Tag Archives: Pregnancy

The First Trimester: There On The Couch She Lies

November 24, 2015


October 7

Everyone tells you to absolutely not take a pregnancy test before your missed period, but I like to waste 40-60 dollars just in case science is wrong. This time was no different. I took a test three days before my period, two days before, one day, and then on all the days after. Four days later, it was still negative and I was feeling some emotions. Namely:

1) Confused. Where is my period? Why does my period never cooperate?

2) Annoyed. Now I have take Clomid again. Clomid is dumb. I hate Clomid.

3) Fine. We’ve only been trying for two months and this is the first round of medicine. No big deal. Eva took six months and Waylon took a year. I can wait.

If you are new here, I take a drug called Clomid to have my babies because I have the ovaries of a grumpy old man. It’s fine. Women, many of them my friends and family, have had to endure much worse.

And so I gave up. I bought a box of tampons, called in another prescription, and focused on getting through the next month. I never really thought the drugs would work the first time anyways.

A day later I was packing a picnic dinner when I realized nothing sounded good enough to eat. No sandwiches, no snacks, and especially no desserts. This is very unlike my normal self who specializes in sandwiches, snacks, and desserts. It is exactly like my pregnant self, who only craves McDonald’s chicken sandwiches and hot meals.

Weird, I thought weirdly. Weird, weird, weird.

And so I did what you do when faced with potentially life-changing news, I put on a show for the kids and ate a stringed cheese. Then I ran to the upstairs bathroom, took a test, and went into my bedroom to change. When I came back into the bathroom to throw the test away, I looked down and the stick was faintly positive. I called my friend Heather immediately to analyze and she said, “You’re pregnant, dummy!”, just like she did after I tested positive for Eva and didn’t believe it.

Then I took another test just in case and lo and behold, I was with child.


Austin was surprised too, especially since I’d been stomping around the house discussing my “special time of the month” for days (his favorite topic!). After I told him, we hid from the kids and danced around the basement, giddy with the delusion that maybe this was going to be so much easier than the first two times.

We took a picture and blurry little video after the kids were in bed to commemorate the occasion. Happiest kind of night.

October 10

Is this real????

October 20

There is nothing in my body that doesn’t feel like swine flu. I cannot type any more sentences.

October 22

So sick and tired and tired and sick and have I mentioned I AM ILL. I forgot about this. Or rather, I remembered being sick but forgot how bleak it is to rest your head on the toilet bowl after losing the third meal of the day. It’s okay though, I’ve already cried about it fifteen times which is a nice, insane release. See you never.

October 23

Two kids constantly asking for cheese sticks is a nice distraction from the unrelenting nausea that follows me around the house like a bad ex-boyfriend. Don’t worry though, the kids have seen enough Daniel Tiger episodes today that it’s like they are being parented by an other, nicer mom. A mom who takes trips to the clock factory and makes vegetable spaghetti instead of a mom who takes trips to the bathroom and makes boxed macaroni and cheese for every meal. Bless their confused hearts.

October 25

October 26

Ate 17 pizza goldfish for lunch if anyone is keeping track of my nutrition.

October 27

I have been infected with a head cold. Patient zero doesn’t seem too sorry. Yesterday she hid my keys in a bag of potatoes. I can’t take NyQuil, something I mention to anyone within a mile radius. Honestly I’m so sick of hearing myself complain that I’m considering selling my phone for pizza money. Please pray for my husband who no can no longer find any clean dishes, clean clothes, or clean children after 18 hour shifts at the hospital.

October 30

Rose: Put on real clothes this morning to attend Waylon’s preschool Halloween party.
Thorn: Threw up in the bathroom while Eva ate marshmallows covered in glue.
(Could have been worse).

October 31

I don’t want to be dramatic, but if I don’t eat a salad covered in french fries covered in ranch dressing in the next 24 hours I will die.

November 1

Already at the point in the pregnancy where every road sign, every obituary, every inanimate object on the living room floor holds a name possibility. Looked into my make-up bag this morning and read Fat Lash Mascara. Not bad.

Austin hates every name I love, part of our really fun marriage dynamic. If this baby is named by June, it will be a miracle.

November 3

Things I Can’t Handle On Any Emotional Level: NPR human interest stories, diaper commercials, Pixar movies, heartfelt Adele songs.

Just thinking about the ending to Toy Story 3 is too much to bear.

