Post-pregnancy and Body Image

I posted several months ago about my experiences with body image in pregnancy and how I loved the body I was in. I came across this Scary Mommy post ("The Luxury of Not Giving a Damn" - read it!) on my FB feed recently, and it struck a chord really strongly in the midst of a lot of changes. I realized there was more to this mommy thing than just figuring out a baby - it's also figuring out yourself.

Every since grad school, I have known that time is a cruel metabolism killer. The older you get, the slower your metabolism and the harder it is to lose weight and change your body. The older you get, the more your body has trouble doing normal things, too, so the fact that we all get fat and fall apart as we get older is not new (being very general here). But learning this as a young, relatively in shape person is a lot different than actually experiencing it as an adult where it starts to become reality. Sure, I counsel people everyday on how to eat well, exercise, reach their weight loss goals, but that's always been their problem. I've never had to deal with it myself and am realizing now the amount of compassion needed to really tackle the underlying issues of body image and weight.

Pregnancy was great because I could be "fat" without being self-conscious that I should look some other way. Once Avery was born, I quickly, and I mean really quickly, lost the baby weight. I did some form of nursing for first 6 weeks, and that combined with not eating or sleeping much helped to keep my weight steady. I fit into old stuff! People said how great I looked! I felt odd about their compliments because (1) I didn't do anything except have a baby, and (2) I knew that some women wish they looked that great post-partum but how do you say thanks with saying I don't know how I did it? It's just genes maybe?

Once I stopped nursing, however, I experienced a flare-up of the autoimmune disease I was diagnosed with at age 18. My doctors had told me this might happen, but it still sucks. My left eye/sinus started hurting, we tried some medications, they didn't work, we decided I needed to do IV infusions, but in the meantime (read = 1 month, the approval process takes forEVER because it's super expensive), I wasn't getting any better. My nurse then suggested what I knew was coming but was hoping to avoid: prednisone.

There are few things in life I can honestly say I have a love/hate relationship with, and prednisone is one of those.

Prednisone is a steroid. Not pump-your-muscles steroid, but another kind made in your adrenal glands. It makes me fat. It causes me to gain water weight. My face gets big and my shoulders and upper body gain weight. It increases your appetite so all you want to eat is CARBS CARBS CARBS and all the things all the time. It also gives you crazy energy, which turns out is a really helpful thing when you have a 4 month old who's congested and needs a paci re-insertion every 2-3 hours. And I did start to feel better. But I hated how I looked. In fact, I still kind of do.

One day I was putting on my scrubs for work, the same ones I work before busting out the maternity scrubs, and I just felt so uncomfortable. The pants were too tight in places they hadn't been before, and I constantly was adjusting them during the day. I didn't want to go out and buy more because that would be admitting I was fat. I work in a fitness facility and I can't be fat telling other people not to be. So, after much debating, I decided I needed to start working out again, and the time that would occur would be 4:00 am each morning.

Working out is one of my things. I love it. It's therapeutic for me. It helps me focus, destress, and re-orient my day. It also makes me feel REALLY GOOD which is what I needed. And thanks to the prednisone, I had the energy to go to bed at 9 pm, wake up at 4, exercise, and make it to work on time by 6:45, all while taking care of my baby somewhere in there.

I'm not perfect. I don't even know how long it will take to lose this extra weight with working out, weaning off the prednisone by middle of December, and trying to eat healthier. When I came across this line in the Scary Mommy article, I copied and pasted it into my reminders app.

It’s a gift not to give a damn how my body and face compares to others.

I need to remember this. I need to know that yes, the goal is to be a healthy weight and feel good, but ultimately I need freedom from comparison and looking at other moms. I need freedom from other PEOPLE looking at me and feeling the need to comment whether I look great or keep to themselves that that's what a new mom's body must look like after having a baby. I need the freedom to not worry if others are drawing conclusions about my character because of what my postpartum body looks like. I need the freedom to BE MYSELF, wear the clothes I want to wear, and know that my body is pretty dang amazing.

I had a baby, and I don't care what you think my body should or does look like. It's mine, it did some amazing things, and I hope you find the freedom to love yourself the way I'm learning to. If each of us women starts to love ourselves more and not judge other moms silently, we all just might be a little more kind and happy and understanding and not waste time comparing. We are mothers - we don't have time for that!

Nursing Avery, Part II

The Breaking Point

So we were going to try EBF for the week, and I was somewhat anxious about whether it would really work, cautiously excited it might actually be the breakthrough we were praying for. That week was SO hard. I was stressed out from family visiting out of town and Brent being at work and me at home by myself trying to entertain and take care of my newborn who I didn't know much about. Avery picked up on the stress and developed some bad gas which made her super fussy. She didn't sleep too well, either. I began cutting things out of my diet to see if it helped, which it didn't. I noticed one morning that I wasn't engorged like I usually was in the morning, but passed it off as my supply just regulating. By the time family left, it was time to go to another weighed feeding.

The Friday that she turned 5 weeks old was the worst day. She wouldn't sleep for more than 45 minutes at a time from 2 am on, and I was beside myself in how to get her to sleep - I tried everything we had done so far - swing, momaroo, shushing, but nothing worked and she was crying bloody murder. I fed her, then put her in the sling so she could at least be calm. She did sleep, and I ended up calling the pediatrician and explaining she just wasn't actually normally. I already was planning on doing a weighed feeding that day, and after making the appt had a realization that I would have a plan or at least answers by the end of the day. I was ready to put the week behind me and take a step forward.

I had a friend meet me at the weighed feeding, and once I got there, I just knew she wasn't going to be taking in as much. Talking to my friend really helped put all that was happening in perspective - she also encouraged me by saying that no matter what happened, I had tried EVERYTHING and done everything to make this work. There would be no shame in switching to another feeding method.

When we weighed her after 30 minutes, she had taken in only 0.8 oz, but more importantly only gained 4 oz since the week before, which wasn't enough. It was time to go to the pedi appt, and on my way over, I realized the plan was going to change. There needed to be something different. The pedi couldn't point to anything specific, but did stress she needed to gain more weight. On the way home, she fell asleep in the car, which was one of the first times that day I had peace. Peace physically because she was sleeping, but peace emotionally because I knew what we had to do.

