider that women have been giving birth for thousands of years, you are going to react to it much like I do. If you are afraid of the process? You are going to have a miserable labor and I truly believe that. For some women? Drugs are the best option because otherwise they are going to have an impossibly horrid time. There is also the last 10% that falls into the realm of chance when it comes to having a difficult labor. That's just my opinion though.

I have died everyday, waiting for you. Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more.

Having a little one of my own is just as wonderful as I imagined it to be. I am sore and for the first time in my life I have a little tire around my waist, I can't wait to get the go ahead to work out and I would love to be able to do more than talk a quarter mile walk, I am exhausted and will probably not see the other side of 8 hours of sleep for the next two years, my breasts are full and leak milk, I am hungry and  change 8 diapers a day - but it doesn't even matter. Because I have the most precious thing in the world. I have no idea what I have done to be so blessed, but I am not about to second guess or question it. Just shut up and love every moment of it - that's the plan. We are now three. Mark and I have had such good talks and snuggles and cuddles with our beautiful addition and I am so excited for our future.

All along I believed I would find you. Time has brought your heart to me, I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more.

Too Many To Count

The word of the day is blessed.

Pregnancy emotions are super. I've never cried so much in my life as the last 7 months. But for all the ups and downs? I have gotten to be really honest about my emotions, primarily because there is no way I can hide them, but it's nice. It's nice to tear up when I hear a really moving song on the radio. And it's nice to laugh inappropriately loud when I read something hilarious in the middle of the library. It's nice to look at my husband and know that I am absolutely oozing with love for him and he can see it. I am not used to wearing my heart so openly on my sleeve and it's really nice.

You may or may not have picked up that I'm into the whole "God thing." What you might not know, is that I can probably count the number of my friends who believe in God on one hand. Sometimes? That is really difficult. I say something about Church and there is a look that crosses over their face - like they aren't sure how to react, like I might throw a bible at them. Sometimes it's pretty funny, other times it's kind of alienating. Christianity has absolutely assaulted by it's own "believers," when all it's really about is love. I don't want to drag anyone to Church or instruct them on why they are sinners that need to be saved. In fact, I find it's almost the opposite. More people try to talk me out of believing in God than I have ever spoken to about believing. And despite the fact that so many of my friends don't understand my beliefs, they stick it out with me. I am ridiculously grateful for them. They put up with my Church and God talk with limited amounts of awkward and try to be excited for me even when they don't get it. I hope they each realize how much I love them, regardless of their faith.

When I talk about doing mission work, becoming a career missionary, a lot of people don't know how to react. To be clear, I'm not headed to hand out Bibles and westernize a savage nation. That thought actually makes me laugh out loud. I am totally down to talk religion with anyone who wants to and if you'd like a Bible, I will hand you one. But I'm more interested in living life with people, helping them create a sustainable living, getting them the medical care they need, and assisting in educating them to be self sufficient, to read and write in their own language, to help others in need. Not because I think I am better or smarter than anyone else, I am most definitely not, but because they haven't had the opportunity to learn these things and maybe haven't had anyone to give them a hand, to love on them. That is the reason my husband and I are headed on mission.

Patience is not the word of the day, but maybe it will be someday. Something I struggle with on an almost daily basis, I seek patience with almost as much fervor as I seek joy. Possibly with more, because joy is easy for me to attain whereas patience is not. I am decidedly impatient. I want things to be happening now. Right now. Not tomorrow, not a week from now, not in a year. Spontaneity is one of my greatest gifts - and most horrible curses. Patience has, however, been the theme of my life lately. I am waiting for Critter to arrive, waiting to hear back about our membership applications, waiting to hear back about our missions applications, waiting for my certificate, waiting for our home to be set up for baby, waiting to hear more about CAR, waiting on letters to arrive, waiting for Summer to finally get here, waiting for articles to be published, waiting, waiting, waiting. I am learning patience whether I like it or not (definitely not). But I am thankful for the opportunity to learn this skill because, let's face it,  life is difficult without patience. Deep sigh.

Maybe you don't understand why, but today's word is blessed. Blessed because I am overemotional. Blessed because I have friends who love me even when they don't understand me. Blessed because God has given me an absolute burden on my heart for those in need. Blessed because I am learning about patience. Blessed with an active child and loving husband, a darling Church community, a wonderful job and other job opportunities, a bed with blankets, food in my fridge, and a beautiful home with lovely landlords... there are so many things I could list. I have an overabundance of blessings in my life, too many to count. Even on the difficult days and in the hard moments, I have a beautiful life that is so full! The word of the day is most certainly blessed.

Better

Today, my word is provision.

Wednesday was difficult. You know the saying, "be careful what you wish for" ? Well, I feel like we only ever remember it after the fact. My prayers obviously fluctuate, but there is one thing I consistently ask God for: to fill me up and break my heart for what breaks His. The poverty, disease, preventable deaths, and all those who feel cast out by the church. I desire to show people as much love as I possibly can, and yet I remain sarcastic and whiney. I am not who I aspire to be, I am not someone to look up to, I am not as good as I could be. I want to be better, so much better. And my ask has been responded to, my heart is being torn into thousands of pieces in opposite directions as I witness people in my community experiencing hardships, have a growing love for Africa that has never been present before now, watch my husband struggle with his job that doesn't pay or appreciate him nearly enough... I am full to the brim, overflowing with love that I feel I cannot dispense quickly enough - I forgot to ask for an outlet.