November 4

Whenever I’m in a state of emotional duress, I find myself coping with mental checklists. An inner monologue of questions if you will. For example: Are you sad? Why are you sad? Are you mad? Why are you mad? Are you anxious? Make a list of all the reasons why. It’s as if my brain is going into safety mode. A carefully calculated assessment to find root causes and possible solutions.

It’s happening all the time now. Mostly when it’s quiet; in the bathroom or in the car. And every time I’m surprised. Like, oh–you’re here again? I guess I didn’t notice everything shutting down.

The root cause is always the same. The baby, a baby, my baby–taking over in every way. First goes the body, then the mind.

November 5

Finally watched Inside Out. Cried 50% of the time as Pixar intended.

November 9

10 weeks today. Pregnancy glow or 47 filters? You decide.

November 10

Headed to California. What do you call a pregnant lady, a four-year-old, and a toddler boarding a plane? Actually, let’s not finish that joke.

November 20th

As it turns out, taking two young kids on a solo trip across the country while pregnant is possible. It’s also really hard. I’ll be recovering until April. The good news is that while I’m still dry heaving on a regular basis. The nausea is not constant and for that I am grateful.

November 23rd

Saw the baby today in a due date ultrasound. They didn’t give me a picture and I pretended not to care. I thought that maybe the third time this would be less magical, but I have found the opposite is true. Even though it is hard and gross and exhausting, pregnancy is beautiful. It is holy ground.

I will never have a pregnant Angelina Jolie body, something I had to reconcile years ago, but I am strong. I have made two babies with a uterus once deemed a failure. I wake up grateful and fall asleep dreaming of the day we’re all here.



There is a time and place to lament pregnancy sickness and joke about the turmoils of motherhood, but I’d like to take a moment for thankfulness and a quick prayer for my fellow women waiting to be mothers. I stand with you in your journey to motherhood. You are strong. You are brave. You are not forgotten. 

First trimester with Eva

You Are Not Forgotten (A Guest Post On Infertility)

July 7, 2015

Screen Shot 2015-07-06 at 2.01.18 PM

Every week or so I get an email from someone who is experiencing the pain of infertility. These messages are heartbreaking and difficult to answer, especially because my journey has been so brief in comparison. Taking Clomid for a few months is nothing next to the rigors of IVF or waiting years for answers and treatment. All I have to offer is light and love. The heartache in waiting to be a mother is a very heavy burden to bear.

A few weeks ago, I got an email from someone named Anna who wanted to advertise her Etsy shop featuring cards for couples experiencing infertility. When I heard her story, I asked if she’d be willing to share it with you and she graciously agreed.

Ten questions for Anna (whose name has been changed) and her raw, honest answers below. As I’ve walked alongside dear friends who have experienced similar infertility journeys, I’ve noticed how hard it is for others to respond. Anna talks about that today. She also describes the terrible HSG in the way that it should be described (It is not just “minor period cramps,” it is death).

When Anna sent her responses, this is how she ended the email: Thanks again for allowing me to do this–lots of emotion here. Maybe it’s the progesterone, maybe it’s the exhaustion of it all, but I know for sure part of it is just getting this shit out.

Out of all the things I continue to learn in this life, most important is that when you’re going through the darkness, the best thing you can hear is, “Me too.”

This is for you, friends.

You are not forgotten.


1) How long have you and Ben been trying to conceive?

We have been actively trying to conceive for about 7 years and have been patients at our fertility clinic for 2.5 of those years.

2) When did you first know there was a problem?

My biggest fear growing up was that I wouldn’t be able to have kids. It was the most irrational and random fear I can remember as a child. But when Ben and I started trying (and failing) seven years ago, we just played it off as “not good timing.” When I finally mentioned some concern to my gynecologist, she just waved her hands around as if it was the silliest thing she ever heard and reminded me that I’m young and “it just takes time.”