When I got home, I fed her a bottle of half pumped breast milk and half formula, then she took a nap. After that nap, she was HAPPY. She didn't fuss during the feeding. She had a good playtime. She was back to normal. When Brent got home I told him I needed a break from EBF and was going to do the bottle thing for the weekend then reassess. The weekend was glorious - she slept well, ate well, and peace was restored after a hellish week. I extended the bottle feeding through the next week and was amazed at how well Avery was doing. Little things I noticed, too - like the blocked tear duct she had since birth was cleared up. She also would put herself to sleep once we laid her in the crib, whereas before we had to shush her to sleep in between cries. It was like I had a NEW baby. I couldn't ignore the fact that the bottles were doing wonders for her AND me.

I kept up pumping several times a day, but eventually it got to be difficult, especially when she wouldn't go down for a nap. It also was becoming much less efficient - I had to pump longer and longer to get the same amount. I eventually weaned myself from pumping and as of last weekend, Avery is now exclusively formula fed. I've never felt better about any parenting decision I've ever made.

During the week of bliss, I came across this blog and series of posts from a mother who EBF her first, but then had the same difficulties I did with her second - wasn't efficient, switched to pumping, but eventually went to formula. I cried the entire time I read her posts. After reading them, I knew formula was the best option. It was the healthiest for ME emotionally and physically, and it was the healthiest for AVERY emotionally and physically. I could've pushed through and gone crazy all for the sake of EBF, but in the end I knew I couldn't go on. It was done.

I particularly liked this quote from one of her posts:

"Some people who nurse want to nurse because they absolutely love having their baby right there any time they want for however long they want.  Some people who nurse don't actually like nursing, but they want the benefits of breastmilk for their baby.  Some other people only nurse because it costs zero money.  Some people who nurse love it for all the reasons and wish they could nurse forever. 

Some people who pump just aren't into the idea of breastfeeding.  Some people who pump would rather have the option of other people feeding the baby.  Yes, they're tied to the pump - but they'd rather be tied to that than the baby.  Some people who pump tried every blasted thing possible to get their baby to nurse, but the baby just couldn't get the swing of it.

Some people who use formula had an extremely hard time with their milk supply/nursing/etc., and always worrying about their baby's weight gain wasn't worth it.  Some people who use formula just genuinely prefer the convenience of anybody anywhere feeding their baby.  Some people who use formula never wanted to breastfeed in the first place.

This list of reasons is not exhaustive and could go on.  Bottom line:  we're all different and we're all OKAY. "

The next week I went to postnatal yoga class with a friend, where moms do yoga along with interacting with their babies - kind of a fun mom's group. Some babies were asleep and some were playing - and some were hungry. Several moms would at times nurse their little ones, and I thought to myself, "that's great!" It was then that I realized I had NO GUILT and shame about my choice to formula feed. I was happy for those who could nurse, and content with my decision to feed my baby as I felt was best. Simple as that. It was a great moment.

We've been bottle feeding for awhile now, and while it still has it's challenges (like when to switch to a different size nipple, do these bottles work well?, how do I get her to not choke?) it is tons better than the struggle that was EBF. When I think about our future children and whether or not I will try nursing again, I don't know that answer. I know that babies are different, and I also know by the time the next one comes, I may be in a different place where I could try nursing again. All I really know is that this process has made more compassionate, understanding, and tolerant of the struggles moms go through in making decisions for their babies. It's not just limited to feeding - it's everything. The amount of decisions we mothers make in a day is astonishing. It's tiring! And I completely understand the need to be kind to one another in talking about our babies and how we are raising them. I hope in my conversations with other mothers that I can tone down the judgment and pride and tune up the focus on their well-being as a mom. We're all struggling with knowing if we're doing the right thing, anyways, why do we need someone else to point out we might not be? Be nice, and those around you will be too.

Nursing Avery, Part I

The Problem

This is my journey. Whether you don't know much about breastfeeding or have struggled yourself with it or even been successful, please read. I was ignorant of the BIG DEAL it is to feed your baby; and now that I have one, I totally understand the stress of having a newborn has the least to do with sleep deprivation.

Avery Joy was born at 6 lbs 2 oz, a tiny little baby that only took 20 minutes of pushing to welcome into the world. At first, I was pleased she was so small and I didn't have much pain or extended healing afterwards. Now that I can look back, I kind of wish she was a little bigger! You'll see why soon. After she was cleaned off and they let her chill on the center of my chest, she started to bob her head to the left side. The nurse noticed and said, "she might be ready to eat!" Oh yay! I thought. I just pushed a human alien out of my body and now comes the part where she bites back on to my body in the weirdest and most foreign way possible? Let's see what this is all about.

Her little mouth made its way over and she tried a few times to grab onto my flesh. Apparently, I have flat nipples. Could be due to the fact that I was on an IV for 12+ hours, had an epidural and pitocin, but I think there was a little genetics involved, too. That combined with her tiny mouth, it didn't go so well. The nurse brought a nipple shield to see if that would help; not much improvement. I don't think she technically "latched" but we tried for about 10 minutes and then decided she was good and we could always try later.

We stayed in the hospital for about 48 hours after her birth. The first night was a daze - I was so freaked out about this thing that I was supposed to love, but had no idea how to take care of, and Brent slept the whole night! The nurse was helpful and told me to wake her every 2-3 hours to nurse. Each time, I called her in so she could help me with latching. Avery was so sleepy, too, that it took forever to get her awake and keep her awake. Added to that was the frustration that she never really was latching correctly. Again the nurse tried using a nipple shield but Avery didn't seem to like it. The nurse said she would request a lactation consultant to come by in the morning.

The next day I was still bewildered and out of my element. The lactation consultant didn't come by until the evening, and by then I was super frustrated and worried. It all seemed on my end - she couldn't latch because I had flat nipples. The LC was somewhat helpful, but I could tell she had been working all day and wanted to go home, wanted me to be a quick last patient. The second night's nurse was the worst - she was a great nurse per se, but she came in several times to remind me to feed Avery, and very urgently - "she's lost too much weight and you need to feed her!" I was doing the best I knew how! It was really frustrating. The last day we were in the hospital, I started crying. I just wanted to be a good mom! I wanted to do a good job! I understood she needed to gain weight but what else was I supposed to do? Fortunately, a kind and younger LC came in that afternoon - and by the grace of God, I think could tell I had been crying and was frustrated. She was super nice and helpful, and we pumped some colostrum, just enough to feed it to Avery through a syringe. I felt better knowing Avery had at least eaten something, so we opted to go home that evening.

