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Time Prevails

I often marvel at the differences in my little three.  As I said in a recent post, I have become enraptured by the Enneagram, yet another personality study of the many I have perused throughout the years.  These things fascinate me.

Bea’s personality is much more prevalent, or dare I admit–I am much more attuned to it, when she becomes my eldest, and only talker, after dropping off her sister at school for 5 days a week, 7 hours a day.

She never went through a strong “why” phase like MG did, peppering the ubiquitous question at the end of every answer (much to my chagrin).  But I finally recognized, just this week, week two of school, week two of having significant time with her to myself, that she asks probably 2-3 questions per minute when we are together.  This is not an exaggeration.  She may not need to know why simply, but she needs to know who created the grass, do I remember that one time at the schoolhouse, and can she have a snack when we get home?. There is so much she needs to know.

I learned a term this week called transactional memory which means storing information in other people’s heads.  Apparently married couples and people who live together for long periods of time do this harmoniously.  For example, I’m not great with directions but N has a good handle on that for both of us, consequently he is our designated driver (no pun intended).  I am better at remembering dates, so I am often prompting him to pick up that birthday card or call so-in-so on their anniversary, and he relies on me to do so.  We depend on each other to store information for ourselves and then call on that person to produce it when we most need it.

I think as my girls grow, learn to talk, and then start processing information in the world, we also enter into this type of relationship.  Right now, it feels more like there is a leech on my brain, taking out all of the non-important information, but one can only hope that the tables will eventually turn as I pour so much into her.  This week, MG began talking about the American flag and its 13 stripes and what they stand for.  I, shamefully, did not remember that it had 13 stripes, but as soon as she said it, that little tidbit that left my brain, probably about 300,000 questions ago, was jogged back into short-term memory.  She is starting to outsmart me, and I am okay with that.

I reinstated “quiet time” now that we are back in the school year routine.  It’s an egg timer set for an hour and a chosen box specifically for that time, always during Sibby’s afternoon nap.  Almost every time, Bea picks the box of Littlest Pet Shop (the old school ones) or Calico Critters.  She still hasn’t outgrown her love for animals or miniatures.

At the end of the hour, she usually comes to find me, almost always in my office, squirreled away on a project before Sibby wakes up.  Bea helps herself to my “art cabinet” and the contents of the trashcan (usually scraps of fabric and paper that AREN’T off-limits).  She takes her scissors and cuts the paper into a hundred pieces of varying sizes and then scribbles some colorful words on them.  “Tickets”, she calls them.  And I often hear her mumble to herself about how fun this is to work on her little project while I work on mine.

Just yesterday, Timehop pulled up an old video from its vault for my viewing pleasure.  It was Bea, consequently the exact same age as Sibby now, sitting on the hardwood floor, paper down, marker open and scribbling.  I had written in the caption something about how what dolls were to MG at that age, art supplies were to Bea.  As it turned out, it was actually prophetic.

Last night, I watched Sibby meticulously open a silver cylinder about the size and shape of a tube of lipstick and then attempt to put the cap back on.  Her fingers are chubby and not finely tuned yet.  And the tube top takes exact precision to push it on correctly. It took about 6 tries to get the cap on each time and one try to get it off.  I was beguiled by her patience and consistent effort, two things I sorely lack, especially in frustration.  As she begins to emerge into more of a toddler and less of a baby, I am constantly wondering how much of her future self we are actually seeing.

I’ve gotten a little taste of the “next life”, the life of a school-age mom, as I have termed it, though a confusing term to others.  With Bea in school 6 hours a day, 2 times a week and Sib taking a good three hour nap on those days (and actually asking zero questions prior to these silent golden hours), I’ve got considerably more time to myself than I’ve had in a while.  Add to this, my mom and sister have been pitching in to give me a few more hours where they take the two littlest until nap time and suddenly my hours of silence, contemplation, and purpose driven tasks have increased exponentially.

I have enjoyed them tremendously (and as you can see for yourself, started blogging again).  I’ve mentioned before that I spend a lot of time day dreaming, as of late, what my time will look like when all three are in school.  I do not like going into big transitions without my “perfect plan” in place, so it is partial preparation to (hopefully) prevent failure, and partial job research detail.