I spent the day laboring to express everything pent up inside of me and only managed to exhaust myself. Then, picking up Marko from work, I was informed that I am a moron for wanting a natural birth with no medication. Unsolicited advice is an epidemic in the United States. I wanted to say that people do it all over the world every day, even in America. I wanted to say that women have been giving birth naturally without numbing the lower half of their bodies for thousands of years. I wanted to say that I didn't judge those who choose to medicate and I shouldn't be looked down upon for wanting something different. But all I could do was stare at the wall while Mark came to my rescue. I was too drained to even consider responding. We then had to drive up to Seattle to attend a birthing class, something my health care provider strongly recommends. Our generation has lost something. We now need professionals to tells us all the things that used to just be passed down from mother to daughter, grandparent to grandchild. Breast feeding is the best option for your baby, skin to skin contact will help you bond with your little one, patience is the best strategy when learning how to nurse, bathe, and rock your newborn to sleep. Please inform me as to why a class exists to tell me these things? In the same way a cookbook will never be able to teach me the way an 80 year old woman can, there is no substitute for knowledge passed down through the ages. It doesn't mean we can't decide for ourselves what is right or wrong, it just means that you have wasted 2 hours of 15 couples lives telling us what our basic instincts are. Wednesday was difficult.

Thursday I woke up with a disposition to make life better. To make my husband smile, to look at the bright side, to be the positivity I wanted from the world. Thursday was a long day, but I accomplished what I set out to do. I remembered to pray for an outlet and flew through work. I was able to lift Mark's spirits, if only slightly, I got my house in order and I spent the whole day singing. There was much to do and little energy left to do it with, but that is the wonder of provision. Even when you think you're at the end of you're rope, you find a little more. That's always the way it is with love, though. You give and give until there's nothing left, then you give some more. Mother Teresa said it best, "I think I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only love."

This morning was the dreaded monthly appointment with a midwife. There were enjoyable when there were ultrasounds and I was losing weight rather than being scolded by an overweight woman for gaining too much. But today? Today we met Desiree. She answered every question without any tone of judgement, she laughed with us when something funny was said, she spoke with us about the best postpartum birth control options and even put it in the hospital notes so someone would know to order it, she reaffirmed my plan to do natural childbirth and shook her head understandingly when I gave my account of being called a moron, she gave us a list of books to check out, she measured to make sure I was the right size instead of talking to me about weight, and, of course, let us listen to Creature's heart beat. It was the most encouraging visit yet. Provision, provision is definitely the word for today.

I am reminded daily of how much more I have. I should seek to bless others as I am so incredibly blessed, seek to love them as I am wonderfully loved, seek to care for them as I am overwhelmingly cared for. I can do better, be better than I am now. Not because I am capable, but because I believe in a God who is. I want to spend my mornings reading and writing, seeking Christ's plan for my life. I want to spend my days serving my girls by taking them shopping and talking with them about their busy schedules, being there for them in each and every crisis and non-crisis. I want to spend my free time with friends, living life beside them openly and speaking into their lives as I hope they speak into mine. I want to spend my work hours doing the best I can and giving everything I am able to the cause I so believe in. I want to spend my nights snuggled with my husband, loving him beyond my capacity and having long conversations about everything and nothing. I want to be better.

Something Sweet or Something Savory

I don't get cravings, which is a little bit of a let down if I'm being honest. I was really looking forward to the excuse to spontaneously desire some food so badly that it would make my husband need to drive to the store at one a.m. But no, I just have rational needs concerning food intake. I want something sweet or something savory. But doesn't everyone?

When I was a little girl I loved to eat fruit at the bottom yogurt. It was so exciting to eat little bites of plain yogurt in order to get to the Indiana Jones treasure trove of syrupy fruit! I hadn't thought of it in years, but this morning my husband gave me a coffee mug with my favorite Vanilla Honey Yogurt and after a few bites? I discovered strawberries! It was like a magical throw back.

I'm one of those people who loves to listen to loud music in the car. One of those people who likes surround sound and a volume on my media player that upsets the people sitting next to me on a bus. It's not that I like loud music, I don't. Loud music is just loud. It's that I like to feel surrounded by my music. Like it's enveloping me, taking me to another place entirely. Often times the playlist you hear obnoxiously leaking from my headphones is made up of my favorite operatic numbers. Other times it's piano pieces or soft movie scores. Then there is all the worship music, the occasional country themed day, some reinvent-the-world hip hop, but very rarely is it ever rock music and I don't listen to metal. I simply enjoy escaping into my music. Shutting out the whole world and just melting into that sweet resonance. My own sweet resonance.

I'm sitting on the floor of what might be consider my living room, I say might only due to the fact that we currently occupy a tiny little studio house. And despite the wonderful sound technology offered to me here in the comforts of my own home, I have headphones on. Plugged into my phone and blaring at something too close to full volume to be entirely appropriate. I have fresh squeezed lemonade sitting just right of the computer and can't help but wish I was writing all of this on paper to be published in a journal rather than online. Technology is amazing, but what artisanship have we lost? Too much.

And still I blog...

Yesterday was a day filled with little kicks and squirming inside of me. From the moment I woke up to my last blurry eyelash filled vision. Today there is little movement, just the occasional twist to remind me that I love this new found belly. I'm so curious about the little life that exists therein. What will s/he be like? Like mom; passionate to a fault about too many things, overly forgiving, compassionate, a bit flakey and slightly OCD? Or more like dad; excitable, distant with newcomers and those who've not earned trust, dependable, deeply and fervently loving, loyal and immoderately worried? Or some terribly dysfunctional and yet probable mixture of both.