Our first pedi appointment was the next morning, and it was the first time we met the doctor who would be taking care of our daughter. I remember being so nervous - what if she cried while at the appointment? Was I supposed to know immediately what to do? The pedi said she needed to gain more weight, and since my milk hadn't come in, we should supplement after each nursing with 2 oz formula. (First of all, that's a huge amount for a 4 day old! And secondly, we had no formula, so they kindly gave us some samples of ready to drink formula). We got home from the appointment, and it was time to nurse. As I was about to have her latch, I felt something wet on my stomach. I looked down and there was a milky substance coming out of my boob! My milk had come in! That was exciting. That afternoon, after she was done nursing (and asleep by this point), we tried to give her some formula. She spit it up, so we decided not to do the supplementing, mostly because my milk had come in.

That first week was rough. Her nursing sessions sometimes lasted up to an hour! I couldn't believe this was the way it worked. I was so tired. But I pressed on. We visited with a LC at a clinic and she gave some helpful advice, again with a nipple shield. She said Avery was tiny and she would get stronger and better as she grew, but couldn't promise me that would actually happen. My tiny baby just wasn't strong enough, and that was hard to hear. The clinic was located inside a specialty maternity store, and she told us you could come and weigh your baby for free anytime and also do a weighed feeding if you wanted to. We decided to come back a week later to see if she was gaining weight appropriately.

(I feel like I should also interject that I was going crazy and my hormones were all over and I had no idea what I was doing or how we got here or why was it really this hard? That makes the feeding part more stressful when you dread each feeding session!)

The next Tuesday (she was 10 days old), we did a weighed feeding and found out that she only took in 0.7 oz in 30 minutes of nursing. I was devastated. The week before at the LC appt, she had taken in 1.2 in the same amount of time. Luckily the LC was around at the time we were there, and she suggested nursing for 30 minutes and then supplementing with 1 oz formula while I pumped to get my supply up. Brent was still home from work for a few more days, so with all the moving parts we came home with a new plan. Although it was tiring, we got used to it. I wondered how long we had to do it though - was all this mess worth it if someday she would be more efficient? We did another weighed feeding that week and still the same - 0.7 oz in 30 minutes. Brent encouraged me to keep going, and I did but was so exhausted, emotionally and physically.

I talked with a lot of my friends and got all their tips for increasing my supply - power pumping, fenugreek, blessed thistle, pineapple juice, mother's milk tea 3x/day, steel cut oats for breakfast. I threw myself into it and was determined to try everything. On her 4 week birthday,  we did another weighed feeding and she took in 1.7 oz in 20 minutes. I was so excited! She was getting more efficient and I was going to be able to feed her! We decided to try exclusively nursing for the next week and then reweigh. Little did we know that week would be the hardest of this journey so far.

Uncomfortable-ness

If you ever want to jump outside your comfort zone and be completely disillusioned and disoriented some days, then you should have a baby.

If you ever want to keep your schedule, have a routine, and know exactly what to expect, then you shouldn't have a baby.

I was having a rough day yesterday. Sometimes the bad days are because the baby is having a bad day and either fussy, won't sleep, won't eat, or simply just being a baby by changing up everything she does. (Like refusing to go to sleep one day and then falling asleep the moment I lay her down the next day. What?!) Sometimes the bad days are because mom is emotional and struggling with her expectations of what mom/newborn life is like and needing to cry and let go of the ideal that she is holding so dearly.

Yesterday was one of those days.

We have a bedtime routine for Avery, and it includes getting a bottle around 6:00 and then going to sleep right after. Lately she hasn't been to fond of going to sleep then, and it could be for ten thousand reasons I will never know, so we end up either rocking her to sleep or having her sleep in the sling on me, which isn't ideal but hey, she's sleeping. I consider sleeping the first priority, then if you fall asleep on your own the next, then sleeping in your crib. I'll take what I can get. Anyways, yesterday was one of those nights when she didn't want to sleep and I was having trouble with my expectation of a nice evening with my husband vs. getting the cranky baby to sleep. After we finally got her to go down, I was laying on the couch in frustration and said aloud, "I just don't like being uncomfortable!"

What makes me uncomfortable? Not knowing what to expect. Not having a plan or a schedule or a reasonable idea of what will happen. I used to consider myself pretty flexible, but lately, I've realized I really need to work on that. Babies are babies. She's not always going to do these things, and eventually I will forget that sleeping was a problem and will be focused on the next thing, like how on earth to dress my baby for daycare because she's always just hung out with me in semi-naked in a diaper or swaddled. Big things ahead!

I'm slowly learning how to take each day for what it is - a gift. And I'm also learning to look at Avery that way - as a gift. There was a time that our fertility doctor said, "So let's get you in touch with our egg donation team and go from there." We politely declined, and the Lord blessed us with not only a healthy baby, but a healthy mom! It truly is a gift that we have healthy daughter and I'm doing well.

Taking each day for what it is helps me also to see what the Lord is doing in my heart. If I focus on the past or future, I lose what the present is trying to teach me: patience and grace. Sometimes she will behave in a way I can't "fix" or help, and sometimes she will surprise me by exceeding what I thought she could do. Each moment with her is precious, each day is an adventure, and I am learning that she will never be 7 weeks 4 days old again. This is the only time that will happen.

Eventually it will get better, and I hope that I still remember what a precious time it was, and not that is was hard all the time. I want to come out of this with a grateful heart and a balanced perspective on her newborn phase. She'll only be this tiny and unpredictable for so long.

Mother Knows Best

Six weeks, y'all.

We made it six weeks!

The first week that Avery was home with us, I had another first-time mom friend come by to visit. She answered all my crazy, hormonally-driven and anxious questions, with tears from me. She also said, "I've told other moms this - just make it to six weeks. You can do crazy for six weeks."

Now, at not even one week old, the prospect of making it one more week sounded awful let alone 5 more weeks. But here we are, and we have made it. So what's the deal with six weeks?

I would say the biggest difference is that I'm "used to" having Avery around. I'm used to the routine - feed, play, nap every 3 hours, used to our method of feeding her (more on that later), can kind of understand her temperament and know when she's being unusually fussy - but not always why. We have become accustomed to staying home most nights and really only venturing out with Avery to church, small group, and appointments. We run errands alone on the weekends with the other one staying at home with her. We are not necessarily fully used to it, but it is definitely easier than it was the first week. We have found our lifestyle groove and while there's still things to work out, we get it now.

But as with all things parenting, the only constant is that things will always be changing!

I only have two more weeks of maternity leave left, and Avery will start daycare when she is a mere 2 months old. In some ways, I'm excited to get back to work that I love, have break from taking care of an infant all day (can be boring, can be exhausting), and starting our routine with both parents working and Avery at daycare. But I'm also bummed because I know I'll miss her and she's so young and small, I'll worry about her all the time. It will be hard to know it will take a few weeks to adjust to being in a brightly-lit room all day and trying to nap without a swaddle (eek!).