While I don’t see myself going back into full time work, as of yet, I do get excited about being a financial contributor to the family again and the freedom that will buy for myself.  Even now, when I get a little bit of babysitting money or birthday money, I notice the excitement that comes with the power to buy whatever I want.

But I also don’t want to spend the next 5+ years, wistfully longing for the next thing (which is so my personality).

I’ve often wondered why we can’t have the best of both worlds at the same time.  The old ladies at the gym and the grocery store wish for the same thing I do.  That we both had more time.  They more time to enjoy the years that “went by too fast” and me more time to cross off my to-do list and to write a blog post without a hundred questions disconnecting the lobes of my brain.  Rather than being the boy with the golden yarn, I’ve often wondered why we can’t live our lives at different intervals but the same time.  A symbiotic relationship of the two distinct parts of our lives.

So, for example, five days a week nothing would change, but then two days a week, I would live my life at the end of my days and enjoy the freedoms that would come from having little to no responsibility.  Because the only thing that makes us appreciate rest is work, as is the reverse true.

Of course this is all hyperbole, and perhaps fodder for a short story I will write the girls one day. (?)

I guess the moral of the story being that time prevails.

-smk

Summer part 2

It was just a few shorts weeks ago, I shared this post, burgeoning with anticipation on the warmth of summer’s back, all that it was going to bring me.  Now here we are, just a week before school starts and I’m finally able to put into words what this summer has meant to me.

The highlights include: a family beach trip, both big girls learning how to swim, a milestone first lost tooth, trips to the “toy store” to spend saved up money, new haircuts for the girls, three trips to Indiana to visit friends and family, a celebratory date for 11 years of marriage, and squeezing all the memory making into the everyday as possible.  Summer is my favorite.

As I am on the cusp of exiting it, I have to say, I feel satisfied with the length.  I feel as though we packed as much in as we could, and though all good things must come to an end, I feel refreshed and ready to hit the school year head on.  The girls are jointly excited for their respective schools to start (MG because she is dying to see her friends and Bea because she gets to “go to school” this year (just pre-school, but still exciting!).  I have been slack on buying school supplies this year but I have a special date planned this weekend to check the final things off our list.

While the girls have been doing all this growing up, Sib is doing her best to catch up.  While still not walking, she is getting closer each day.  She is practicing by standing, often, and quite proud of herself when she does.  She finally has enough hair, that is as white and silken as corn tassels, to gather in to a little ponytail atop her head, which makes her look a few inches taller and a little less masculine to strangers :).

She is also talking quite a bit to us, though we act like we understand what she’s saying, it is all nonsense.  Being the baby, she feels she is privileged to anything we possess.  My phone is both mine and hers.  If I am sitting on the couch, she must be with me.  A snack or a drink from the fridge must be either hidden from her sight or openly shared.  There are no two ways about it.

As I said in my last post, I have greatly decreased my sewing output this summer and have taken up scrapbooking until I get caught up.  I don’t like switching back and forth between hobbies, so once I got back on the scrapbooking roll,  I have been enjoying it. I am currently working on our 2016 scrapbook, which is about a year behind where I normally like to be on them, but I forgave myself for that a long time ago.

I also mentioned in my last post that writing is therapeutic for me and have found it to be very insightful to write now about the craziness of last summer, a year later when the dust has all settled and everything is as it should be.

Along those lines, I was introduced to the Enneagram of Personality, which I thought would be another personality quiz, of which it seems, I have taken a million in my lifetime. But I took the quiz and got a 4 and then became turned onto The Road Back to You podcast and now have been obsessing over it.  It’s been helpful because N took the quiz too and it has been fueling a lot of our conversations lately.  The podcast has been my background noise while I work on the scrapbook, so I listen and little, and type a little, and contemplate my past and my future in one setting.

I feel ready to transition back into the routine of school, but I do very much dread August. With our educational backgrounds, it has always been a bit of a grind with late nights and early mornings, and extra stress from new routines and changes.  Sometimes I find myself thinking of the fable of the boy with the golden yarn.  He was given a ball of yarn and instructed that he could pull the string to make time pass more quickly.  A small tug would pass a small amount of time and a large tug, a greater amount of time.  Every August, I almost wish I could pull that string and wind up at the end of the month, after the transition has been successfully made and the kinks worked out of the system.