Becoming a parent is everything people say it is - and so much more. You can prepare yourself for the tasks; diapers, clothing, burping, doctors visits, discipline. But there is no way to ready your heart for the love. It's not that it's more than what you've known, because you've probably known a lot of great and wonderful love, it's just... ineffable. I can't imagine the wreck I'll be once baby is born. Your heart walking around outside your body indeed.

Mark and my plan to travel remain a solid fixture in our minds. There is so much pressure and demand from society to do anything but follow our hearts. Go to college, get yourself a career, buy a house. When they find out we are under 25 with technically part time work and rent a little mother-in-law in the countryside with a baby on the way? The looks are scathing, or at the very least, scornful. The haught of superiority sets in on their manicured faces in an attempt to shame us and make them feel better about their lives. And what's disappointing, is that those looks come so often from people that are meant to be allies, meant to be friends.

No, we did not live our lives according to what you think is appropriate or successful. But I've never read about anyone who did the things you're asking of me. I've only ever read wonderful and terrific stories and adventures about those people who went against the grain. Those who followed their dreams for better or for worse! And yah, sometimes it's for worse. But that is our decision to make, our mistakes to take us to new places. When my life is over, I want to look over it lovingly. Each tear, each triumph, each awkward and difficult moment, each horror, and each wonder. I want to look at it and know that I was happy and joyful and lived! I want to look back at my life and know that I wouldn't have done anything differently, not because I didn't make mistakes! but because I did. And they made my life the adventure it was!

I hear the scoffing and it hurts, but I see how much I love my life? And I know I'm doing the right things. Because even when I am tired, frustrated with my body, and itching to get out of this country? I am happy. Snuggling on the couch with my husband while we watch a slew of vastly different television shows, makes all the difference. Gardening in the sunshine and then crawling into the hammock with Marko so we can nap, makes all the difference. Fresh squeezed lemonade, makes all the difference. Scarlet by Brooke Fraser and Revelation Song by Kari Jobe bleeding out of my headphones in the middle of my living room, makes all the difference. Little kicks to the inside of my stomach, makes all the difference. I love my life. I love these choices. I love, I love, I love! Stop trying to tell me I should be doing anything differently because if you were half as happy as I am even on a day where I am teary and upset? You would recognize my joy and let it be.

I'm craving something sweet...

Half Way There

I am officially closer to my due date than conception date. On the roadmap that is pregnancy, I look ahead of me and feel slightly overwhelmed that I'm only half done. It's that halfway point in a marathon where you realize that as far as you've come? You have that much left. Yikes...

Don't get me wrong, I am ecstatic that I feel baby moving around and doing some serious yoga inside my stomach. I can't wait to meet the little one who has utterly and completely flipped my whole world upside down! I'm excited to snuggle, cuddle, smother, and love on the child growing inside me. And the miracle of life is not lost on me, it's fucking magical. My baby grew and inch this week - it's a pro. Sometimes I pretend it's a Super Nova inside my womb, fantastic Hubble photographs and all.

But, here's the thing: I'm going crazy. Between all the crying and low self esteem, I'm surprised I can even leave my bed - much less my house. I feel like a balloon. I'm wearing pants that are double the size I was before I was pregnant and the only consolation I receive from that is that they don't quite fit yet. But they will, because I'm only half done. My breast are literally in my face and seem to be always trying to fall out of whatever bra I've decided to cage them in for the day. I get good solid kicks to the bladder whenever I attempt my beloved yoga or walks, let's not even talk about running. And the damn doctors insist I get on a scale every month after I've already driven all the way to Bellevue, usually with a full bladder. I'm a bloated puppet.

I think the hardest thing is the self esteem. It's not just the roller coaster hormones, I've already had my ability to parent called into question and baby isn't even here. I have had to really rethink some of the friendships in my life and whether they are healthy or not - this is not the time I would have chosen to make that decision. But I have someone entering my life who will not just look up to me, but be entirely influenced by me and those I surround myself by. Some people, aren't making the cut. And weirdly, it has nothing to do with whether they have their shit together or not, and everything to do with how they treat others. Specifically me, but other people as well. I refuse for my child to think it's okay to treat people like doormats or that being treated like one qualifies as friendship.

It sucks that now is the time I'm realizing who I can actually count on. I'm overemotional and I really need good people in my life to depend on, but better now than later. Mark has been an absolute pillar for me, I have no idea how he puts up with all the "I'm fat" tears and my constant frustration with being in the USA. I don't understand how he still finds me attractive or scoops me up to take me to bed to cuddle. I can't comprehend how he manages to curtail his constant worries to deal with my newfound ability to stress out over just about every topic there is. He's my superhero and even Batman can't hold a candle.

I've been blessed with new people cropping up in my life and old friends stepping up - sometimes in ways they don't even realize. Human kindness knows no limits except those we place on it, and for some reason we are quick to put a harness and reigns over it's love as if we are concerned it might escape us. What we forget is that it can only grow in it's freedom.

I am plotting my hegira. I will abscond with my husband and child, leaving this "American Dream" in the dirt where it belongs. I will love my husband with a kind of love not found in statistics. I will raise my little one without the equal opportunity expectations this country places on so many shoulders, so that they might decide for themselves what path to put themselves on. We will create a new dream.

