Pregnancy: 11 Weeks

I feel like a bad pop song lately.

I'm hot then I'm cold, yes then no, up and then down, in and then out.

You get the picture.

There are mornings when it feels like my body is starting to make the slow switch toward feeling better, but then I have days like Thursday and Friday where I'm crying on the couch and the thought of food makes me want to gag; and, thus, I'm reminded I've still got a few more weeks before I level out, if this pregnancy follows the other two.

My body has been craving fats lately, so with the green light on some food sensitivity tests to reintroduce dairy back into my diet, I carefully dove into indulging in full-cream ice creams while on vacation in Florida ... but now this week, after three weeks of eating dairy, I'm pretty certain I need to cut it out again. The tough part is that I'm really limited on easy, non-dairy fats because more than it dislikes dairy, my body really abhors coconuts {thankfully, coconut oil is ok} and avocados of all things. Super bummer.

I keep telling myself when I feel better, I'll jump into the world of making my own almond milk and almond ice cream, but every time I head for the kitchen to create I collapse in a winded pity party of exhaustion.

Actually, every time I head to the kitchen to do any sort of meal prep, I am deterred by the reality of tiredness and a plethora of food and smell aversions.

If I sound complainy, I'm not coming off right. I'm so thankful for this opportunity to be carrying our long-desired third {fourth? fifth? I don't know what number to call this one.} baby. Like really. Beyond thankful. It's just like with every other life change and blessing, there comes trial. This is my trial -- feeding my family and myself well while being really limited in the cooking and baking department.

The other trial I face daily is to adhere to my life verse and my word for the year -- rejoice.

My life verse is Philippians 4:4-9

"Rejoice in the Lord always! Again, I say rejoice! Let your gentleness be apparent to all. The Lord is near.
Do not be anxious about anything. Instead in prayer and petition and with thanksgiving make your requests known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you."

It's a tall order, isn't it?

To rejoice always {nauseas, exhausted, nervous}.

To not be anxious.

To think only on what is true, pure, lovely.

But the promise of the order -- peace that surpasses all understanding -- is an incredible one.

One that energizes me to take my thoughts and shape them toward my God who is good. One that inspires me to abandon the what-if thinking of worry and embrace instead prayer and petition and thanksgiving.

One that makes rejoicing possible in the midst of waiting.

Waiting.

Today, I woke up snuggled next to a small body who began began getting ill around 4 a.m. I've been next to him in bed ever since, tending to his needs and trying to give him comfort.

John and I were scheduled to go in to my midwife's office so we could try and pick up the baby's heartbeat via doppler; we've yet to see or hear it.

That won't be happening today, though. Not with my sick little one needing mommy and daddy.

Waiting.

We continue to wait

in patience

in gratitude

in trust.

There is peace in that but that's pretty much been a hallmark of this entire pregnancy --waiting,

I knew this was going to be a growing time in the most physical sense of the word. But I had no idea quite how stretching carrying a child after miscarriages would actually be.

Bigger Picture Moments: To Rejoice

I've cautiously celebrated the new blessing I'm carrying in my body.

But fear has restrained my excitement; it's been hard to live this year's word -- it's been hard to rejoice.

I speak carefully about the future because I know nothing is guaranteed.

Nothing except one thing: God's goodness. God's goodness doesn't waver.

"For the LORD is good and his love endures forever; his faithfulness continues through all generations." Psalm 100:5 

The past few weeks I've been muddling through what I say I believe and what I actually believe -- beliefs versus ideals, you could say. I say I believe in God's goodness no matter my circumstances.

And if that's true, I've asked myself, shouldn't I trust Him no matter my circumstance?

Shouldn't I rejoice right now without abandon because I trust in His goodness?

To rejoice is to trust in God's goodness no matter what happens -- simply just because God is good.

In these thoughts, I've been drawn to the fact that not only is He good and His goodness central to His character but that he's also a merciful Father who wants to love us well and give us good gifts.

“Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!" Matthew 7:9-11

I just have to trust Him.

And when I trust, my heart easily rejoices in His love.

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Everyday Life: Made New

Last year at this time, I was reeling.

Physically, emotionally, spiritually, mentally -- all reeling.

The loss of two little babies from my womb to Heaven, the loss of my physical health, the loss of my mental health as anxiety flooded my thoughts -- it all left me feeling cracked and dried out, like I'd been left out in the cold all winter long.

Luckily spring and summer and fall were long months of warmth, healing and renewal.

And though we began 2013 in the midst of cold Chicago winter, it sort of felt like a rebirth to me.

The newness of the year was refreshing in a way that spring is after a long, cold winter.

The past year had been long, but in it God has brought healing to my body and my mind and my heart.

And not only has He brought healing, but he's also brought renewal.

I am not the same person I was a year ago this past December; I am not the same person I was a year ago today.

But I didn't totally notice that until we heard our pastor speak words from Luke 5:38.

"And no one puts new wine into old wineskins. For the new wine would burst the wineskins, spilling the wine and ruining the skins. New wine must be stored in new wineskins."

I am a new wineskin this year. I am no longer dried out and cracked like I was; rather I have been made new.

As I sat in this truth, I realized, too, that I couldn't rightfully compare this new pregnancy to the others -- not any of the others -- because this freshly gifted baby is like new wine in a new wineskin ready to merely be stretched instead of cracked and broken.

And so my heart's cry is to trust in the Hand that's made me new, to embrace the swelling and stretching and to trust that He will not allow me to be broken.

Thinking, That's All: Battle

They are snuggled up together on the couch watching tv when I leave the room to make breakfast.

