The situation here....

...is scary!

I will be 13 weeks on Monday. Tomorrow, to be precise. {9/24/12}{this post was written earlier, I"m nearly 18 weeks now}

We finally saw our "little one", as the ultrasound tech called the baby, last week. I burst into tears the moment that precious little body came into view and pretty much didn't stop crying till the ultrasound was over. I think I freaked the tech out...but then again she didn't know our story.

So back to the "situation"...

We eat Real Food. That means food that your grand parents and great grandparents would recognize. Food that doesn't have brand or ingredient labels on it, food that is as close to it's original state as possible. That means organic (if possible) veggies and fruit, whole,minimally processed grains (not wheat or corn, they are over used here in the United States and corn is nearly all genetically modified now), grass finished beef, pastured chicken and eggs, venison, and raw milk. (I would add organic beans to that list, but some of us have severe allergies to legumes)

I make pretty much everything we consume from scratch. That includes our sandwich bread, yogurt, kefir, and all snacks. The only "prepared" foods we eat are typically rice or quinoa pasta, rice crackers, and the occasional treat (a cookie from a bakery or some ice cream, or pizza).

So...I get really sick when I'm pregnant. So sick that I'm just desperate to not vomit. So desperate that I'll resort to ANYthing...like boxed macaroni and cheese, or sour Skittles. I was really stubborn at the beginning of this particular pregnancy and vowed not to even give myself any of those options. But after throwing up nearly everything I was eating or being simply unable to take more than a bite, I decided that eating something (albeit a "non" food) was better than being so weak from the vomit and having no energy.

And I feel badly about giving in, I really do. I feel like, maybe I could have tried harder, read more, done more research, forced myself to eat things that I had a strong aversion to, etc. It's hard to know that the only things that don't result in extreme nausea or vomit are so super bad for my body, because I've done so much learning and know what is and what isn't fit to be consumed. It's a weird puzzle...one that I simply cannot solve. Maybe after this baby is born and we talk about another one down the road, I can do more pre-pregnancy planning...but that ship has already sailed for now, and it is what it is.

Back to the situation here...so the kids are spending the day eating boxed cereal, chips, candy, and whatever else they can find,while I spend the day trying to stay out of the kitchen. After such a dramatic switch in diet, for such a long time (a couple months) I can most certainly see a difference in their behavior and mood, and general well being.

Pile a non-food, nutrient deficient diet on top of no routine and discipline, and you've got a storm a-brewin'! I know that this is only temporary, sometimes survival mode is all you can do...but I am certainly NOT looking forward to undoing all of this in the weeks to come.

Juiced

(Parts of Orange and Juicer played by Benji and Alec. Ava played by herself.) 

Orange: "You VILE creature!"

 Juicer: "I'm not vile, I'm just having a snack..."

Orange: "You're not making snacks out of ME!"

   later...

Orange: "Aaaahhh! That's the last of me!"

 Ava: "Don't freak out, you're going to heaven!" 

Orange: "Dah-dah, duh-duh...I'm going to heeaaaaven!!"

 Ava: "Mom! Can I recycle the pulp and put it back through the juicer?"

Boys will be boys

and

girls will be girls!

There is never a moment without laughter here...

and laughter is oh so important

if

you want to remain

sane!

For later...

Dear self:

You do not cope well with morning sickness. Weeks of sitting in one spot simply serves to feed your tendencies to hyper focus. All you can think about is how awful you feel and how you simply MUST sit down again, and how you will NEVER dig yourself out of the disaster that your house has become.

At four weeks of sickness (10 weeks pregnant, 9/1/12), you are suffocating under a blanket of guilt. That the children haven't been properly cared for, fed, nurtured, taught...and that you haven't really parented them at all. The kitchen table hasn't been fit to eat on, the fridge is full of rotting food, and the bathrooms are filthy. There are DRIFTS of dog fur in every corner and the carpet feels mysteriously crunchy.

You have become a hermit in stretchy pants and sports bras. Your hair is in a permanent ponytail. You have cancelled every reason to go out of the house and have even solicited friends to take your children where they must go. The first week of school was a paltry sham.

Your trips from your comfy chair to the bathroom have become reconnaissance missions, you are shocked to see that you really and truly are the heartbeat of your home. And you are very, very, very scared by that. You are also seized with the desire to somehow, by hook or by crook, figure out a way to make the house run smoothly without you...so that when this precious babe is in arms you can stare at her and forget the refrigerator for a few weeks.

One minute you realize that you've forgotten what this sickness is all about, that it really is such a tiny drop in the bucket of time, the next minute you are weeping tears of joy because this is all such an amazing miracle and you can't wait to meet the next member of your family. And weirdly, even though you are supremely miserable, you are thinking of what it would be like to do this yet AGAIN!!! But then your mind quickly rushes to the sweetness of the thoughts of adoption that have run constantly through your whole life like a steady, predictable stream.