So, for a year I tracked my cycles, took my temperature and prayed my heart out. Still nothing. A couples years later I was diagnosed with insulin resistance and found a wonderful endocrinologist who whipped my endocrine system into shape. She would often bring up our inability to conceive, but I stubbornly played it off. I didn’t want to ask for help. I can still remember walking to the car after an appointment, a yellow sticky note in my hand with the name of a leading fertility specialist, Dr. Williams. I sat in the car looking at it for a while before turning the key. It took us six more grueling months to call that number. And from there the rest is history. Here is a quick recap of our treatment from 2.5 years ago to today:

+ 6 rounds of clomid- 2 pregnancies (both early miscarriages)
+ 4 rounds of IUIs – all negative
+ IVF 1 – early miscarriage with twins
+ IVF 2 – PGDed embryos so no fresh transfer (PGD stands for pre-implantation genetic diagnosis–and lots of money)
+ FET 1 – negative (FET stands for frozen embryo transfer)
+ IVF 3 – banked our embryos (no fresh transfer)
+ IVF 4 – banked our embryos (no fresh transfer)–we did banking to that we could PGD
+ FET 2 – negative
+ IVF 5 – happening now!

Currently, we have 2 embryos still frozen and 3 more waiting to be PGDed then frozen if they are healthy.

3) What has been the hardest part of this process besides the waiting?

There are so many hard parts. I’ve watched best friends and family get pregnant and have healthy babies, host or go to baby showers, baby-sit, and listen to the woes of parenting. These are the things that get hard.

Perhaps most difficult is how we have felt so robbed of the typical reproductive process. The chance to feel the fun and excitement when trying to conceive and the joy and surprise when it actually works. These are often not joyous things for us. Instead they are riddled with fear and terror. Will our HCG number double in 48 hours? Will this be a viable pregnancy or is this another loss? Did all this money, time, energy and emotion just disappear again? 

We just won’t be the couple that accidentally gets pregnant, gets to completely surprise our family, or can fully and blindly trust that our embryo/baby will live to the next day or week. What we’ve experienced has taken that naivety and innocence away. We now know how easy it is to lose, not just once but again and again. These are the things I think are hard, it feels like highway robbery.

There are so many other hard things like my faith, the big picture process of it all and the idea of what it means to be a woman through all this. But, that’s for another day.

4) Has your perspective/conversations changed since starting 7 years ago?

Yes. The most notable change has been imagining our life without children. For the first few years of trying it was all about: How many kids? How far apart? What if we had all boys or all girls? As time passed, our conversations became about what is would be like having just one child. Then, years later, we had the hard conversation about the possibility of never having children.

Surprisingly you become ready for each conversation as they emerge. There was a period of time when we agreed we are very happy with our life together and could live a fulfilling life without kids. We would be OKAY. Now that we have some embryos frozen through IVF, we are back to the idea that we will have children one day.

5) How has IVF been going?

This is most likely our last attempt using my uterus. Our embryos should be implanting since they are genetically normal, but after two rounds of those embryos not working, the doctors are concerned it may have something to do with my uterus. Even though it’s in beautiful shape and show no signs of sickness, there can still be trouble that is unseen. Basically I may not be able to medically carry a child. It is heartbreaking.

The next step is surrogacy. 

6) What does that look like?

Again the conversation and perspective of things continues to change. What would it be like to not carry my own children? To not be pregnant? To not know what it’s like to feel a baby kick and grow inside of me? These are the very real questions I’m flooded with every single day–and so far I don’t have the answers. I do know that we’ll be ready if the time comes to face those questions and navigate our way through them just like all the other layers of the process so far. 

7) If you feel comfortable sharing, can you describe some of the physical toll you’ve had to endure over the past 7 years?

From the beginning, I’ve been in awe of my body. It is so strong and resilient even though the end result hasn’t been what we’ve been hoping for. When we first started on Clomid, I was so nervous to take that first pill. I’d heard so many things about what Clomid can do to your body, mind and soul. But now that I’m deep in the throes of IVF, taking one little pill for four days out of cycle feels like a vitamin. I had my bad days on Clomid, but they were only in four day intervals so I could managed the other 24 days of my cycle pretty well. When we moved to IUIs, it was a similar experience. Even though it was my first introduction to injections, it was at max two injections during a cycle, followed by the actual IUI itself.

I was managing all of this pretty well with a high pain tolerance, but I should mention that I also had surgery to check for endometriosis and the recovering excruciating! I also had an hysterosalpingogram (HSG) before we started any treatment at all, and still to this day that is the worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my life. The lady before me was screaming, crying and throwing up. Literally someone’s husband passed out from just watching. By the time they called my name, I was shaking in my hospital gown, ready to ditch the whole thing. But I did it–and my tubes were open (a good thing).

Then came IVF!

