Baby Boy, you saw the ocean for the first time this week, heard the music of the tide pulling on and off the shore. You felt the briny air on your soft baby skin and watched the evening sun melt into the waves. I hope Darling, that your heart and soul and mind are as deep and wide and wild as the deep blue sea.
“All good things are wild and free.” –Henry David Thoreau
Roman Craig, born Monday July 14th 2014 at 10:04 PM.
8lbs even and 23″ long
First I thought you were going to kill me and then you gave me life. This is love unimaginable.
Meeting you at last.
Here we are, about to make the leap from two to three—from you and me to mom and dad. We’re soaking up the time we have left together before life is forever changed. Last night I asked you what your idea of a perfect date would be—you talked about the ocean and the water, about the beach and boats—and if you could really truly do anything…a few days away in the Caribbean. You asked me the same—what the perfect date would be. I talked about camping under the stars, sitting by the fire at night, biking, hiking, and tubing—that would be the perfect date for me.
We can’t go far from home right now—not with this baby ready to come whenever he pleases. So there will be no Caribbean vacations or nights in a tent under the stars—not right now at least.
But today we found a way to spend time together—outside, on the water…combining what bits and pieces we could of our ideal date ideas. We rented a canoe and took off together down the river—soaking up the sun and the breeze and the stillness of the water—and more than anything, the time together away from everything else.
Ice cream and lemonade from the corner store. Burgers and fries from our favorite burger stand. And homemade strawberry limeades when we were sunburnt and ready to call it a day—I would call it a perfect day, a perfect date, and a perfect day with you.
In a few days we celebrate our sixth wedding anniversary—just two days before our baby is due. Thank you darling, for the best six years of my life. It won’t always be just me and you but you—you will always be my favorite.
A momma bird decided to build her nest and raise her flock of five fuzzy birds in the rafters of our new house. We check in on them each time we’re at the house and have watched them progress from eggs, to little fuzz balls curled up asleep, to little fuzz balls peaking curiously over the nest and showing off their big yellow beaks. I about die from the cuteness and hope our own baby bird has a fuzzy head of hair like theirs.
Darren is holding off siding that part of the house until the baby birds have left the nest because he doesn’t want to hurt them. His heart is as deep and wide as the sea and I love the glimpses I get of the father he will be in the thoughtfulness he has for all living things.
When Darren isn’t melting my heart caring for baby birds, he is terrifying me doing guy stuff like this—wiring the house by standing on a chair…on two planks…over the stairway…after he ripped two fingers open doing other such nonsense. He is excellent training for a man child.
{Darren’s first Father’s Day card—it perfectly describes everything I love about him}
Speaking of baby birds, ours is almost here–we’re three weeks out from game day, or so we hope.
This is my belly; it’s gigantic. I don’t know how many weeks along I was in this picture and I don’t think it really matters anymore. The other day an old man in the grocery store commented on my belly and wanted to know when I’m due. I told him next month and he said, “Oh, you’re not big enough to have a baby next month.” Well done old man, well done; there’s a reason you’ve lived so long ;]
This is baby’s spot in our room until we move and have a nursery. I have a little canopied area set up by our bed with his bassinette—I call it his “baby throne” because that’s what it looks like to me with the canopy and lights and fanfare :]
What a bunch of rambling this post is; sorry. I leave you with some favorite lines from Victor Hugo:
“Be like the bird who, pausing in her flight awhile on boughs too slight, feels them give way beneath her, and yet sings, knowing she hath wings.”
As I think about having this baby in the next few weeks, I often recount these lines and think I know how the birds feel when they must leap from the nest and find their wings. I hope I can fly.
We are working on our 8th month of baby building with 7ish more weeks to go until his expected arrival.
For now our little family looks like this—a couple of cute sleepy heads who just wouldn’t get up this morning :]
Darren is wearing himself out working on the house remodel…and the cat, well the cat’s just lazy…and he’s in my spot :]
I love them though—actually, they’re my favorites and sometimes it’s hard to believe there will be any room left in my heart to love anything else. But I’m guessing I’ll find room to love this baby. Just like my body amazes me with the way it stretches and grows to make room so my heart will stretch and grow too. Love is like that—it builds and stretches and grows and there is always room for the possibility of more if we‘re willing to be stretched and changed a little {or a lot} along the way.
I think we all just need to stop and talk a minute about how good this guy looks in a tool belt…I mean seriously, it’s just ridiculous.