Being pregnant sucks, but trials are what make us who we are. I would be lying if I told you it was great and I believe in truth, as unpopular as it may be. Pregnancy is long, difficult, and it wears you down. You get one awe filled moment for every two miserable days and it's worth it. It's difficult and demanding, but what would it be without that? Sunshine, rainbows, and kittens? Then what would I appreciate? Nothing. I can pretend like that would be better, but it wouldn't. I don't love it, but I will. I will love it because of what I get out of it. Because of everything I have learned, because of all the things I will learn. The marathon is only half way finished, and then the real race begins.

Cheers

Hunger

I am afraid of my generation. Sitting in a dark theater watching a wonderful novel spring to life on screen, only to be deeply disgusted and disappointed as the crowd around me bursts into applause as a character dies. This concept exists, dear mob, exactly because of this. This disgusting approval of "reality" television and lust for entertainment. We put value on pleasure instead of goodness. With our nonexistent relationships and our overt sexuality. Our need for addictions diagnosis, and medication. Our misappropriation of trust, love, passion and our vacant inclinations of wonder, awe, hope, joy. My revulsion to this day and age only culminates as each day passes. I am at a loss.

Some days I believe technology to blame and wish to rid myself of all of it. Oh! how I would love nothing more than a small cabin somewhere far into the woods where no one could find it. Laundry in a tub and bathwater heated by a fire. Hunting and gardening and no more thought to the rest of the world, except perhaps whether or not everyone has killed each other off yet. But then, I realize the joy and beauty of technology and how it is merely its misuse that injures my senses so.

I am growing life inside of me. A tiny human with eyes and ears and a mind to make sense of all those things which will inundate the little one as soon as it arrives. Is that what that child has to look forward to? Because I yearn for something more having grown up surrounded by all of this. And it is not what I want for my baby. This life, this place, these things? Are toxic. This world we wrap ourselves up in, our "first world problems," this is all repugnant. This cannot be why we exist.

My heart has known some of the most beautiful things, and still, there is so much heartbreak and affliction. I need more. This is not the life I was meant for, I was intentioned for so much more than this simplistic and all consuming self-appreciation. I can see the rest and it is gloriously and joyfully better! I seek that. I reach for that, and that alone. My life is an open book that will be written not merely by what makes me happy, but by what goodness I seek and help other to seek as well. Whatever goodness it may be. To lighten the heart without letting it cease beating is a near impossible task.

Baby Bump

I have felt like a fat cow for weeks. I want to meet these women who felt like the mother of all creation when they were pregnant. And then? Then I want to punch them in the mouth. It makes the rest of us feel bad! Because do you know what I feel like? Nauseous, fat, crying, and like I want to play with the baby gestating in my belly. None of those things are helpful. And all you women who glow for your entire pregnancy make the rest of us normal human beings who love babies more than anything but think pregnancy up until the second trimester mark has been one awful rollercoaster of bad self esteem feel like terrible people. I love the little parasite growing in me. I have never been so excited to be creating life! But that doesn't make me feel better, it almost makes me feel worse. Like I should be appreciating some part of this misery more than I am. But I will level with you ladies, because I don't want you to feel like I feel right now. Alone and horrible for hating being pregnant.

Some people can't get pregnant and most women thoroughly adore having their bodies do a 180 on them, so you? Are terrible, Malia. Except I'm not! I am stoked to be having a baby. I am excited to be a mom and deal with crying babies, tantrum throwing toddlers, and lots of dirty diapers along the way. But being pregnant? It's hard! Why do you think I've left you in the dark for so long about my pregnancy? Because I'm living in the Dark Place! It's like Chuck Palahniuk and Dr Seuss wrote my life... at least, until about a day ago. Because I have a ray of hope for you, hopeful mommies to be, it gets better.

Finally, just barely into my second trimester and I have the tiniest of baby bumps. Self esteem? Back to normal - let me rephrase that - back to AWESOME! I bought a skirt that hangs ridiculously low on my hips so my tiny little bump can hang over it and I showed off that bump All. Day. Long. I've decided that being pregnant and getting to experience the pregnancy? Two very different things. When there was a little baby growing inside me, but I couldn't see any evidence other than my breakfast coming back up? It didn't feel like I was going to be a mom. It felt like I was never going to experience food coming out the other end ever again. Having a baby bump? I can see it! I can see, that is where my baby is! In that little bump! I am making room for him/her! And I am so excited I squeak. On a regular basis for no particular reason. Baby bump!

And not only do I have a bump, the baby moves. And damn, does our baby move. One minute it is hanging out low, just chilling, then it is pressed against the wall of my stomach like it wants to escape (not the most comfortable thing in the world, but so exciting!) We can find her/him almost all the time now. The baby is the size of a large apple. A freaking apple! Now? Now I feel like I am on top of the world. I don't mind that I don't fit my jeans like I used to, because I am creating life! Word. It's an entirely different stage of being pregnant, guess that's why it's referred to as the second trimester...

We are starting to get the influx of baby things. Already my parents are stock piling for us; a portable crib, a car seat that pops onto a stroller, blankets and swaddles, baby clothes, diapers - it's a baby party! I'm amazed at the generosity of the people around me (that, or they just finally found someone to load crap onto - I prefer to believe they're generous). And I am so thrilled about all the love and support around me. There is a disgusting amount of bad advice circulating the baby circuit, which is really unfortunate. I try to correct or ignore it, idiots will be idiots. For the most part though, this stage has been wonderful. I am relieved to find that I am not a terrible person who hates being pregnant, just a terrible person who hates the symptoms until she can she proof of her baby. I'm a visual learner, don't hate.