But we all know how that story ends.  The little boy gets to the end of his life and realizes that he let all of the good, real moments slip away in anticipation of getting to the next thing more easily.

So that’s where I find myself today.  My present state. And coupled up with my past, the good memories and the redeemed ones, and the notions of my future, I want to enjoy every second of it.

-smk

Blog Author

Sometimes this place, this address of sweetmamak.com, feels less and less homey.  As far as hobbies go, it is not a very enlightening one.  There is a lot of effort with little reward, at least in the moment.  The reaping being best enjoyed when the girls are older and my memories are faded.  But for now, each post requires a precise tax of two naptimes (one to write, one to edit, and even then, I often hit publish after reading it for a total of 12 times, only to read it again in the different font of the blog and still catch mistakes.  All the while knowing, with the shame visible on my cheeks, that my email only readers will never see the post-publish edits I make).

Two naptimes feel heavy these days, especially during the school year, but hopefully less in the summer. As summer has been underway now for two weeks, my pet projects have begun, first with editing Sibby’s baby book, and secondly with quadruply backing up my photos (yes, I’m kind of a nut about this). With these abounding, there has been a lot less time for sewing. That’s okay because I hit a dry spell for a while (and sometimes question if the girls really even need another outfit??) but just yesterday purchased a new pattern so that has me dreaming up some new plans and has the creative juices flowing again.

The discouragement comes often, and heavy at times.  I just read an Instagram post yesterday that questioned if anyone reads blogs anymore.  The overwhelming response was “no”.   And I sadly, had to agree.  There are only two blogs (that regularly post, I’m not talking about my friends’ blogs which I lick up like a thirsty dog to an ice cream bowl whenever they post something) that I regularly read.  There’s just not time anymore.  It takes too long to jump through the links.  It seems that immediacy and brevity has replaced leisure reading and storytelling.

But storytelling is my niche, and frankly something that I often aspire at which to be better (I even wrote that sentence awkwardly to avoid the hanging preposition).  I confess I am not good at small talk (and being very introverted), often dread it.  When I am headed to an event that will require it, I spend time mulling over stories I can tell and how best to deliver them.  A benefit to being the new girl in town means I get to go to a lot of events where there are no overlapping acquaintances and therefore have many chances to hone my stories over several tries to get the punchline just right.

Sometimes I get frustrated with the slow of the blog.  With how I am never happy with a post if I publish it the same hour that I write it (I like to give it at least 24 hours to marinate before I edit and ultimately post it). With how I often think up stories to tell while I’m running, or driving, or nursing (the only times where I seem to have headspace these days).  With how bad Siri is at translating my voice to notes during these times.  With how my daily readership has decreased with the popularity arc of Instagram (but my email readership has likewise gone up).

All that being said, I am still here.  Still thinking up stories to tell you.  Though, I confess my writing has slowed considerably this summer, if not the past two years.  I hope this post to be my entrance back into it, now that my scrapbooking has almost come to a satisfied completion and I am not itching to jump right back into sewing.  I also wrote the beginning of this post almost 6 weeks ago and then forgot about it.  But I somewhat purposely forgot about it because I question if I haven’t written this same “apology” or “is anyone out there that still cares?” post many times and quite frequently in the past two years.  I believe I have but 6 weeks later, I still find a lot of truth in the words, so I decided to pull the trigger.  Humor me for now.  As I hit the publish button, I’m on my way to create some new content coming your way soon.

-smk

 

Sacrifice

If I had the ability to order my perfect day, it would involve line items like waking up at 7:30am (completely well-rested), a 20 minute siesta around the 2 o’clock slump, a scalding bath before bed, and dedicated time to write and sew.

Truthfully, as I contentedly raise little humans, I am glad to get just one of those things worked into any day.  But the past few weeks, as our kitchen project has us living out of suitcases like gypsies, I haven’t seen any of those things, much less had to time to dream of them.