But I also want more time to get to know her. As of now, she puts herself to sleep within 15-20 min of me laying her in the crib. I love watching her fall asleep because I learn so much about how she soothes herself, her movements, which undoubtedly helps me at 2 am to know if she's awake or just passing from one REM cycle to the next. I also know that once they grow out of the newborn stage at 3 months, they begin to do a WHOLE lot more. I love playing with Avery and watching her interact more and more with the world - and learn new sounds besides crying!

I love researching and reading and I can probably say I've read most of the books on babies. It has helped me some - but what I really will miss is developing my mother's instinct. I know I will still be working on this for some time, but I really wish I could be there for all the moments she does something different and I have to react and make a decision on how to help her best. I want to make those mistakes, cry, and learn from them. My journey to motherhood has been mostly the Lord breaking me of being so by-the-book and learning to be flexible and go with the flow. And while I know I'll still be doing that in the times I have with her, I am missing out on a chunk of her life.

I'm pretty confident I will enjoy being a working mom. But I'm beginning to see why it's hard, why it's a sacrifice, and why America needs better maternity leave policies (ugh, don't get me started!). I just hope the next two weeks go slow enough to enjoy them but fast enough that they don't drag on.

And in another six weeks, I'll be looking forward to the next milestone: babyhood.

Becoming a Mother is...

Warning before you read: sleep deprivation is real, y'all. My thoughts are golden, but they make not be arranged cohesively.

Sometimes being a first time mom sucks. It just does. It's not that I don't love my baby - she's the cutest thing I look at all day (besides my husband). It's not that I don't enjoy being home and being productive. It's just that being a first time mom is lonely. It's hard. It's mind-numbing at times. Eat, awake, sleep. Repeat. My life is lived in 3 hour increments.

You come to a point where you can't give any more. You don't know if you can really go on because who can keep giving when you're empty? You give your full attention and time to your baby, then your husband has a bad day, then your baby cries at an unusual time or you don't know what's going on with her. Once you figure it out, there's something else to give your attention to. What's this new thing that's going on? It's continual adaptation. It's continual selflessness and laying down EVERYthing you ever expected about this new stage in life. It is giving more than I even knew I could give.

I know it gets better. Everyone says that, and honestly, I'm almost 4 weeks into this deal and I can see how this week is SO MUCH better than the first week. But I feel like I'm crawling - crawling instead of walking and progressing well. I know it's slow, and I'll miss these days, but right now I don't. I'm stuck in between wanting it to be 4, 6, 10 months ahead but also knowing somedays are pretty easy compared to what may come. Stuck between wanting the days when she'll interact with me and knowing I'll also miss the days I could carry my baby with one arm.

I think it's okay for me to have bad days; days where I don't want to do this anymore, where I come to the end of my reserve. Those are the days I learn just how far I can reach and what I am made of.

Yesterday I was crying in the kitchen because I realized I am the only one that can love Avery like I do. That statement was comforting but also brought a lot of weight with it. Of course, I've always wanted to be a mom in a very loose sense, but a lot of times our picture of what that looks like is a little skewed. Acknowledging that I'm Avery's mother is a huge deal. There's a lot of responsibility but also joy in that statement. I get to experience the highs and lows, and each make the other that much more tolerable.

This blog post was my go-to yesterday. I read it at least 20 times and cried each time. If you're a first time mom or about to be, please read it. It's so spot on and encouraging:

"I know how hard those beginning months of motherhood are. Keep in mind as you are there that you are doing God's work. The difficulty of it all can really turn you to the Lord like little else. It is a growing time for you spiritually. You will come out more kind, empathetic, loving, patient, selfless, and much, much more. 

Hang in there. You will look back soon and find certain aspects of what it was to be a first time mom quite desirable. You will long for time to just be at home with no where else to be. You will fondly remember those quiet hours at home with just you and your babe. As in any stage of life, try to focus on the good aspects before you. There are always good and bad to each situation and walk of life. Focus on the good of what it is and you will make it through happier and more content. "

How I Lost 25 Lbs in One Day

AKA Avery's Birth Story :)

Before I was pregnant, I always wondered why moms posted their birth stories or shared them, as if it was a "thing" that was normal to share. I though it was odd that you'd want to share something so intimate but also gross. What's the deal?

But now I get it. It's a badge of honor, a way of saying, "this is how you came into the world," and something to remember for years to come. It's a unique and precious time, the moments before you meet your child.

On June 1, I rushed from work to my OB appointment, hoping to get out in time to make it to yoga class. I never made it to yoga - in fact, I was instructed to walk straight over to the hospital and check myself in for observation. I had preeclampsia, and thus began my 4 weeks of waiting on the couch. Towards the end, my OB mentioned he'd like to make it to 38 weeks in order to allay any complications from pre-term labor. So, we set a date of Friday, June 26 for induction.

The night before, when Brent got off work, we decided we should go on a date. At this point, we only  knew a few things about being parents: you will be sleep deprived and you will never go on a date again. Or maybe once/month. (This is funny to me now). So we went out to eat. Then we bought a new car. (Long story, but glad we did because the next week found out our old car had a broken axle and couldn't drive!)

So on the morning on June 26, we show up to the hospital to have a baby. It was so surreal. You know it's coming, but you don't know exactly what's coming. Once I registered and got to our room, I changed into a hospital gown and they hooked up an IV with saline. My OB came in an hour later, broke my water, and started the pitocin at 8:30 am (I was at 2 cm coming in). Let me tell you, breaking your water feels like you are peeing all over yourself. Except your in a bed so you just sit in it. It's gross. I got up a few times to pee, and they would change the sheets, but still, gross. Every time I moved in bed, I "peed" again. Yuck. Can't imagine what that would be like happening while I was at work! Eek.

I didn't really start to feel much until 10:30, when I'd have small twinges like I needed to go pee. (Again with the bathroom analogies). The contractions felt like someone was sitting on my bladder. Not having experienced a lot of pain in this area before, it was new to my body and mind. Over the next few hours, they got closer together and more intense. My OB checked on me again around noon and upped the pitocin because I "wasn't making a scrunchy face yet." In other words, they weren't bad enough. But soon after that, they became crazy. I started closing my eyes all the time. I couldn't talk in between. I moved to the birthing ball, and had Brent press on my lower back whenever I had a contraction.

