5.5 months in, 30 weeks preggers

I'm ready to be unpregnant.

I know I shouldn't complain because I'm only 30 weeks and the road is just going to get steeper from here on out, but everyday I am bigger and everyday I realize how way in over my head I am. Common thoughts that rumble through my mind:

- What's with all of these new freckles? Are some of them cancer?
- What is just the left boob so sore? Shouldn't the right one be too?
- Will I ever sleep soundly again?
- Is my bellybutton turning into an outie? Of all things, please no.
- How do other women stay pregnant for 40 weeks?

On top of these first-timer questions, I am thoroughly psyching myself out for the month of June. I know I'm going to freak out - with excitement - about Phil coming home...June is a word that I love to say. But as I'm seeing what R&R looks like for guys coming home lately, none of them are home when they're supposed to be home...they're ALL 2+ days late. Super frustrating in and of itself. But THEN to be ready to pop at any second?? I can already envision the sleepless nights, trying to breathe deeply but getting sick to my stomach hoping that I don't go into labor.

How is this going to work? I'm getting myself ready to deliver all by myself, if necessary, so that I won't be disappointed if Phil's not there. But lets be serious...of course I'm going to be disappointed, crying my eyes out in between contractions, and hating Army for having such backwards flights and keeping my husband away from me (that's a long-standing grudge though).

I know God will work it out, but I still can't help obsessing over it, creating back up plans for back up plans. How can so much joy be surrounded by so much stress? What if my husband misses the birth of our first baby? Am I strong enough to do it alone?

I don't know. And I'm spazzing out just writing this post, so I'll move on to the joys of being pregnant.

Peeing 2-3 times per night...always peeing all day.
Baby having hiccups which feel like a steady drumbeat in your gut...while you're trying to sleep.
Heartburn 3 bites into a meal.
Squished stomach that only allows 3 bites per meal.
Making sound effects when you bend over, get out of a chair, lean down, or roll over in bed.
Learning how to heave yourself off couches and other absorbent materials.
Thinking a t-shirt still fits, putting it on, and having it actually cause you pain.
Needing to catch your breath after tying your shoelaces.
Forgetting you're pregnant and scaring yourself when you look in the mirror.

I'm exhausted, pre-freaking out about June, having a love/hate relationship with pregnancy, and need to pee, yet again. I wish I could Rip Van Winkle it until week 40...

daziness

Do you ever feel like you're in a daze? Life feels dazy right now. I don't know whether I should complain about this, add or subtract activities, start some project or new goal, or just daze.

Life will forever change in about 2.5 months...at least that's what I'm gearing myself up for. If you knew things would be drastically different at a certain point in time, would you ride the good ride until it happened or attempt to do something epic?

the new routine

Things are getting easier with Phil being gone, and this is sad to me.

The first two months of deployment, I was a wreck. It could have been the whole pregnant thing, but I prefer to think that I was so devastated because the love of my life disappeared for a year. Crying every night, tearing up when "Family Guy" would be on TV -- that was Phil's show -- purposefully scooting over to the other side of the bed to the coldness so I'd feel even more pathetic (I told myself it was cathartic), opening his drawers and smelling his clothes...all of this was a daily routine of mine. Healthy? Of course not. Necessary? Absolutely.

Now I've found my own routine around the apartment, and this is a good thing, mostly. I pick weekly breakfasts (oatmeal for a week, cereal for a week, eggs for a week, bagel weeks are my favorite), I have the cup of fresh morning milk, and the day begins. The nights used to be the hardest, and now I have a routine for that too: dinners (this could mean anything from nuked chicken nuggets or something that requires actual dishes), reading or listening to a sermon online, watching the ol' shows -- sadly, I do have a nightly show to watch...I used to despise people like that -- and then sitting in bed after I'm all flossed and lotioned to journal. Or sometimes stare at Phil's side of the bed, but with a smile and not tears.

I'm really proud of myself - I'm an Army wife with a deployed spouse, and even though we'll never do this again (God willing), I know I could do it if necessary. I read about this happening for military spouses...reaching that point of feeling in control again and powerful...they've figured things out, they know the handyman's number by heart, they can jump start a car (I'm a pro at that), and they know how to fill out the shipping labels that get stamped at least 14 times and smacked on the side of boxes going to APO addresses. Yep, I'm officially in the club.

But that's so sad to me. I don't want to be hardened; I don't want to have my new Saturday morning routine that is everything BUT seasoned eggs, toast, a good 3 cups of coffee and pajamas until noon. It bums me out to have plans every night with friends (this includes the TV) and have so many good laughs, all without Phil. It scares me to think that now I have to remember what Phil and I would do on a Friday night or how we used to do this or that. I have to think about it!