IVF is not for the weak and weary, nor is it for the control freaks and anxious (me). There are many different protocols for IVF, but most are similar in their pattern of events. My protocols were about six weeks long from the first day of treatment to the day of transfer. So, for me it started with two weeks of birth control (yes, it was so strange to take this, but it resets your system and allows the doctors to better manipulate your cycle), then requires an ultrasound to confirm everything is clear to go. Next up is daily injections. I had to be on a pretty high dose every single round, so I would take up to three injections a day for about two weeks. During those two weeks it requires daily ultrasounds (always internal, always) and blood work. My clinic is over an hour away, so it would require driving two hours a day, usually very early in the morning, only to go back to work all day and then home for injections (then do it all over again).

As my follicles would grow, I would get very bloated, irritable, and tired since my body was working so hard. Eventually my follicles (which hold an egg) would become big enough to retrieve, which means it’s time for a process called egg retrieval. That’s where I’m put under anesthesia and they go in and take out all of my precious eggs from my ovaries to fertilize with Ben’s “sample.” I had anywhere from 21-34 eggs retrieved per cycle, so my ovaries were so swollen and sore. After retrieval I would wait five days for a fresh transfer (where they transfer back 1-2 embryos in a very specific part of my uterus) or let my body heal and four weeks later start a whole bunch of other medications for a frozen embryo transfer.

After a transfer I sit around for a couple of weeks trying not to pull my hair out and do all the things I’m supposed to like stay calm, positive, and believe. Easier said than done. Honestly the biggest toll on my body was waiting to find out if it worked. It can be such a mind game, and stress, fear, and sadness can really take hold in your body. There were so many rounds I thought it worked only to get a call saying my blood work results were negative.

8) How have you and Ben been able to sustain a healthy relationship while struggling through testing, procedures, and disappointments?

I’ll be honest, there have been some really difficult moments. We’ve been through a lot together; both getting our graduate degrees, him finishing his Ph.D., and opening a business together. Some of our most epic and memorable arguments have originated from this infertility process. We have to make decisions every month that fertile couples do not. Decisions that are not easy and will impact us for the rest of our life. Decisions like, what does the hospital do with our frozen embryos if one of us dies? Both of us die? Who do they go to? How many do we transfer? Do we want twins? Do we want to know the genders and select which ones to transfer? Do we transfer the lower graded ones or higher? Should we keep the better ones for later? Will we ever use all these embryos? If not, what should the hospital do with them? What should the hospital do with our embryos that die?

It’s easy to get tripped up not just over the answers, but over the fact that we have to deal with this in the first place. Every day we are faced with embryo updates, cell levels, follicle numbers, injection reminders, cycle day updates, and blood work results. This process consumes every part of our life. We learned very early on that we needed to protect our relationship as much as possible through this. It was very difficult at first, all of it seemed so unnatural, manual and contrived.

By the time we reached IVF, Ben made the comment that he is just the “stud horse.” It was funny, but I also realized that’s very much what it feels like to him. So we’ve worked hard to make sure he’s included in the process. He comes to appointments, checks in for updates, is involved in the decision making, is at all of the procedures, and takes care of me after every retrieval and transfer. Most recently he’s also been giving me all my progesterone shots (which are intramuscular and straight in the butt cheek–he enjoys this very much). He has had to work through his own feelings as a man going through the process of infertility. It’s so different for both us. We grieve different things, experience things differently, and if we aren’t careful–can feel unsupported or unheard by the other. As the time went on, we both had to learn a lot about each other and how to comfort and soothe the hurt places that we didn’t know existed. He knows to hold me through bad news, an offensive comment thrown our way, or when I’m doubting myself as a woman who may not give birth. I know to reassure him he is enough for me, he is valued through this process, and that he matters in all decisions and procedures. These are the things that truly matter to us.

Probably the most important element for us has been humor. We’ve learned to laugh through some of the most uncomfortable moments of this. We have many jokes surrounding our doctors and others we’ve encountered at the clinic. The ridiculousness of it all has helped us get through some really hard times. I’ve always appreciated I could laugh with Ben and I’ve never felt more grateful for that than in the last 2.5 years. It’s a daily thing, but I do feel as though we’ve learned to appreciate each other more through this on our good days and our bad.

9) I know that sometimes people trying to help often end up doing more harm than good. What advice can you give to those who know someone struggling with infertility?