By 4:00, I was SO OVER it. Contractions are like waves, they KEEP COMING. There are no breaks and there are no breathers. They don't stop. I have a high pain tolerance, but as I was reminded, a low mental endurance. So at 4:00 when he checked and I was only at 4 cm, I cried for the epidural. There was no way I would labor for hours and hours only to get 1 more cm.

Best decision ever.

After they put it in and it started working, we took a nap. And it was awesome. I was so much more happy and able to enjoy the process. Around 7:30 pm, I began to feel "pressure" like I had to pee, but it was NOWHERE near the pain before. I told the nurse and she said she would page my OB to come check me. I also started shaking at this point, uncontrollably, and the nurse said that was normal - it was the adrenaline I was going to need soon! My OB checked me at 8:00 and yelled "she's complete!" and then the ruckus started. Carts and trays were wheeled in, orders called out, people shuffling in the room. I had no idea what to expect! The pressure was getting stronger and then I felt my bones start to have pressure on them too. She was coming!

After about 20 minutes of pushing (which really just feels like you're trying to poop), Avery Joy Bassett was born at 8:24 pm. And seriously, my life has never been the same. Once she came out, I remember my OB laying her on my chest, all covered in goo and crying. My first thought was, "what is this?! That was in me?!" Some mothers have an instant connection with their baby, I was just freaked out about the whole thing! They whisked her off after a few minutes to the warmer and were trying to get her to cry more to get the amniotic fluid out of her lungs, meanwhile I'm not really sure what's going on - my OB is trying to show me my placenta (who cares?), then stitches me up, I start crying because it's all so overwhelming, and finally after several minutes they bring her back, a little cleaner and calmer. Honestly, I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what to expect, but it was all so surreal I couldn't react clearly. Looking back it was a relatively easy labor, but nothing could have prepared me for what was going to happen when she came!

If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't change anything. I'm glad I labored as long as I did, and I'm glad I got the epidural. It was all worth it, and I couldn't have asked for a better story!

On Becoming Mom

There are so many questions in these (literally) last few days before our baby girl joins us.

Will I have time enjoy NOT being pregnant anymore? Or will I just be tired? 

Won't she know her nursery isn't fully decorated yet? Surely newborns have aesthetic senses, right?

Will she like me? I mean, I feel like I'm pretty cool, but will she think that too?

But the most important question I'm asking myself is:

How will I know what the hell I'm doing?!

I've been on bed rest since June 1, and I've taken the time - since I have it - to read a multitude of baby books. I actually started before June 1, but was more motivated once on bed rest to pass the time with discovering the opposing ends of the spectrum that baby sleep and eating schedules encompass. I read about how your baby should feed every 3 hours, or whenever they want. They should never cry it out, but only when it works. I concluded what this mom concluded: nothing. You just figure it out.

I'm very organized, systematic girl, so the idea of a schedule is awesome. We know what to expect! We can always come back to it! But I also recognize I have no clue what this girl is going to do. She may be completely opposite of me, in which we'll just get through the younger years and then go through some organizational training later :) Just kidding. Maybe.

But really, I'm past the point of fear or worrying. I don't have time to think of all the "stuff" we still need or the tasks that need to be completed around the house. (Would I feel better if the house was clean before baby came home? Sure. But she won't know the difference and if my family cares at all, they'll clean it for me.) I'm just ready to meet this lady. Ready to not be pregnant and only have 2 positions I can sleep in. Ready to work out again and feel strong. And most importantly, ready to begin the adventure of motherhood.

Here we go!

The Most Boring Hard Work I've Ever Done

Let me just start by saying that I know other mamas have it worse than me. As I've perused the online world of bedrest resources, it's actually amazing some women don't literally go crazy. I've seen as soon as 15 weeks on bedrest. 15 weeks! You're barely showing at that point! I know I'm at 35 weeks, and only have 2 to go, so it won't be a long road for me, but it still is tough. And, who ever said one person's experience is invalidated only because someone else experienced it longer?

Back to the basics. Last Monday, I showed up to work like normal, did my job like normal, felt completely fine, maybe worried too much that I wouldn't have time after yoga to shower and let my hair completely dry before our maternity photo shoot that evening. I left slightly early to make it to my OB appt, hoping he wouldn't be running late so I could make it to yoga in time.

And then suddenly, my plans were wiped off the board. Go directly across the way to the hospital and check in. No, there won't be any maternity pictures tonight. No, you won't be going back to work for a long time. As of now, I've been diagnosed with moderate preeclampsia, and will most likely be on bedrest until 37 weeks when they'll induce, supposing nothing happens before then, like I swell up like a balloon or my kidneys start spilling protein like a waterfall in the Amazon. It obviously happened very suddenly (at least my perception of the symptoms), and it's taken me awhile to realize I won't be returning to "normal life" for several months.

While I am thankful I have great doctors who are being very cautious and kind, great family and friends who have visited or called while I've been in the hospital and since I've come home, I really just want to tell you how much bedrest sucks. It's annoying, it's boring, it's mind-numbing, it's very very hard. It's the most boring hard work I've ever done.

Being a very active person and having a job in which I am trying to convince others to move MORE is the complete antithesis to my life right now. Like completely opposite and in no way makes sense to me. Maybe if I was 14 and lazy would I enjoy a prescription to lay on the couch all day. But I'm not. I'm an exercise physiologist, and I know what happens when you lay in bed all day. I know what happens when you only walk twice a day for about 10 minutes total, and how long it takes for you to do your daily activities with ease, let alone walk on a treadmill. I have seen first hand this week just how much muscle mass you can lose in 5 days on bedrest and how weak you become. This is super annoying as I was trying my best to workout 5 days a week as long as I could in this pregnancy, mostly because I knew I wanted to be strong afterwards.

I am literally wasting away, all in the name of keeping me healthy. I realize this post might come off as whiney, but it's where I'm at. I've got no insight or wisdom at this point, I'm really just trying to adjust. I want to be strong, and I guess I'm realizing sometimes that doesn't have to be my identity.

It's also much worse being at home. There's so much to do! I would love to organize the garage, set up the baby's room, go shopping for furniture, etc. so the current battle is mentally letting go of having the house in order. No nesting for me! I do have people who are helping, but nothing can replace you and how you operate. 