I'm whining, I know. Phil would probably start talking to me in this high-pitched, annoying voice to mock me: "I don't like deployment. Make me eggs. I had to pump my own gas." I deserve it. But it's my blog, dangit.

I must admit, however, that I am enjoying life right now. I feel guilty saying that - shouldn't I be sad and depressed the entire time? God has been so good in giving me things to do, awesome friends, joy in the little things (although NOT enjoying this new nightly heartburn...yay babies....). I truly have no complaints, I mean I shouldn't. I'm so proud of myself, so thankful that God has turned this time into a time of growth and blessing, and so glad that I'm figuring out life with Phil not here.

I just wish he was here.

need a narrator?

I've been sick and had some down time around the apartment the past week, and I've made a discovery.

I talk to myself. A lot. And not just mumbles here and there under my breath. No, full out conversations at a normal volume level.

A part of me is nervous that this is a bad habit to form.

Another part of me shrugs my shoulders because hey, if no one is here to listen, somebody's got to.

comfort

Yesterday was the first day that I hated and loved being comforted in Christ alone.

I had a heavy weekend after a conversation with a friend Friday night, and my way to get relief was to talk to Phil. I didn't know what he would say that would make me feel better, but I knew it would be something. I missed him all on Saturday and was hoping he would call or email...maybe my distress signals would telepathically reach him in Afghanistan.

But he didn't call and I had to do Saturday, alone, just God and me. Sunday, though, he would definitely call - I was sure of it. I didn't sleep well, hoping it would be 7:30am already; I allowed myself to get extra sad and pitiful so that when I talked to him it would be more cathartic. I was ready for the cell phone to ring.

Except it didn't.

As hard as I stared at it, it wouldn't ring. So I made myself an egg sandwich for breakfast, read a chapter of a book, drank two glasses of milk - all the while getting mopier and thinking it would be aaaaanny minute until he called. A new feeling came instead: fear. What if something was wrong? What if he wanted to call - he received my distress signals - but he couldn't? Panic.

I started to pace: I needed to get ready for church but that meant I was moving on and I didn't want to move on - I had to talk to Phil! (Prior to this point, the thoughts in my head ended with periods; now they were ending with exclamation points.) I picked up my phone, staring intently at it, then decided I would call him. Just to make sure he's okay, I told myself. I won't blab his ear off, was how I justified this needy act. So I called him. Ring. Ring. Ring. Nothing.

I hung up and decided I had waiting long enough to get ready. I got dressed, put on some makeup for the first time in a week - blush and all - and took my things with me out the door. Then - RING! It was him! He received my distress signal! (Not really, he received my actual phone signal.)

"Hey, did you call me?" And suddenly I felt embarrassed.
"Yes," I sheepishly answered. Why did I call him? I thought. Of course he's okay!
I mumbled a few words about how I had a bad feeling and I just wanted to hear his voice.
"Oh," he responded. "You okay?" he asked after an awkward lag time.
And then I remembered I was supposed to get my cathartic cry out! So I started crying except I couldn't articulate why.

"I had a hard conversation with her...I feel so heavy...I'm happy for our marriage...I am not very strong..." And though those seemed like stellar reasons for crying - the best, really - all he could respond with was, "I know. I'm sorry."

And I was thrilled I got to vent and tell him what a crappy weekend I was having, but I still felt crappy. And on top of that, I felt childish. Here my husband is off fighting in a war, and I'm blubbering because I had a bay day, so bad I had to CALL him on his EMERGENCY cell phone.

We hung up and then I was alone in the car, driving. Here's where I hated and loved being comforted by Christ (I take a while to get back to my point, but I do...eventually). I hated that I couldn't portray to Phil how cruddy I was feeling and in turn, he didn't know what to say. Normally my equation is Jesus + Phil = comfort. And this is in no way a blame on him, but for this particular scenario, my sadness was my own and not a shared one. How could he understand, not having heard the conversation or been present to hear all of the details afterward?

I'm glad, on the other hand, that he didn't offer much solace because then I HAD to rely on Christ. I was feeling so down and burdened - way more than a no-good day - and I had to stop feeling that. Who else could I turn to but Christ? I had to call a man almost 7,000 miles away in war, hoping he had answers. The God of the Universe, however, was right there the whole time with the answers all along, from when I woke up to while I was eating my egg sandwich to when I was streaking my freshly applied Apricot Breeze blush with tears.