For all you gentlemen out there? I am sorry in advance. The first trimester is probably just as difficult for you as it is for your lady. You have to watch her get sick and know that there is nothing you can do about it, you have to listen to her hate on that body that you love so much you put a baby in it, you have to leave her basically stranded on the sofa when you go to work knowing she probably won't feel well enough to get up while you're gone except to pee (cause you gotta pee). Marko struggles an infinite amount with not being able to protect me from the big bad baby and I have come to find it is a pretty typical frustration from husbands and baby daddys. You're men, you want to fix it. I get it, but don't beat yourself up about it. Your wifey knows you can't do anything to help and she loves you just for wanting to. Trust me.

I officially love being pregnant. It took long enough. I have all this energy to clean and cook and organize. I constantly am redecorating our apartment in my head. But I am waiting until my little mind figures out the perfect design because I think it might drive Mark a little nutters having to watch the apartment shift with my moods. I think I'm getting close... I love my low sitting skirt and my bump sticking out over the fun purple patterns. I adore that I got my first belly rub today! I like tying my hair back in a bandana like a southern wash maid. I like doing the dishes by hand so my kitchen is clean and making a 2 course meal despite the fact that I can really only eat a half portion at a time right now. I love sweeping and mopping and making grocery lists where the fresh ingredients are three times as many as the packaged goods. I like being a wife and dancing around my little house to loud country music or some quality lmfao Pandora. I adore my husband and how he loves me despite my craziness. My very very very craziness. I love my friends and their willingness to save me from my cleaning frenzies. I love our little apple sized baby and how it does not sit still. It's obnoxious how much I love everything. Someone really should hit me in the mouth.

Now, I am on to daydreaming about baby showers. Ones themed in green. No blue or pink for this little lady! But really, are you surprised? I dream of green sodas, rock candy, and little tea sandwiches. Decorating bibs or onesies, diaper raffles, and green glasses from Goodwill. Green grapes, apples, and strawberry spinach salad! Green pajamas, swaddles, jackets, tshirts with jean overalls, and a forest green jogging stroller. You don't have to tell me I'm being ridiculous! I already know! But it doesn't stop me from loving every green smothered dream I have! Heh... I know you anxiously await the next moodswing of a blog post, so I will attempt to adhere to your needs as soon as I can think of something other than green baby related things. Maybe don't hold your breath :]

Cry Me A River

The other morning I woke up and touched my flat tummy only to find... it's actually flat! There is no longer a dip between my two hip bones and if I trace it for long enough, I can imagine it's a little bump. I, of course, woke Mark up immediately to inform him of this and make him feel the imaginary baby bump. He mumbled something that sounded positive and rolled over - he loves me a lot to put up with me at 7am. I laid there in bed just touching my stomach as if I had never really noticed it before. Thinking of the little parasite growing in there, my little parasite.

My secondary visit with a midwife has be thrice postponed due to weather and my mental incapacity to plan well, but shall occur Thursday. I can't wait. The various websites I check each Saturday (baby's weekly conception day ("birthday" doesn't work if the baby isn't born yet)) tell me that baby is roughly the size of a kiwi and does summersaults. It also says that if I poke, the baby will squirm. I thought I felt it move the other day, but it may have just been a tummy grumble. I pretend I felt it move.

The mind altering and day shifting nausea is fading - thank you Jesus - and now? I cry. Dear Lord above do I cry. I get upset and the tears just start flowing. I get excited? And voila! I am a faucet. I watched V For Vendetta and when they show the clip of her mum being taken? Tears. And then again when Gordon is taken. And again for a full 3 minutes or so when she finds out the whole torture thing was fake. Again when V dies, finishing the film with little eyes shrink wrapped in salty residue. I used to be a badass.

This evening, I cleaned the kitchen as I made a delicious tuna casserole when I was suddenly struck by the image of doing all of these activities with a baby on my hip and Marko coming home to the two of us. He's going to be an amazing father. The picture was so vivid and clear, it was one of those moments where you truly see your future. No crystal ball needed. And then I smiled to myself because we won't be one of those families where dad comes home from work to mom and baby for long. We are headed into the unknown of the mission field, as God will have us. I can't wait.

Shortly thereafter, I received a phone call from one Alexis Allen. You may not know this shining star of my life, and I assure you - your life is less full because of that fact. She is, without a doubt, the other half of my soul (Marko is the third half). I don't remember who decided we should meet, but it was because of mutual friends that we became acquainted. I have no fonder memories of anyone in Bellingham, than I do of Alexis. I hate my birthday, so when I turned 19? Alexis and I stripped down to our underwear and swam in the fountain in the middle of Red Square. We went to nude beaches and BBQ's. We did long hikes and started our days with Mike's Hard Lemonade, even though it is the most disgusting form of alcohol on the planet. We spent long hours dancing to GirlTalk and curing hangovers at Little Cheerfuls. I can easily say she is one of the greatest people I know.

We caught up on each others lives with ease, even though we hardly ever have a chance to talk. And then she mentioned being pen pals and I almost sighed relief. You can only be pen pals with a true friend. I haven't been as good at it lately, but have desperately missed all my letter writing - especially with several of my correspondents out of reach for the time being. I am excited! With Marko working long hours so we can save up - well, there are only so many tv shows you can watch on hulu. I am excited to get into writing letters again...