Today, though, I realized that I am solely focused on baby's arrival, staying healthy, and making sure she is healthy. When would I ever normally get that privilege? If I wasn't on bed rest I would be fussing around, focusing on a lot of different things. But I'm now focused on one; at least I'm trying. :)

Pregnancy & Body Image

I don't know many girls or women who don't have issues surrounding their body image. It could be as simple as wishing something was different to all-out hatred of one's body. We stand in front of the mirror every morning, our eyes immediately going to parts you don't like, then to the parts we do, making sure they'll make up for whatever we see as imperfect, kind of like a positive/negative balance. Then we also look at other women - whether they washed their hair or not, the wrinkles in their clothes, how much hairspray and makeup they use, their choice of footwear, etc. We could be trying to distract ourselves from our own bodies or maybe wanting to feel superior to others. I've noticed it doesn't take much - we're all taught to observe and draw conclusions, but once we take those conclusions to form solid opinions of other women is where it gets dangerous. Focusing on who a person really is is a hard task! To look past what we see and get to know the person is incredibly difficult, if not time consuming, but also very worth it.

When I was, let's say, a budding teenager, if you catch my drift, I was in the throws of junior high, suddenly placed into an environment where the brand of my jeans (wide-leg Generation X) and the color of my shoes (light brown Simple shoes) was a status symbol. There was no hope for "being yourself." Why be yourself when you can create a persona with how you dress and act? It was confusing and probably not the best way to learn who I really was, but it happened and having now healed from most of those wounds, I can say I made it. One thing has stuck with me, though, only because I couldn't realize it until now.

I always hoped I would get pregnant someday so I could have an excuse to be fat.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I thought that. I desperately wanted a flat stomach, because, well that's what everyone said all girls my age should look like. It had nothing to do with the fact that I was skinny as a rail, a year-round athlete once in high school, and had the metabolism of, well, a teenager. You had to have the stomach, and I didn't. I found various ways of hiding or minimizing it, and life went on. But I always wanted to not worry how my stomach looked in tops or dresses.

Well, a surprising thing happened when I started showing my pregnancy: I learned to love my body for what it was. Yes, there was a part of me that enjoyed wearing whatever tops or dresses I wanted without worrying, but it was more than that. I realized in putting on a piece of clothing that was tighter and showed my pregnant belly, I forgot about how I looked. I was just simply pregnant. Early on, when regular clothes didn't fit but my belly was still small, I was worried if people would know that I'm pregnant or just think I'm overweight, which is a huge deal for me in my work.

But then I thought, "Who cares?!"

And that was the most freeing thought I've had since vowing to get pregnant so I could be fat.

About 6 weeks ago, one of my doctors put me on a steady taper of prednisone due to some inflammation and lab results. I always love and loathe prednisone: it makes you feel amazing but also makes you retain water, specifically in your face and upper back. I've taken prednisone off and on for about 12 years, so I always have to go through a sort of process when I start taking it. Will it make my face look fat again? I hope not this time! And ya know what? This time it did. My face is fat. But you know what else?

Who cares?!

I'm learning that loving myself means shaking off the weight that other's opinions have of me. It means being myself, unabashedly, and not worrying about what others are thinking. Just being me. I know I exercise and try to eat well. I'm healthy, and I don't need my appearance to validate that fact. I am who I am and hope you can appreciate that. I also hope I can learn to appreciate that about others, too! It's a two way street that I'm so thankful to walk now, but also once I'm not pregnant anymore.

Why I Won't Tell You Happy Birthday on Facebook

Let's be honest, when was the last time you received a piece of personal mail? Not a "handwritten" note from your insurance agent, or even a package from Amazon Prime, but an actual, personal note, letter, or gift? It's been awhile, huh?

I sort-of-fondly remember writing thank you notes after each birthday and Christmas to all the family and friends who gave gifts or came to my celebration. I'm not sure if it was the fact that I begrudged it so much growing up, but for some reason it's automatic for me to do so now. To not write a personal thank you note (on paper, in my handwriting, with a stamp) seemed like leaving the gift without any closure. Did I enjoy it? What am I using the money/gift for? Am I appreciative of it?

These days, I rarely write a note just to say hi. It seems that a text or email will do. Yes, it's more convenient and saves paper, but what are we losing when we gain our time back? Are we really communicating that the person is special, loved, and worthy of the time it takes to sit down and write a note?

My paternal grandmother (and grandfather) tried the whole computer thing. Last I checked, it was covered in a sheet, on a card table, in the corner of the dining room. I'm pretty sure they use it solely for Solitaire and to check the Salina, KS Obituaries online (with a shortcut on the desktop). Instead of sending emails, writing Facebook posts, or texting, they write letters and call as their main form of communication. Now, nothing's wrong with Facebook, it's just that you lose the personal touch when your words are reduced from handwriting to typeface. There's so much personality in my grandmother's handwriting - I save all her letters and love trying to "decode" certain words, knowing she took time to write it, and as she did, thought carefully about her choice of words.

(Even as I'm typing this, I'm wondering how different of a post it would be if I had to handwrite it. Sometimes, my thoughts come to too quickly to write them manually, but then it forces me to choose the words carefully, so maybe it is better?)

You're probably still wondering why I won't say Happy Birthday! to you on FB. Here's why:

I like receiving personal mail. Especially birthday cards.

It's funny to me that, for my 30th birthday last year, a good friend organized a "card shower" and sent out an email encouraging others to send me a card and gave my address. How many physical addresses do you know? Do you have them written down? (Another pause for irony: my address book is online). I appreciated it deeply, but it was funny that she had to "organize" the card sending when it used to be normal.

But the point is this: if I haven't spoken to you in several years, and I only know it's your special day because FB tells me, why should I tell you Happy Birthday? If I don't really have a relationship with you, does it make sense that the only time you hear from me is to give you good wishes on your birthday? It seems so shallow to me - the birthday thing but sometimes Facebook in general - because it allows me to keep tabs on my "friends" without really engaging them in relationship or REALLY hear how they're doing. I say "happy birthday!" but don't really take the time to catch up or engage you, and that feels awkward and shallow.

One of my goals this year is to be better at sending cards, not just birthday cards. I've made a Shutterfly calendar with all my friend's and family's birthdays (with a big picture of their face), to help me remember. If we're friends and I am currently in relationship with you, I want to celebrate you! It's not that I don't want to celebrate past acquaintances, but I just don't feel I have the place in their lives to meaningfully do so. I want to be intentional and present in all my friendships, and sending personal mail is one of the ways I intend to do that.

The Joyful Mess of Marriage

This is not a "my marriage is perfect, let me tell you 10 things I learned that can help you, too" kind of post. It's also not a "wow, marriage is so wonderful and blissful and I hope everyone gets to be married for a year like me!" post. It's just me honoring the fact that it's been a year.

One whole year!