And Jesus is always there! He always brings comfort! So in the midst of driving with wet eyes, I talked with God and relented. And maybe if I just looked to God for comfort in the early morning hours when I couldn't sleep rather than making my own plans (and also accumulating a hefty international calling fee in the process), I would have been a lot more rested and content. Christ is slowly showing me that He is all I need - not Christ + Phil. And as much as I adore my husband and am so thankful for the comfort and joy he brings, I realize that those are gifts I don't deserve. I won't have those forever.

Christ's comfort IS forever. And that, my friends, is all that matters.

humbled

Totally and completely humbled.

My mom flew back with me from Michigan to Washington on the 14th, and has been here until today, joined by my dad last Thursday. She came for the baby ultrasound (more to come on that!) and with that appointment being pushed back, she extended her stay and we convinced dad to come too.

The whole time she was here, I was floored by her selflessness, her generosity, her patience. She cleaned my apartment, taking out trash, doing dishes and laundry, buying me cleaning gadgets (I'm more of a wipe the furniture with my sleeve kind of duster rather than a spray cleaner on rags and move stuff around to clean kind of person) - in a word: awesome. I would love to tell you that her cleanliness bolstered me to do more and help her, but no, I laid on the couch and let her do her thing.

As for her generosity. A friend from church, pregnant with twins, suffered an ALMOST devastating blow when she was diagnosed with Twin-to-Twin transfusion syndrome and had emergency surgery to save the girls. Praise God she's okay, but our community group had to pitch in with meals and work shifts at her house since she was on bed rest with two other children...ages 2 and 1. This friend doesn't have much, so when I told my mom about it, we immediately went out so mom could buy her pots and pans, casserole dishes, and toys for the kids. She had never met this girl or been to her house to see if it was true - she just did it. I could have bought those things, but I'm really learning about giving cheerfully, and unfortunately I'm not there yet...I would have done so grumbling. But seeing my mom give so generously? I've been thinking a lot about my heart.

PATIENCE...holy schmoley my mom is a saint! So pregnancy...it makes you CRAZY. I have about a 6 or 7 hour window each day of being cheerful, productive, and an all-around decent human being. When 3 o'clock hits, however, I tap out. I'm done. I rust up and can't move like the Tin Man...only a woman...and pregnant (I just visualized a pregnant tin person...weird right?) The best story to illustrate this principal of my GCD (Gross Craziness per Day) is when we registered at Babies R Us for peanut. We got there a little after lunch with a game plan and a list of things we still needed. I had energy, I was ready to go, and then we got to the car seat aisle.

First of all, safety these days seems like it's on steroids. I'm all for keeping my child safe, and yes, I registered for outlet protectors, so I'm not knocking it. But with car seats, it's just madness! There are weight limits, harnesses (5-POINT!), expiration dates, side collision cushions, anchors...if you didn't know I was talking about car seats, you might think this was a discussion about jet planes or sky-diving equipment. THEN! As soon as you get to a certain weight limit on this one, perfectly operational seat, you have to buy a whole new one! How does one child need 3 different car seats?? I know, I know...mothers don't judge me...I got them all...but lets just say I was leaning against things to rest and a scowl was forming on my face after this episode in aisle 5.

So we still had to register for furniture, bedding, bumper whatevers and I was already pooped. Getting a little snappy with mom, pointing at things instead of actually talking, and shrugging a lot like a spazzoid teenager. Finally, my saint of a mother looked at me and said, "Sit in that glider over there. I'm going to register for a good mattress and bedding." Well alright momma, whatever you say. And there she went with the register gun, rounding up saleswomen, and shootin' mattresses and fitted sheets left and right.

If I had to have done that by myself?? I would have laid down in that demo car bench and cried myself to sleep. And I was NOT pleasant to shop with and yet mom had such joy and satisfaction shooting all of those things and keeping us on track. When we got home afterward, she sent me to bed and threw some towels into the laundry. What a wonder woman.

I could go on and on about her, and then my dad too when he got here (in summation: got me new tires, helped me do my taxes, jumped Phil's car - neglected by wife here - and drove it around, helped me build a dresser), but you'd never stop reading.

So I'm blessed right? What great parents! I'm a lucky gal! Life is great!

True.

But so much more than that. I am totally humbled, inspired, and challenged by the example of my parents. Humbled that they give so much to me...hello they both dropped their lives to come watch an ultrasound screen with me! Humbled that they served me, the elders serving the youth. Inspired to do the same for them. Inspired to serve others just as selflessly. Challenged to give more generously. Challenged to invest in my family.