Also, he’s building a house for me after he’s already worked a regular job all day so I just want to say how much I really, really love him and appreciate all his hard work.
We found a heart in the wall at the house and now our initials will be written in the walls for as long as they stand. Aww.
Are you completely grossed out by the love fest yet? Sorry. I’m feeling sentimental today :] And with that, I will leave you alone.
Carry on everyone.
Back when I thought I had a bump at 18 weeks and couldn’t wait to document it…and my actual bump at 31 weeks :]
The baby gave me a fright today. I always feel him moving, all the time, every day. Then this morning after I had gotten ready for work and was ready to leave I noticed I hadn’t felt him at all since I got up. I rubbed my belly trying to rouse and wake him and told myself not to worry.
Darren came over and told me how beautiful he thinks my bump is and I told him I couldn’t feel the baby moving. Of course it’s nothing, we agreed; he’d start bouncing around as soon as I ate breakfast I said. So I ate and I sat in the car riding to work with my hands resting on my belly waiting for those reassuring little kicks and flutters. Nothing.
It’s such a small thing, all those little movements, I hardly even think about it sometimes. But it feels like I can’t move or breathe when he is still and I can’t feel his life inside of me. Darren and I sat silently in the car the whole way to work and I fought back tears when Darren asked me again if I could feel him yet and the answer was still no. I asked God to watch over our baby and begged that I could please feel him move, that I could know he’s still okay.
And then there was a little flutter. A little push here and a strong kick there. Our lazy little guy woke up and his movement set our hearts at peace again.
Today I’m celebrating my bump and the bundle of life that moves and grows within. So many people I love have lost babies, babies they dearly loved and wanted. Being pregnant is both one of the most exciting and most terrifying things I have ever done and I don’t ever want to take for granted a single flutter or kick of our little son; sometimes that’s all you get, sometimes that’s all the life you ever get to know. I can’t wait to hold him on the outside but for now I’m holding him close on the inside–cherishing his life and movement and the incredible peace and joy he brings with every one of his little ninja moves.
He is worth it, you know. Giving life is always worth it.
Yesterday was the first day of my third trimester and I got to spend it with the two most influential women in my life–my mom and grandma.
Three generations holding onto the next. This baby has no idea how many hands and hearts are holding him already.
The thing that scares me the most about having a baby is the idea of change. There are things about my life I love and don’t want to change—and it scares me to think that they will.
The other day I thought about writing myself a letter as a way of looking back after the baby is born and reminding myself of who I was before I became a mom. I wanted to remind myself of who I am and what I value. I was afraid of getting swallowed up in motherhood and losing myself completely. I wanted that letter to remind me who I was so I could make sure I hadn’t changed.
But I didn’t write that letter.
Because I realized instead that it’s okay to change.
Even though I don’t want to lose myself when I become a mother, I also don’t want to fight and resist the changes that can and should be born in me during this time.
Pregnancy is changing me; it’s changing my heart and my soul and my body—and that’s okay. How could I possibly bring another life into this world—through my own body—without being transformed in the process?
What I realized when I thought about writing that letter is this:
Change is okay.
Change is good.
Change is not something to fight or resist or run away from.
All the best things that have happened in my life have required that change be born in me. If I were to hold onto who I am, to who I was—I would still be a child, immature and incapable. Change moves me forward and helps me grow into who I am able to be.
So yes, becoming a mother still scares me and I still wonder in what ways I will be different on the other side of this journey. I still don’t want to lose myself completely along the way. But I’m not afraid to change. I’m not afraid to grow. I’m ready to let pregnancy and motherhood birth new life not only in the child I’m carrying, but also in me—in my own soul and spirit as it stretches, grows, and changes right along with my body.
There is this story in the Bible, a parable used to illustrate a bigger idea, about how a seed must be buried, torn open, and essentially—die—before new life can sprout up out of that seed {John 12:24}. The seed is useless if it stays the same, if it doesn’t give itself up and allow new life to spring from it. And I think right now I’m that seed. New life can only be born from me if I’m willing to be buried, torn open, and die to myself a little bit. It sounds really bad for the seed, but think of the blossoms and the life that springs from that giving up and giving out of oneself. It’s really quite beautiful and spiritual.
So it’s true—I will not be the girl I am today when I reach the other side of this journey. I will be a mother. I will have brought life into this world. New life will have been born in me. And everything will be different after that.
And that’s okay.
Darren and the cat spent a little time reading the National Geographic together.
I just love these two :]
Outside Air 