I must say, being the selfish spoiled little thing that I am, having my husband work these long and tedious hours that just so happen to be opposite my normal work schedule? Not fun. Not even a little. I do appreciate that he has been given Sundays and Mondays off to spend with me, as well as being able to work the opening shift on Wednesdays to give us Small Group/Date Night. But, let's be honest, I just want to whine about him not being around whenever I want. I have had to do drastic things such as rediscovering hobbies - no! - reading entire novels - stop it! - cleaning my messily/conveniently arranged house - the horror! - having fun with recipes - the ... wait. That sounds, lovely. I get to have a clean house, homemade dinners ready for my husband, catch up on tv shows I like, sew clothes that need mending, read novels I love, listen to sick hip hop music about changing the world, google mission companies endlessly, write letters and blogs and emails, drink chilled limeade with ice cubes, finish work related things, play with old cameras, sketch a bit, and still have time to harass people on facebook? What a life!

To be honest, I miss Marko a ridiculous amount. But I've decided to look at it from a different perspective. We are making more money to save in order to take care of our bun in the oven and travel the world, while I have the opportunity to nest and get back into all the things I love and care about and have really been shelved while I got used to being married. I think that's a fairly blessed tradeoff that I can deal with. I reserve the right to whine like a little bitch though. I am pregnant and hormonal, after all, and what use is it if I can't play that card? It isn't, so there. Obviously my arguing skills are becoming far superior as I am great with child - or something.

I think I will wrap this session up as I have said nothing witty or sarcastic enough for my liking and don't want all those publishers to rescind their offers. Cheers!

The Pregnancy Files

Time is fascinating. This time last year, if you had told me I would be married to Mark Dullanty and just barely pregnant, I would have told you that I have a mohawk and wear pearls and I am not the fondest of Mark Thomas Dullanty. And then possibly punched you somewhere unpleasant. But you would have been right and I would have been wrong and all would be forgiven by this point. Because this Traveling House Rose has changed her last name and is creating life as we speak.

Warning: It's just a warning, heed it.

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a mom. There was a era in my life where I had no intention of every getting married, but I would still be a mom. No one was going to stop me. Some of you who know me a little better, know that I have this habit of seeing babies, toddlers, and really any child under the age of 12 and holding my stomach while I say "Babyyyyy." Always good for a laugh, this one. But what I never really gave any merit to was the whole actually being pregnant thing. Oops.

Throwing up a delicious dinner of Italian food (my favourite) and Sangiovese wine after a week of uncomfortable nausea? My husband was right to throw on his jacket and speed to the grocery store. And as he looked down on his purchase - a pregnancy test, peptobismal capsules, and juice - he realized the pregnancy test was probably a moot point. I barely got any pee on the damn thing before that little purple plus appeared. I didn't have to wait three minutes, I didn't have to wait three seconds! Pregnant. A little tatertot crisping inside the Malia Oven.

We were stoked/terrified/stoked/terrified/stoked... honestly I'm not sure which emotion outweighed the other. I was thrilled to be a mom and to get so super fat with a baby in my belly - the only kind of fat person who can't not be adorable. But we live in a studio mother-in-law apartment that is by no means even set up fully yet, much less anything close to baby-safe. However, I am an eternal optimist by nature and rather shitty at worrying, so my worries never overshadow my excitement. My husband on the other hand, well, I married my opposite. He was so excited to be a dad! But...
thebariworkedatjustclosedandi'mnotsurewhenthenewbarwouldbeopeningandthentherewastheissueofisuranceandhowmuchdoesababycostanywayandidon'tknowanythingaboutbabiesorhowtotakecareofthemhowamisupposedtodoanyofthis??? Multiply that stream of worries by 15 and you have a typical minute in the mind of my husband. To say he was ecstatic to be a father would be an understatement, but to say his worries had anything other than the exact same weight on his mind would be a lie.

One week later, standing in the lobby of the lab at Group Health Bellevue, my pregnancy test came back positive! Like, ohmygracious! Yah, they make you take a pregnancy test at the clinic you visit for their records. Couldn't I have just brought in my pee stick and saved you the time and man power? Don't you have something more important you could be doing? No? Oh... Anyway, with Mark basically attaching himself to me because of his fear/hatred of all things hospital related, we made our way to the fourth floor. Pediatrics, Gynecology, Obstetricians & Midwifery. This floor was by far the most welcoming, nothing smelled old or like death, just like overly sanitized door handles and carpet shampoo. We barely waited any time at all before the nurse saw us. She gave us a packet about what to expect with a pregnancy, but there isn't anything in that little pamphlet that you can't Google. We then got to decide whether we wanted a midwife or a doctor. With a midwife? They advocate for what you want, meet with you once a month throughout your pregnancy, and will be with you the entire time you are in the hospital for labor. With a doctor the benefits include a surgical background, but they might not be able to make it to deliver your baby if they have a scheduled surgery and even if you do, you will only see them briefly during the actual delivery, but there are fewer check up appointments... Who in their right mind would choose doctor?!

10 viles of blood and two cups of pee later, we were allowed to leave. Scheduled for an ultrasound Monday and appointment with my first midwife on Wednesday. The weekend wasn't good. Waves of nausea and no appetite whatsoever. Monday I had to drink a Nalgene bottle of water in the hour before my ultrasound appointment. A Nalgene bottle in one hour. By the time we made it to the clinic, I felt like I was leaking water out of my pores. Marko had the opportunity to weigh himself and check his blood pressure, which was like an early Christmas gift to him. It's probably good that my love for him is overwhelming.