SPEAKING of family! Well, as my hundreds of faithful readers know, I am with child (that makes me feel like Mary...no angel showed up to tell me). We have been anxiously waiting to find out if it was a boy or a girl. After what seemed like forever, February 1st finally came and I walked into that dim room with the black screen and blue-green gel. I got slathered up and within the first ten minutes, Mom crouched in a chair like a kid watching TV too closely and Dad with the camera pointed at the screen, the technician pointed out my child's adorable booty butt and asked,
"Do you want to know what you're having?"
"Yes!"
"Well, there's his penis!"SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!! Phil and I were so thrilled to be having a child, and we were excited about having either, but deep down we both were hoping boy. And then to see his little wee-wee! What a joy - what a delight - what a GIFT!

So humbled, part two. I've been pregnant all along, yes, but knowing that it's a boy and we can now call him his name made it so much more real. We're having a baby...God has entrusted a human being to our care...and baby is going to be strong and firm, just like his name means. How humbling can it get? I am impressed by monks and nuns who live a life of solitude and focus all their energy on pursuing God, but I think so much growth and learning comes when you get married and then have children. This baby is going to be used not only as a great man of God someday (I'm praying!), but as a sharpening iron for his parents. I will be on my knees every morning..."God give me what I need to be a good mom and show him Christ today." This is going to be the greatest challenge, the most beautiful hurdle I'll ever jump. I have never found a job that I love or am satisfied with, and now with this baby boy coming, my calling is clear: train up the child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.

Humbled beyond words and yet so full of joy - what a season of life! My boy has parents who are SO in love with him, have grandparents who are amazing, and a God who is the best loving Father he'll ever know. I'm walking each day in gratitude, peace, and wonder.

Oh, and his name is Ethan.

devastation

As we heard from Pastor Mark today about his visit to Haiti and the devastation he encountered, I am overwhelmed with sorrow and conviction. Sorrow because it was an in depth look through Mark's videos and photographs in ways the news doesn't show.

I saw a dead boy or 15 or 16 lying in the street with crimson blood trickling down the gravel moments after he was shot in the head as bystanders walked by and gave a flitting glance.

I saw a 24 year old man helping to dig out his 26 year old brother, a worship leader at a church, from the rubble of the building only to put him straight into a casket. They stripped him of his belt, boots, and wallet before closing the lid.

I saw a teenage girl, suffering under a tarp for days because she took a cinder block to the face and her family was unable to get her to the hospital for treatment since it was too expensive - $15 for a taxi.

I saw church after church devastated, whole floors collapsed on themselves. One church held the bodies of the choir singers who were practicing on that Tuesday.

I saw a young man with four boys right after his wife's funeral, and when Pastor Mark asked him how he could still smile - no wife, no home, no job - the man answered, "The LORD gives me joy!"

Unbelievable. Simply unbelievable.

Mark and another pastor from Chicago, James MacDonald, started an organization called Churches Helping Churches (www.churcheshelpingchurches.com) to raise awareness and support for the suffering churches in Haiti. When I first heard of the organization, I must shamefully admit that I thought, "Why did they start that? Shouldn't Mars Hill just partner up with a Christian aid organization to get these people food, water, medicine, and shelter?"

So here comes the conviction part. Mark preached about how we are all the church, as it says in Acts 1:8, "But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth." We are both the church locally and we are the church to the ends of the earth. Pastors in Haiti have lost their entire congregation; other people in churches don't know where their pastor is; some flee to the physical place representing sanctuary because their homes are devastated and their families are dead, only to find the church building decimated.

Where would I go to if my family was dead, my house gone, my stomach empty, and my church building was crumbled in a heap with bodies scattered around it? Where would you go?

How can we say we love the church when we don't see how atrocious it is that an entire country has lost all of its churches, those places of refuge, God's glory, and help for the broken? Brothers and sisters, it is time to step up and care for one another. I don't feel a call to travel to Haiti in the relief efforts, but I can give. Fifty bucks could have gotten that teenage girl with an open sore on her face to the hospital days ago. One hundred dollars could enable the church compound operating as a refugee camp to supply water to the thousands of people housed there.

We have it SO GOOD; we have reason to have MUCH JOY; we have resources to GIVE ABUNDANTLY; and yet so many don't support the church they attend financially. Haiti has no infrastructure, no order, no laws - help has to come from God's people. I am a child of God; I love the church; I need to support those people who are preaching the Gospel RIGHT NOW despite having no food, no home, no loved ones, and no outlook.

Yet those people are smiling because the LORD gives joy! Give faithfully, pray diligently, walk with joy for the glory of His Name.

If you would like to help, go to www.churcheshelpingchurches.com. Watch media coverage here.