You are honored to be chosen by the Lord to bear witness once again to His miracle of life, His miracle of creation, and to hold in your charge for a season another precious soul. Your body is but a vessel, filled up to please and praise the Creator. You are blessed.

Love, me.

If ...(on parenting)

 If you're a mommy
If you want to love the life you're living
If you don't want to be afraid of making a mess of it
If you want your "children to rise up and call you blessed" when someday it's all said and done
then you MUST know that...

you will succeed if you aren't afraid to fail
 you will fail if you aren't consistent...
and consistently digging into the Word

your needs must come last
so you can meet the needs of your husband and children first

every.single.thing. you say and do is teaching your children something
if you respond to them in anger and frustration, they will learn how do do that, too
if you yell and scream at them, they will learn to yell and scream right back
if you say one thing to them and then do another, they'll learn that being a hypocrite is ok

but

if you love them when they are unlovable, they'll befriend the outcasts when they grow up
if you speak gently and restrain yourself, they'll use kind words when a sibling takes a toy
if you don't watch the inappropriate TV show even though they aren't awake, your clean conscience will be a shining beacon to the transparency of a sanctified, holy life

IF you act exactly how you want them to act, they will follow in your footsteps

because

there's nothing a child wants more than to be just.like.mommy.

It's finally happened...again

Well, it's finally happened again.

Those two pink lines...
that weird full feeling in my belly that never goes away...
the urge to throw up every few minutes...
the hating of all food...
the horribly messy house...

The moments of tears of gratitude...
the moments of intense love and thankfulness...
the vivid memories of doing this before...

The fleeting sadness that Ava will never be the baby of the family like she has been for 5 years...
and then the huge grin that covers my face when I imagine her as a little mommy's helper

The brief pang that comes with the knowledge that our family is changing forever...and then feeling so happy I can hardly contain myself...

The ache in my heart when I think of the huge gap between Ava and this one all because we live in an imperfect world...and the feeling of warmth and content that fills it when I remember how faithful my Heavenly Father is to fulfill His promises

{{9 weeks, 8.25.12}}

Got Real?

A Sticking Point

Could it be that the honeymoon phase of having a magical, pink, fairy princess daughter has finally ended? Is it possible to have a sinking feeling when I hear the pitter- patter of those tiny toes and hear the still-tiny voice that is attached? Has she really grown out of the so-beautiful-and-precious-even-when-I'm-naughty phase?

Or is it me...?
Have I become jaded, forgetful...?
Is it like living with a spectacular Monet painting and seeing it so often that you don't even look anymore?

Something has shifted, changed...for the worse.  I'm feeling at odds with myself...and the little girl she's becoming.This is all new for me, having all "older", technically self-sufficient children. No little one to cling to me, to pay attention to with every breath, to worry about when they're out of eyesight. I mean, really, I could leave the house for several hours and return and they would all be just fine...TECHNICALLY speaking!!

So...some part of me withdraws. I don't feel needed unless there's a squabble...which is every 30 seconds these days between children #2 and #3. Or unless they are hungry...which is every 30.3 seconds. Or unless they need a reminder to stay focused on their chores or school work...which is every 30.6 seconds,

My little daughter, my precious baby...she doesn't need me like she used to...and I feel wobbly inside...unsure of where I fit in, feeling like a spectator...

She's the child that is a walking accident...I'm sure everyone has one or knows one. Things just seem to magically break, fall, disappear whenever she's near...or she gets hurt. She's been known on more than one occasion to suddenly fall completely out of her chair at mealtime and hit the deck, hard! The most common thing to hear is "mommy? I ACCIDENTALLY dropped, broke, lost the..."

So I always tell her no. No, you can't roller skate in their cement basement...no, you can't carry that glass cup across the tile floor...no, you can't squirt the soap all by yourself...no, you can't learn to use a vegetable knife yet...no, you can't use scissors without my supervision...NO...you can't have a normal childhood and learn normal things because I just can't bear the thought of cleaning up any more broken glass, spilled food or blood.

And then I inwardly groan (and sometimes outwardly) and then feel guilty for getting upset...and try hard to look for the patience to cope with a smile...and usually don't find it

And it's a Sticking Point. Because now when I look at her, I see a tornado. And I can't see through the wind of curiosity and compulsiveness that flies around her...I can't make out the pieces and parts of the daughter that I had...the daughter that I want to have.

So mostly I just always feel awful about the way I feel...and I pray...and pray...and pray. Because I've been around long enough to learn that when I'm inadequate, when I feel like a failure, when my vision is skewed, when I am smallest, God is big...and clarity comes...eventually.