So, ultrasound gel? It isn't cold. It's kept in a warmer so it's your body temperature. So Hollywood can knock that right off. Also, when you are barely along? They have an ultrasound thing that they actually stick right up inside you. Awkwarddd. Ladies, you know when you go in for your annual/biannual check up and the doctor tells you it will be cold and might "tickle," but it doesn't? It is cold, kind of hurts, and you really want to punch the bitch getting to third base with you? She didn't even buy you dinner. Cheap. This, is nothing like that. It's like a thin dildo and they actually squeeze some KY Lube onto that sucker. Almost more awkward - until you look at the screen and you realize you can actually see your baby. It's just a little bubble on a blurry looking television, but you know that little bubble is yours. It's your baby. A little clump of cells rapidly multiplying and it has a heartbeat. And you can watch it flicker as it's little heart pumps blood into it's forming body. Mark's hand went limp in mine and he asked the lady if this is why they make the husband sit. She kind of cocks her head at him before he explains "I would have passed the fuck out if I had been standing and you showed me my baby has a heartbeat."

When we got home, I threw up. I went to work the next day and threw up. 3-4 times a day I found myself bent over the toilet throwing up any and everything that went into my body. Wednesday we had our first appointment with a midwife, I lost 15 pounds in less than a week. Go pregnancy? The midwife asked us about a million questions and allowed Mark his million and five questions. She then explained the way having a midwife works. You don't get one, you get six. You have the opportunity to meet each of them over the course of your pregnancy and whichever is on-call when your water breaks and you go into the hospital, that's the one who will deliver your baby. So, I actually get 6 women vying for what I want and fighting the mean surgery doctors who - as I know from Grey's - only want me if there is a complication. Also, I have a plethora of birthing suite options. Yah, I get to have my baby in a birthing suite, not a hospital room. What up new age health care?! Want to have your baby standing? You can do that. Want to have an epidural? You can do that. Want to have a water birth? You can fucking do that. Do I want any of those things? No. I want to lay in whatever way is most comfortable and then cry like a little bitch while I endure massive amounts of pain bringing a baby into the world. Standing is for psychos, epidurals are for pansies, and water births freak me out. I am almost sure the crazies of this world have discovered more options, but I'm not interested in knowing. You people scare me. The only option that isn't optional? Is a c-section. They will do it if it is necessary, but you cannot choose it. Which, I think I like. but that's just me.

More vomiting and making sure my pee is clear as a gauge of hydration, life became a game. Throw up, try to eat something and down pills so they have a chance to dissolve before you throw up - and you will throw up - again. Funny story about "morning sickness." It doesn't just happen in the morning, it hits you all day every day. And all the nausea and vomiting in the world won't stop the cravings for food. You just have to hope that whatever you're craving is easy to throw back up. Google cures, try them all. Your best bet is to be ahead of the nausea and snack all day long. Crackers, cheese, water, pretzels, water, scrambled eggs, m&m's, water, peanut butter, just eat. All the time. Even when you don't want to, even when the thought of food makes you want to tear out your hair. And sip, don't gulp, water. Constantly. But you have to make sure you're eating salt so you can absorb the water, otherwise you're shit outta luck. Try ginger, try bands around your wrists, try every homemade and pharmaceutical cure you can. Because if you don't? And sometimes, even if you do, you'll end up in Urgent Care on Christmas Eve. Okay, maybe not on Christmas Eve, but I did!

Two bags of fluid and several dissolvable pills later? I felt awesome. Cold, but awesome. IV's are kept at room temperature, but your blood is much hotter than room temperature so when you get an IV you get chills. Fun hospital fact! But they have heated blankets they give you, which are the best thing since toast. Also, everyone has pregnancy advice for you. Including people who have never been pregnant. Thanks guys, but I'd really like this fountain of knowledge to come from the source. Your $3.15 bottled information is nice, but nothing beats fresh spring water. Nothing. My doctor that night informed me that, as weird as it seems, the sicker I am? The healthier my baby is - and the more likely it is that it will be a girl. Knew it. The girl part, not the healthy part. He also let me know that coming for an IV isn't a bad thing and I should always just come in if I have a feeling I'm dehydrated. Better to come in than end up sicker. He also let me know that it is entirely possible for "morning sickness" to last the entire pregnancy, not just the first trimester. And here's why...

Morning sickness? Is not your baby moving around and kicking at your stomach to make you regurgitate everything as a sick joke. Morning sickness occurs because your body's hormone levels are doubling every 48 hours and producing more vitamins and nutrients for the baby than you usually would for your lonely self, but the baby isn't really even quite big enough to absorb all the vitamins and nutrients or to grow with the rate of your hormones. So your body reacts to all this extra crap by trying to get rid of the extra - vomiting. Cool, right? Except you can't vomit hormones, so it's a terrible cycle of awful. This is why secondary, tertiary, etc pregnancies are usually easier on mom. Her body understands what's happening to it.

Basically, go apologize to your mother right now. Go on, I'll wait.