Somehow, this week has still been restful.  A forced period where you can’t do much home maintenance, even if you wanted to (it’s hard to cook when you don’t have a sink, without a dishwasher, it feels futile to eat on anything but paper plates, and there’s no use in tending to carpet that is going to be ripped up in a week).  So many things have been chopped from my plate this week, and as long as I can ignore the chaos it is creating for a little bit, I can find my respite.

The only time of day i find myself ravenously hungry is about half an hour after all the girls fall asleep.  It doesn’t matter if I ate dinner half an hour ago, or at all, I will crawl the walls trying to find something to satiate my hunger and slake the thirst that assails me then too.

During the day, I never really feel a pang of hunger, though sometimes recognize an odd feeling of dizziness or nausea and know that it’s probably time to eat, but come about 8-8:30pm, you will find me in the kitchen, decompressing over a bowl of cereal (the perfect bedtime snack because it speaks to both the hunger AND the thirst.)

It is Lenten season.  A time of reflection and preparation we did not observe in our homes growing up, but something I was introduced to in college. (and I think it has since broadened much more outside of the Catholic tradition).  It’s a hard one to explain to the girls. “Instead of getting something everyday, (like Advent), you have to give something up!”

N and I typically “give up” the same thing, to keep company with one another and hold each other accountable.  It always brings up interesting discussions about discipline (we both approach it very differently), temptation (once again, very different), and creates a warm feeling of what we have to look forward to when our period of fasting is over.

I try not to talk about it too much, publicly, because in many ways, doesn’t this defeat the purpose of a Biblical fast?  But for the sake of penning the experience, I can tell you that this year, as well as most other years (I tend to skip the years that I am pregnant, as I feel pretty self-righteous about what I am already sacrificing), we are fasting from sugar.

Lodged right after the saccharine holidays of Halloween, Christmas, and Valentine’s Day, we are ready for Lent to slow down our ramped up consumption of the unnecessary filler that has become all to common place in our home, due to the above.  Because sugar is so addictive, it is really hard for us.  Embarrassingly so. And my body reacts as if it is going through withdrawal, with headaches, and night sweats, and scheming.

But if you can hold out long enough, you will turn the corner eventually, and the offender will lose its dominance in your life.  That’s the goal, anyway.  Going without sugar changes your palette and even your tolerance for it.  I am now enjoying foods that once would have tasted bland, but now are satisfying in other ways because they are fatty (like an avocado), or naturally sweet (bananas, carrots, almonds). And to the contrary, sweet foods that I could have easily passed over in the past (a store bought cookie), suddenly make me weak in the knees.

I have a fondness for church message boards, the kind you see with the illuminated backgrounds and black, blocky letters (always capitalized).  I always read them. Down here in the Bible belt, they are all the more common too.  The punny ones make the smile, the eyeroll inducing ones send me snitching back to N.  The Bible verses make me think, and the obviously flawed doctrinal ones make me cringe.

I appreciate a church that can keep up with a weekly rotation of it.  They will not grow weary in their diligence, and my driving entertainment value is thankful for their efforts.

There is one I have passed often this week.  It doesn’t have a verse or sinners in the hands of an angry God mini-sermon, just a punchy “Sacrifice, Sacrifice, Sacrifice”.

That’s it?  I thought as glanced over, hastily eyeing it on my way to school pickup.  Sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice.  I AM, I thought as I first read it as a command.  I am sacrificing so much.  YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I AM SACRIFICING RIGHT NOW.

I drove away, disappointed, thinking perhaps a word of encouragement would have helped me feel better about ALL THE SACRIFICES I AM MAKING RIGHT NOW.

But the next time I felt a little slighted by the girls, it suddenly welled up in my brain.  Sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice.  Like a drummer pounding out a beat. The next time I lost (several hours of) sleep, sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice, a quiet rhythm in the lonely dark.  The cookies, the novel I can’t quite finish, the me time.  It’s all on the line and often gets slashed, usually in order to give importance to something else.

So is the call to the mother, and may we be more sanctified because of it.  Easter is coming!

-smk

Hello, Old Friend

Sometimes I feel as though I am the last person I know who keeps a blog.  I know it’s unfashionable to do so anymore (to be replaced, understandably, by much quicker forms of storytelling, such as Instagram and Snapchat—both of which I am a user and fan), I still believe in its value; but I also just as often find myself wondering how much longer will this space still be here for me?  Will my motherhood muse let me continue to tell her stories?  Will I later regret my moments of vulnerability and my lack of control over who and when can peek into my little window?