By the time I crack egg number two and hear it sizzle in the pan, they are limbs tangled together in a mess of argument and movement.

It drives me crazy. But in all honesty, I'm not so different.

My boys tumble in and out of brotherhood all day long like I wrestle between faith and flesh from the moment I rise until I fall asleep.

I rejoice one moment in who God is and give thanks that He never changes.

And in the next breathe I succumb to fearful thoughts that drive me back to my knees, reminding myself again that the God in whom I have peace and faith and trust is more than worthy of each.

He is faithful and good and just. No matter what.

He will be good and faithful and just in 2013 just as He was good and faithful and just in 2012.

All day, lately especially, I wrestle back and forth reminding myself not to just read my life verse but live it.

"Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.
Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you." Philippians 4:4-9 

I live in the tangles of flesh and faith and watch it unfold visibly in front of me and even through the craziness so I'm filled with love for these boys.

And I'm reminded that the Father, who is worthy of my rejoicing always, can handle me in my messiness.

I'm reminded that He loves me more than I love the boys who turbulently bounce back and forth between brotherly love and strife all day long.

And that my life is blessed simply because He loves me.

Rejoice: A Seedling Sown

I woke up to sunlight streaming in through our front windows on New Year's Day, bright and beautiful and warm.

And if I didn't know by the chill of cold feet and frost on the windows or date on the newly flipped calendar, I would have thought it summer by only looks.

But the ground is clearly frozen beneath a hard layer of snow and bright blue January skies and the tiniest of buds won't pop through the soil until March. And most of the harvest won't be reaped until late summer.

I can't see the harvest yet; I don't know what it will look like. But I know God is good, and I know harvest comes, and I know seasons change. He gives fruit in season.

On the first of January, the sun was a burning, blazing reminder that the day will come when warmth returns -- that the harvest season will come.

I woke up to sunlight streaming through our front windows on New Year's Day, bright and beautiful and warm

and two clearly pink lines coloring the white background of a pregnancy test, confirmation that a seed has been sown deep inside my body late this fall.

And on the first day of January, those pink lines coupled with the sun, shining and bright, sparkled in hope that the day will come when warmth returns -- that the harvest season will come.

A reminder that seed sown routinely results in fruit gathered from the soil

and

the womb.

So we rejoice!

We celebrate the Gardener; we celebrate the seed.

And we believe in the goodness of a Gardener

who gifts us fruit in season.

Life After Miscarriage: Maybe We Shall

Essentially, I passed go. 

I don't know how the conversation began or why we were discussing fertility at all during a recent doctor's appointment, but when she finished my half-way point evaluation she'd said she wouldn't be concerned at all if I were to get pregnant tomorrow. 

Through a mustered smile, I thought to myself -- maybe she wouldn't, but I couldn't say the same. 

Her green light was unexpected. So unexpected that it left me more flabbergasted than joyful, like I would have expected. 

I'd long been dreaming of the day, the appointment when my crazyhella smart doctor would say that my body wasn't so broken that she would worry about what a pregnancy would do to me, that she wouldn't have cause to believe we'd say goodbye to another baby before we ever got to hold that new life in our arms. 

After John and I left her office, the astonishment of her words, the shock of my reaction didn't wear off. And as days have progressed into weeks, I've become a river of emotion winding wildly down stream through every twist and turn imaginable. 

There's no question of if I want to welcome a new baby into our family; I do. Honestly, we both do. 

But I'm the complicated one who was cleared to pass go but can't seem to collect her $200 and be on her merry way. 

Because now I know that positive pregnancy tests don't always mean baby in arms at the end of a nine-month journey. 

Now I know that we have to welcome all the risks that come along with the chance of welcoming another baby into our lives because another baby, whether living here on Earth or there in Heaven, will indefinitely take up more real estate of the heart and mind. 

I find myself praying, asking God if we should try again to grow our family. If we should journey into three, and I enter into theological discussions about having more kids and the whole "be fruitful and multiply" command and whether or not two miscarriages were clear indicators to let go of the dream of a bigger family. 

Over time, after discussions, in searching my heart, I know, though, that I'm not really asking theological questions anymore. I'm not really asking if having another baby is black-and-white right or wrong for our family. 

I'm asking if this time we will actually have and hold another one. 

I'm asking if a new baby will be in our arms, not just our hearts. 

I'm asking if we take the risk, will there be rich reward. 

Or will we be face to face in another seemingly dead end.

****

We're wandering a corn maze with our boys, our good friends and their boys on a bright, warm October afternoon; we're discussing such matters of the heart and such matters of theology as we keep running right into dead ends of thick corn stalks -- so many times that I joke they might have to come in with a search team and flashlights to find us. 

And that's when it stares me right in the face, bright and golden like the towering cornfields beneath soft autumn light. 

There's not really any such thing as a dead end if you can turn around. It's more a side-road detour. 

And

we didn't enter the maze just to effortlessly walk through. We went in knowing it could be a trial. We could get lost. We could be wandering aimlessly until the sun set over the fields. 

But, too, we went in trusting that we would be rescued if rescue was needed. No theological discussions about whether we should turn at this corner or that or if it's right for us to walk a path before us that we're unsure of where it leads. No desperate prayers for an answer before we even come to the fork in the road. 

We find our way through after a few long roads that led to nowhere, after lots of discussion and giggles, tears and tiredness, triumph and trial, conversation and sun soaked onto faces. 

I grab John's hand and catch his eye, our boys running off into the clear open space of prairie outside of the maze. 

And I think to myself, maybe we shall.


Those who know your name will trust in you, for you, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek you." 
Psalm 9:10