I'm resisting the fact that I should be at a "certain level" of intimacy, knowledge, and happiness in my marriage. I've always heard the first year is very important, but honestly, I think all years are. It's not like you suddenly "get it" when you hit Year One. It still takes work and crying and talking and laughing to figure the mess out. I hope Brent and I are doing all those things for the rest of our lives, and that we never stop pursuing each other.

Wait, marriage can be a mess? Well, it's not like a regular friendship, where the level of intimacy and loyalty goes only so high. If your friend does something that hurts you, or maybe you wish they'd done or said it a little differently, you might "confront" them about it, or at least mention it. But in marriage, if you don't say something, it's like a car that is veering off the road. You only notice the veering gradually, but eventually you move into other lanes and bam! hit the median. If you correct the car with little turns to the right and left, you will stay in your lane. Same with marriage - it's the little turns here and there that keep you on track. It's hard because I'd rather pretend everything is ok. But I also deep down can't stand it when I keep things in, and we've tried to create a safe place  and process for when we "need to talk." Sometimes you feel messy because you aren't perfect, and sometimes admitting your not perfect, to yourself and even to your spouse, takes grace.

Ahhh, but marriage is also joyful, too! In the past year, I've experienced the most deep and fulfilling intimacy with another human being I ever thought possible. I never knew I could open my heart up so much and find it accepted and loved even more by a person. I never knew I could cry and snot on someone's shoulder and they wouldn't bat an eye!

In the past year, I've gone through two surgeries and multiple health issues, we've set up our condo and found our rhythm of lifestyle and rest, we've waded through questions of infertility and wondered if the Lord would have us get pregnant, (He did!), we've been on several adventures I never knew existed, and I've found the most peace and security in a person I've ever known. My marriage makes me smile because I have friend. I have someone to do life with, a partner, a comrade. Life doesn't get easier when you're married, it just gets easier to deal with having a friend by your side.

What's even more deep is that this friend is committed, not just your roommate for the next year. They are committed for your life! To see you grow, to fight for the best for you, and to help you along when you're struggling. I find so much joy in having a cheerleader next to me, and need the reminder that I am valued and worth it often.

Recently we attended the funeral of Brent's grandfather, and being the emotionally sensitive person I am, I got the sense that although his grandma was relieved he was done with his suffering, there was still sadness. She would reach over for his hand, but not find it. She may wake up each morning for the next several years and feel an emptiness and lack. From what I know of the family, they loved each other well. Such companionship and love is what I aim for -w here at the end of our lives, whoever goes first, we can say that there were no regrets. I don't wish I loved him more. I want to say that I loved my husband well, and pass that legacy on to my own grandchildren.

So the first year of marriage for me was SO good and SO growing. I've tasted enough that I'm willing to keep going, push through the hard things, and experience joy on the other side. It was well worth the wait - God knew what He was doing and still does. While I know somewhat of what this next year will hold (baby, house, new job, etc), I'm excited to see what adventure God has in mind for us & what legacy of love we get to build.

The Fog of Transition

Whenever I don't feel like myself, I ask what's wrong. Why am I acting this way? What lies am I believing that keep me from living the way I really want to? Do I just need a nap? Sometimes the fix is quick - I realize right away what isn't settling well in my soul, and I'm able to correct it. But sometimes, the answer eludes me. Sometimes, it takes weeks to unravel and confront.

{Btw, as I'm awkwardly typing this with a bandaid on the tip of my right middle finger, I kindly remind you to check the trash can for discarded razor blades before you reach your hand in to help empty it. It will help your typing tremendously. End PSA.}

Before the beginning of the year, we began looking around for houses. It's been a process mostly because we are learning what we want, need, and ultimately how our lifestyle is going to look. We put an offer in on a house, but to make a long story short, the owners have no clue what they want so we sat waiting for 6 weeks while they figured it out. We are still looking and wondering. We are expecting our first baby GIRL in July, and even thinking about all that entails can get exhausting. Will we be ready with all the stuff we need? Will we be ready to be parents? Will we move in to our new house before baby comes? Am I ready to be sleep deprived? And if that's not enough, Brent is exploring other job opportunities in Austin, which has been an ongoing process since last August.

I admit that I am in a big life transition. We haven't physically moved anywhere yet, and the events that will bring about transition are all in the future, which means I'm "pre-transition," I suppose. But my mind has been totally fixated on the upcoming changes, it's almost as if I'm there. When the beginning of the year started, I began preparing for those changes, because honestly, the job and house could happen at any moment. I began making decorating wish lists and imagining what it would be like for Brent to have a different work schedule - how would that change our relationship? My schedule?

I was so focused on the future I forgot to live in the present. I was so focused on what I was going to be that I forgot who I was today.

Several times since then, I've thought I wasn't being myself. At the end of the day, I would wonder, "what did you actually do today?" Life was a blur. I felt almost like I was depressed - didn't really have passion or care about much, yet unable to really understand why. I knew I had previously received a lot of joy from my job, my friends, and my life. But it just all seemed blah.

My journey out of this fog, as I call it, was not quick. It was gradual. It began at a women's retreat put on by my church. I was assisting in the planning and was in charge of free time, so I didn't look at it like a participant. Being there for a few minutes, however, made me realize God had much more for me than to just help out. After that weekend, I realized that I was in a transition (which, if you're in one and don't know it, identifying that fact is really important!), and that I had forgotten who I was. At that point, however, I couldn't go much further. My emotional capacity was spent just realizing that! Over the course of the next 2 weeks, I would listen to a worship song, a sermon, or catch a phrase a friend would say and I would realize something more. The big change happened when I listened to Paul Manwaring's sermon from Bethel from 12/14/14. He literally called me out of the fog I was in and told me to be myself. He asked such an important question - what is the "I AM" in you? What part of God has He placed in you that only you can fulfill?

Slowly I began writing down my passions. I looked back in my journal and realized PEOPLE. They were my passion. Seeing them change, seeing them freed! And the next night I got to verbalize this out loud to my small group, and somehow I was out of the fog. I began to live out who I was before, and it felt SO good! I began to see the present as all I could live in, and began giving the future up to God. How freeing! I could live for today and not worry about tomorrow!

I'm so thankful for the present. It's so beautiful because once a moment passes, it won't happen again. This encourages me to be intentional about how I live, what I say, and where my focus is. While I'm not perfect, I'm thankful I have a God who centers me and allows me to refocus with grace and no judgment. And guess what? I'm even more excited about the future now that I'm living in the present.

Pregnancy.