Thank you. So Mark and I rang in our first Christmas in Urgent Care. And, finally, at some point between 1:00-1:15am, we passed out cold. Waking up early on Christmas is almost a rite of passage, but we both slept pretty well until after 9, thank God. We sat on the sofa and admired our pleasant little Christmas Tree tacked to the ceiling and tilted by towels in it's Folger's coffee can so it could remain upright with our First Christmas Decorations on the floor around the tree, it being too weak to hold any actual ornaments or lights. And we exchanged gifts. A big beautiful Interlinear Bible with Hebrew and Greek literal translations and English in the sidebars for me - oh yah, my husband got lucky on Christmas - and a "Green Handbook" for Marko so he can save the world. He'll do it you know, I really believe it. We then did the Christmas at each parent's house. Next year? Next year we will be having Christmas just the 3 of us. No negotiating.

After my trip to Urgent Care, I stayed on top of eating and sipping and finally tried the last Google cure I hadn't already - lemons. Sniffing them and occasionally having a small nibble. It works. It is the only cure other than fun dissolve under your tongue pills that seems to do anything for me. I still have bad days, really really bad days. But sometimes it's almost like I am a normal functioning member of society. Hormones doubling every 48 hours means I cry more than usual, but that isn't exactly a difficult task. I'm not a crier. But I saw a preview for The Lake House with Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock? And I wept like a little girl. A preview! Other than that though, I haven't been too bad. To be honest, Mark is much worse than I am. He can't watch anything with small children in it without having a mini-meltdown, bless his heart. I think becoming a dad is a bigger adjustment than becoming a mom. For the most part? Women are wired for it, men become wired for it once they have a baby in their arms.

My insides feel like a door the dog scratches at to be let out, not in pain exactly but definitely uncomfortable. I am currently sucking on a lemon and I seem to eat more popsicles than real food these days, but I don't have enough energy to do anything so I feel like the laziest human in existence. And fat. Damn being pregnant. You don't just magically become "cute fat" where you can where baby doll clothes and look like the most adorable creature on the earth. It's a slow process where your stomach becomes hard, almost like abs but not. Then all the sudden all the fat in your body starts migrating towards your middle to protect baby. You can almost watch it happening, like armies moving. "Right thigh! Prepare to move to the tummy! We must protect the baby!" So yah, you feel fat. Because literally all your chub is gathering in one place, but you're not quite big enough to wear tight fitting t-shirts and show of the bump. Awkward. However, your husband will notice that your shoulders stick out and your ribs show and your legs feel skinnier, which makes you happy. And he'll probably shower you with compliments anyway because he's afraid you'll turn into one of those raging hormonal women from the television.

Then there are your boobs. Whether you like it or not, you've suddenly got two more cup sizes to deal with. Without milk! And if you're like me and already hate Victoria Secret for not believing in small ribcages and large cup sizes? You do not want any more to rock in the chest department. Doesn't matter though. It happens and it happens fast. You're throwing up half of the things you eat and your boobs are literally defying laws by continuing to blossom out of your shirt - outlaws. And you sigh with frustration because you don't know of a bra that isn't a $90+ special order that will come in whatever size your boobs have decided to grow to today. And you flat out refuse to wear anything beige or "nude" and unflattering. Until... your HuffPo obsessed husband finds an article on parenthood from the sister online news source of Jezebel. The article is funny and this sister news source is alright, by women for women, but you don't find new age feminism anything more than a pathetic hypocrisy so many of the articles are a bit angry for your taste. But the ad for a product line called HotMilk? Click. Not pregnancy porn, which there is a surprising and disturbing amount of, but Designer Maternity Lingerie. What Up?! All nursing friendly and a 32 all the way up to a GG regularly and even H & I on some bras. You small chested ladies are lucky enough that you will never have to understand what I'm talking about, but I am so excited! Back massages every night are awesome, but I'd really just like for some part of my body to be cooperating at this point and, hello? Sexy bras in my size for under $75 is a flat out miracle. $49.95? I could faint from the joy.

(This paragraph is the definition of TMI) I read an article that said pregnant sex is the best sex ever. I would have to agree that it is pretty awesome, but honestly I am struggling with an upset stomach more often than not these days so it's kind of difficult to get in the mood. And not just for me, but Mark too. Having bigger boobs is only so much of an incentive before he starts worrying about how I'm feeling and how the baby is doing and his normal stream of other worries. Whoever said men think about sex more than women was a flat out liar, we objectify just as often - if not more - than men. There are just those handful of chauvinistic asshats who appear to be the majority. They aren't. Way to ruin it for the rest of your gender, dudes. Girls are just sneakier about it. Never underestimate a woman, most of the time we get what we want. But, seriously, pregnant sex. You've got all these hormones running through you and you stop thinking about what you're doing and just start doing what is comfortable because you're too uncomfortable every day to fuss with being uncomfortable during sex - so it leads to some different things. That's all you get on that subject - pervs.

I am due the 11th of August. Mark and I are excited because that means in the future we will have the opportunity to take the little rascal places for it's birthday! Plus, we live in Washington and August is like the only decent month of the year. I am nauseous all the time, but they say it's like a light switch when you hit your second trimester. I pray to God that's true. Nausea hit's your arms and legs. It makes your head feel woozy and your chest feel heavy. It makes food feel alien and every time you throw up? You feel like you have somehow lost a point to the morning sickness monster. It's like having the permanent flu, except you still have to function in everyday life. I'm going to publish my blog and retire so I can feel nauseous in peace. I feel like the whole world would appreciate my smart sarcastic wit, don't you? Okay, maybe not. But it was worth a shot. More updates on the awkward awesome that is pregnancy life soon. Cheers, kids. Have fun while you can.

Because eventually you will be married and pregnant and having even more fun than that! Suck it.