I guess when I contemplate these things at length (like the ~three minutes a day I get in the shower), I still feel it’s valuable for me to do so, both as a way to relate stories to my family and faithful followers, a catalogue of easily accessible memories for my girls to access one day, and also as a way to stretch my writing muscles and keep them from atrophy.  So here I (still) am, and plan to stay for a while, despite my silence as of late.

Speaking of which, it has been too long since my last update; I intended to share Sibby’s birth story nearly a month ago but we’ve had quite the series of events that interrupted it.  And now  I am just sitting down to write after an absence of nearly as long.  My writing, due to some of these events, has been regulated to snatches of time caught around nap and bedtime when I’m not rocking or feeding a baby.  And now that I no longer have a huge belly to hinder me, I’m also anxious to get back to sewing.  So that is also competing for my creative time that seems to find me far less these days, but is always welcomed with open arms and dismissed with a satisfied sigh.

Honestly, today has probably been the first “normal” day I’ve had with my trio since bringing Sibby home six weeks ago.  N’s summer came to a quick close and not having him around, I often feel like I am barely keeping my head above water; but I AM keeping my head above water and starting to feel some of the benefits of treading by myself.  A rhythm is starting to form and I’m giving myself a lot of grace as I navigate this minute, but very important season.

All that to say, settle in for some stories to come, all of which the microwave forms of social media cannot touch,

-smk

This is what a baby does to me 

I’m writing this post at 5:26am. Not necessarily a godforsaken hour to all of you, but to me it’s just another hour in the day. Right now there are no boundaries between night and day, no hours that are kept untouched from my presence being needed. And in sixteen days, I’ve become totally accustomed to it. Right now, this is my best thinking time.

Three newborns later, I love having a newborn in the house. It slows me down to a glacial pace, when I am otherwise a multitasking maniac, desperate to accomplish it all. I’ve been able to savor this pace because it comes with the mindset that if only lasts for a minuscule season. Plus, I spent months preparing for it. Some of the things I set in place run like clockwork without me intervening, others get ignored for this season, and then the remaining tasks get job shared by willing friends and family. And for once I feel totally pleased to accept their help. This is what a baby does to me. 

Other things on my mind at this hour: 

Bea has a cold right now with a wicked cough that I desperately hope the rest of us don’t catch, mostly for the sake of the baby. So far it has been a few days without anyone else succumbing, no small miracle considering the drink sharing that goes on around here. 

It is really humbling to accept a meal from a friend. But, oh, what a gift. The time it took to plan it, shop for it, prepare it, and deliver it just as the dinner bell is ringing…this is not something that goes under appreciated. So far we’ve dined on soft corn tortillas filled with brothy, Mexican spiced chicken , baked chicken on a bed of sticky rice with tender broccoli and cauliflower, and campfire style hamburgers with sides of roasted potatoes and corn on the cob. This week we’ve been delivered thick pork chops with sweet potatoes and apples in a cinnamon infused glaze and an updated Shepherd’s pie with sweet potatoes and green peppers in place of their traditional cousins. I want to write all of these ideas down so I can add them to my often rut deepening repertoire.  

One thing I find myself itching for each day is a creative outlet. I’ve lost myself to the baby, with bliss, but I find myself spending nap time online window shopping for new fabric and dreaming up a project list for when my time isn’t as sparse. Thankfully this blog allows me some measure of a creative outlet, and one that is easy to do whilst holding a snoring baby to your chest.  

I also need to get out of the house once a day. An evening walk or an afternoon in the sun is an easy fix for this and ices the cake for an all around enjoyable maternity leave.  