Currently, I feel somewhat pregnant. I have bouts of exhaustion and have to pee a lot (but don't pee a lot when I do, what's up with that?!), but otherwise don't feel that pregnant. I just feel fat. Like as in, I ate too much over the holidays and have yet to gain my old body back. My pants don't fit, I can't stretch as far as I could before in yoga class, and lying on my tummy is sometimes uncomfortable. But all those things could be true for someone who was just larger in general.

However, despite my semi-pregnant feelings, I do have other symptoms and signs there really is a human being growing inside of me. I'm not that hung up on "symptoms," mostly because having a chronic illness numbs you to the novelty of something feeling wrong or not good in your body. But these are different and new and somehow pointing me towards the fact that yes, I am pregnant.

I should probably just buy stock in Zantac. I eat that stuff like candy. So much for my lower esophageal sphincter. (For those who are unsure what I'm referring to, it's HEARTBURN). Ouch.

I bought a bunch of maternity clothes recently, and as much fun as it was to buy new clothes and have new options, I also really miss my old clothes. I mean, I spent the past 20+ years putting together my wardrobe! I really like the set I had! 

My sinuses are swollen (pregnancy side effect) so sometimes the nose breathing during the entirety of my yoga class is not my fave, or running up the stairs, or carrying large objects. Unfortunately, I don't see this improving much anytime soon. Maybe I can ask to breathe through my mouth?

But I AM pregnant. When I find myself leaning towards complaining (which actually I do little of), I remind myself this is a gift. A miracle. This wasn't supposed to happen, but God made sure it did.

And as I write notes to my future baby in their little journal, I am filled with wonder that God is creating an entirely unique human being, allowing me to experience its growth, and entrusting me with the baby's care. I am so thankful we have 9ish months to prepare for baby; I'm going to need all that time to really process and take hold of what is to come.

So there's my current happenings. In two weeks, we get to find out the gender. I have a feeling it will become all the more real after that appointment! :)

Sunsets and Perspective

Most of my life, I've had a fascination with sunsets. I think everyone has some degree of respect and awe when a beautiful display of color is filling up the skies, but for some reason I've gathered that my level of respect and awe is slightly more than others. When I catch a good one, which is sometimes hard living in a city, it almost paralyzes me - I have to stop and stare, taking in the whole 360 view, which also involves lots of oohing and aahing.

On our road trip to Kansas for Christmas, I was watching a particularly captivating sunset as we were driving, and I had an "AH HA!" moment. A moment where I realized why I and others desire to view the sun slipping into the horizon, why people purposely build their back porches (and place their rocking chairs) facing the west, and why research shows that watching sunsets can reduce your stress levels.

Sunsets are like a "reset" button. They occur everyday, give or take a few hours depending on the season, but they ALWAYS happen. Though not always as visible or beautiful each time, it's like a regular reminder of the daily routine, the season, the changes, the earth's and star's rhythm that keeps us moving. Just think - what would it be like without a sunset everyday? I think we would all freak out! Something inherent in our human clock would be missing. I know I would start to feel very insecure and unsafe - if the sunset isn't there, then who's really in charge? There's a reason the Bible speaks of God's love and faithfulness "as surely as the sun rises."

If sunrises remind us it's a new day, sunsets help us calm down, recognize the pattern and rhythm of life, and appreciate the day we just lived. By starting into the horizon at something honestly few of us really understand (why so many reds and purples and oranges?), we simultaneously gain perspective on who we are as humans, but also that there is something bigger than us going on. As much as we like to be in control, sometimes it's comforting to know someone else is in control and has a bigger idea of who we are and what we're doing on the earth.

Sunsets remind me to slow down and appreciate the world I live in. I hope the next time you see a sunset, you're able to do the same.

(taken at Cedar Hill State Park near Dallas, Texas)

Hope

What is the point of hope, anyways? It's pretty fun for awhile, while you're waiting for something, expecting big things to happen, but somewhat either naive or confident that the event/thing will actually occur. When you're younger, you tend to be a little more naive of the realities of the world, so hope is an easy thing. The world is before you - anything can happen! As I've gotten older, I've realized it's harder for me to hope. Gotta stay practical. What if it doesn't happen? You've been burned before.

When I want to hope in something but all the input I'm getting is "reality statements" instead of faith, it becomes very difficult to get excited and expectant for what's to come. To protect myself, I set the bar really low.... as in, it won't happen so what's my plan B? I get more excited about the plan B because it seems safer. It seems more secure.

What if hope's purpose was to prepare us to receive what was to come?

Think back to when you were young and naive - what was going through your mind when you hoped for something? You dreamt about what it was going to be like when it happened - the joy, the excitement, the fun. You imagined various scenarios in your head, drew a idyllic picture of the outcome, and imagined what life would be like after it happened. When it did actually happen, even if not the same way you imagined, you still had joy! You had spent so many months preparing for it and thinking about it, there was something that had to come out! All that time preparing and thinking and planning had to be released in joy and excitement.

But the first time it doesn't happen, and I mean, goes completely wrong and different from what you imagined, you begin to grow up. You mature a little because your view of the world is wider and sadder. Your heart literally sinks. You get burned. Did I misunderstand what hope was about? Why did I even think that could be a thing? What made me think that would happen?

When I found out I was pregnant, I was shocked. Not joy-shocked, the kind where you're like what?! this is great! I had no idea! But the kind where I didn't know what to do. The home pregnancy tests came in a package of two, so I drank a bunch of water and waited again to go pee. Positive, again. I called my gynecologist's office immediately:

I need to make an appointment.
What is it for?
Well, I just took a home pregnancy test and want to make sure it was right.
Well, we usually trust the home tests. The OB usually will see you when you're about 8 weeks.
But how do I know if I'm really pregnant?
Well, I guess I can order a blood test, and we'll go from there. 

On our way to a camping trip out of state, the phone call came that yes, I was pregnant and can we schedule you for your first sonogram and OB visit? On the trip, I was reflecting one morning and had to repent for not believing God could be big enough to allow me to conceive. I realized in such a powerful way that my lack of HOPE had prevented me from fully receiving and rejoicing in the gift of pregnancy. I didn't really think it was going to happen; I had even begun setting my heart on adoption and/or foster care because it was the "safer" option for my heart.

Going forward, I'm so grateful for the gift of hope. It prepares us for what's to come. It's rooted in his promises, and allows our hearts to remain expectant without having expectations that may not happen. An expectant heart is one that's ready; and I've found it's so much MORE rewarding to hope than to expect the mediocre.

This sermon by Danny Silk on Expectancy (from Bethel) was really helpful in my journey to realizing what hope really was. If you have 45 minutes, please listen to it!

https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/bethel-church-sermon-week/id76583739?mt=2&i=320040961