-smk

Exhale 

You know when you’ve reached the end of a long week and you can finally exhale on the weekend? That’s what last week was; the final push for N’s doctorate class (his final FINAL class is next week!!! {after 9 years of hard work, not including the 4 years of undergrad}), the extra hours he had to put in at work, leaving pregnant me and the girls trying not to grow tired of each other’s company after several days keeping company together in a row, and finally on Friday a labor scare that sent me to the hospital (which keep in mind is an hour drive away) and that I left for within 20 minutes of discovery. (Thankfully baby is doing just fine and there were no signs of labor whatsoever). Phew.
It was the kind of week where we looked forward to going out to dinner on Saturday but both preferred takeout so we didn’t have to actually go out.
We did that day finally tackle some organization projects that cleared up some much needed space in the house and perhaps may be the very thing to satisfy the little nesting bug that’s been biting me lately. The entire drive to the hospital (referenced above), I kept thinking, if this baby is going to come now (or I’m on bedrest until she does), I’m okay with that. Sure there were a few things left undone (and wet laundry in the machine, meat thawing for dinner, and two little girls I was making plans for on the way down), but I felt totally peaceful about the timing. And that was strangely reassuring.

Of course, anytime in May is most preferable, both for her health and mine.  It will be good for me to have the next month to mentally prepare for labor, have N wrap up some even more loose ends at work, and get through flu season (I really want the girls to be able to visit at the hospital).
We’ve got six or so weeks left, Lord willing, maybe a little less, maybe a little more. Things are starting to wrap up, take shape, order themselves nicely. I’m ready, but I’m not ready. But I’m ready.

 

(so is this belly)

-smk

Baby Name Game Clue #2: a rose by any other name 

We are on vacation and typing posts on my phone is both stressful (I’ve had many a draft “disappear”) and I hate the flow (it just doesn’t appear the same way on my phone as it does on the computer).  But, I want to stay on track with the clues so I’ll go ahead and give the second one today.  I just don’t have a very good story to go along with it.

Clue #2: her third name will be a color name 

I’m sure you will recall, if you’ve been around for my other girls’ given names, that we like to use a color name as a placeholder in the third position.  We do this because we like creative names but we don’t have the gumption to use them as first names; plus the use of color names is a nod to my artistic background as well as N’s art appreciation.  We like that all of our children will have this trait in common too.

I can count on my hand the number of times I actually have to write the girls’ second middle name on a document or form so they are incredibly underused, and perhaps a bit indulgent on our part, but we enjoy the common, colored thread running through our vein of names.

The bonus hint I will give you this time is that we searched high and low to find a name that isn’t in the same color family as the other two.  MG has Veridian (which is a blue-green but considered in the green family) and Bea has Aubergine which is an eggplant purple.

I wanted this baby to have a color that wasn’t either a green or purple. The problem being that so many of the names I loved fall into these two camps: Ivy, Iris, Wisteria, Violet, Chartreuse, etc.  BUT, I did finally find one that fit the above categories and that we both love the sound of with our other two names.

Stay tuned to find out next week more info about the format of her name ☺️

-smk

Clue #3

32 years, 30 weeks 

Whelp, it’s my birthday again.  Another one snuck up on me, despite having an extra day to prepare for it this year. I’ve had some time this morning to reflect as any good birthday should cause you to do.

Today:

Today it is rainy and warm (for this time of year at least).  The trees outside are starting to bud and I think we’re in for that early spring after all.  You can’t be too wishful for such things in Indiana though, as seasons aren’t really safe from colliding into each other until they’re really over. 

I’m tired.  I thought for sure I would have nesting energy at this point but instead I feel overwhelmed by little tasks that need to get done, and little desire to remedy that. In the afternoons, my true free time, I am catching a nap as often as possible.  

This baby is one of my sleepier babies too.  Her movements have become more gentle as she has grown and although I feel her often in the day, it is usually not until late at night that she is the most active.

This pregnancy has definitely taken its toll on me, mentally, physically, and otherwise.  I can definitely tell a difference between being pregnant at 32 vs. 26.  I may have been born under spring but I’m no longer a spring chicken. 

This Month:

This past month was both long and short at the same time.  It was packed full of doctor and dentist appointments, play dates, and extracurriculars.  Maybe that’s why I’m so tired?  Usually February finds us hibernating and playing vigil until the days lengthen and Lent is lifted.  

Birthday withheld, I’m always excited to flip the calendar to March and dream of warmer days, spring break, and setting our clocks back to the correct time.  March always brings an excitement with it. 

This Year:

This year has been…interesting.  I don’t really know where it went as I don’t have much to show for it other than a swollen abdomen.  

I don’t think this has been a learning year for me, neither hard working not particularly restful, but more of a slow growing one, learning more about myself and confronting some weaknesses.  No major life lessons learned, no faith testing trials, just little battles with faint scars and small victories.

There’s a lot of unknowns coming up this year but I feel ready to face them.  If age is just a number, then I don’t feel a day over 32.

-smk 

Cool as a Cucumber 

Today marks 28 weeks and the start of the third trimester.  That means I’m two-thirds done with this pregnancy! At most I have 14 weeks left, but potentially a lot less. It’s definitely starting to feel more real….

…as well as look it too.

While baby is now responding to my voice and is apparently able to dream, I am starting to become more and more aware of my larger size and growing belly.  Strangers are too as this month I’ve received my first “out of the blue” pregnancy comments, always a fun milestone to cross off.  I don’t mind these as the ratio of good comments far outweigh the insensitive ones, and I soak up the wisdom and wistfully loving looks given of the older generations.

Some of my complaints include rolling over in bed, getting up from a seated position, easily becoming tired, and running out of breath a lot.  I definitely don’t have the energy I did last month and could nap again almost every day if time allowed.  Honestly most afternoons, I feel just plain lazy.  I know this is just a passing phase though and nesting energy will hit soon enough.  When it does I will use it to my advantage, but until then, I am taking the time to rest according to my body’s demands.  Starting at the beginning of this pregnancy, I intentionally  cut back on outside stress and commitments and I’m so thankful I did, especially right now.  I’ve had more than one person remind me that stress is not good for the baby (or myself, really), and I’m thankful for the ability to mitigate it as much as possible.

Conveniently, Bea and I seem to be on the same schedule: go to bed early, but stay awake until late, wake up a few times a night and then for good bright & early, naps required in the afternoon. I don’t know when she’s going to drop her afternoon nap but I’m thankful for every second of peaceful rest I get and crossing my fingers it either ends soon or lasts well past Mayby’s newborn stage.  I just don’t know if I can try to “nap when the baby naps” as well as try to teach Bea the importance of quiet afternoon rest time.

With my other two girls, I only experienced a little bit of heartburn, just enough to make me hope they were growing hair (old wives tale).  This time it’s been a lot more pronounced, not to the point where I’ve medicated, yet, but uncomfortable for sure.  I’m praying she comes out with a head full of black hair.  In my humble pregnant opinion, salsa, tomato sauce, and chewy sprees are the best hair growing tonic I’ve found.


I love feeling her move around as it is always reassuring.  Her movements are a lot more energetic now and I can even feel the subtle ones too.  The weirdest sensation is getting numb spots on my stomach, almost as if it’s falling asleep.  I usually get these when I’m up and moving around; perhaps she’s found a nerve?


Based on her movement, if I had to guess, I would say she is transverse with her head slightly angled down.  I get so many, well actually all, sharp kicks on my right side.  It is rare to feel anything but little jabs on my left.  She still has plenty of time to go head down but I’m praying she does in the next ten weeks as no doctor will naturally deliver a transverse baby.

Next week I have my glucola test and I graduate to bi-weekly appointments.  Even though my doctor is an hour away, I enjoy these mornings with the girls.  It was a special time for MG and me last pregnancy and it is becoming that way again as the girls know what to expect each time and also learn a little more about the baby as well.  I’m certainly enjoying my car- seat free arms as well as stroller, diaper bag, and heavy-baby-carrying free hands as well.  Although I can’t wait for her to hurry up and join our family already, I know, just like last time, I’ll look back and relish the days when “it was so easy”.

I can’t remember if this plagued me in the last two pregnancies at this point but I’m having some fears over the baby.  This time I don’t fear the delivery like last time (although maybe that will come as it nears), as Bea’s birth was my redemption birth, my confidence booster. But I do fear something happening to this baby.  Every day feels like another step taken, closer to meeting this baby, but also harder to let go of her.

It feels too good, and slightly unfair, that we would get not one, not two, but three healthy girls to take care of.

-smk

P.S. here is Bea’s pregnancy cucumber update 

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