Having sensitivity and really listening. So often I might share something that feels scary to me and someone will say, “Well when I was pregnant…” or “Oh, I remember when we were trying….” None of that is not considered listening, it’s considered talking about yourself. I understand a lot of times it comes from a place of not being able to relate and a real desire to comfort, but it comes off as just another person who doesn’t get it and doesn’t want to try to get it.

Recently I was talking with someone who is well aware of what we are going through, and the conversation turned to having children later in life. Comments were made such as, “I’m so glad we didn’t have kids in our 30s and 40s…” or “I can’t imagine having kids that old…” Um, well I can. That’s my reality. I don’t have a choice like most others.

Of course I don’t want people to say pad things or say, “I don’t want this to offend you.” How mortifying. I just need sensitivity. A realization that everyone has a different journey and enough self awareness to step outside of your experience and really hear someone else. I had another person close to me complain about her kids only to turn to me and say, “Are you sure you want to have kids?” It was one of the most hurtful things anyone has ever said to me because of course I’m sure! I have to choose wanting children every single day. Every day when I inject myself, suffer from hot flashes, and deal with mood swings. Every month when I pay the clinic and go through the heartache of loss and grief. Believe me, I’m not just doing this for fun or to see what happens. I have to choose it every day in order to make sense of what I’m doing. 

We’ve also had people who find out we are struggling with infertility and quickly say, “Well, you can always adopt.” This is something we have had to deal with a lot. Adoption is certainly not off of the table for us, but we don’t want to approach adoption as a last option. Instead we want to fully choose it because that’s what we want to do, not because of any other impatience in our heart. Ben was adopted and I thank Jesus for that because I never would have met him otherwise. We have definitely considered it, but at this point we are focused on our 5 embryos that have an 80% chance of life. Until we are sure about their fate, we cannot ethically and mentally consider anything else. Right now we are choosing to give our embryos a fair shot.

Hugs and care packages also go a long way. We’ve had so many friends drop off baskets of goodies on our porch when we’ve got bad news. There’s also been an outpouring of visitors, meals, and lunch dates just to talk about how I’m doing on my medication. It’s been really amazing to see friends and family who knew nothing of infertility now asking me about my estrogen levels and fertilization reports. I’m so impressed by these people. They started from scratch just like us and chose to learn. It goes a long way.

10) What has been the most helpful piece of advice or wisdom you’ve used to stay strong through this process?

Two things. One, I am not in control. Sitting at home pacing, picking my face, or stuffing my mouth with chips won’t change what’s on the end of the lab work, embryo report, or ultrasound. 

I also have to constantly tell myself, “You, Anna, are not forgotten.” I spend my life and career helping people work through the hardest moments of their life, and I now know what it’s like to ride that wave with no land in sight, only to trust and lean on the others around you. There have been mountains and valleys of emotion–oceans and desert of tears–but we are remaining hopeful that we are not forgotten through all of this and someday, we will look beyond the suffering to something more beautiful than ever expected.


Anna lives in Virginia with her husband and two cats. She is a lover of people who use their blinker, flash mobs, and real mayo. She is currently working on a book about the woes and challenges of infertility which will hopefully be out next year. She has also just started a new line of greeting cards for couples trying to conceive hoping to provide inspiration and support through the mailbox. A link to her shop here.

Six Things For The Second Baby

February 5, 2014

6 Things For Second Baby

When you have a second baby, you will receive the following questions:

Is this one a good baby?
(Yes. But I guess we’ll go ahead and keep the first one too.)

When will you have another one?
(Should we let my perineum heal first?)

You probably don’t need anything, right? 

Well, no. Babies don’t need anything besides blankets and boobs, but for some reason pregnancy turns women into over-prepared, binky hoarding, nesters who find themselves ordering 26 dollar bottles off of Amazon at 2am. It is part of the process.

To be fair, there are a few things that make the whole baby experience easier. Here are six things we either bought, borrowed, or were given for the second baby that we missed the first time around. They are all, without a doubt, wonderful and used with love on a daily basis.



Ergo Baby Carrier


See it on Amazon.

When I was pregnant with the first kid, I thought for sure I needed a Moby wrap. I thought this because I a) didn’t have kids yet and b) didn’t realize how long it would take to wrap 40 feet of fabric around myself while my colicky baby screamed like a hyena. Everyone has opinions about baby carriers and this is mine: Go Ergo or go home. It is simply the best.



Nose Frida

Nose Frida

See it on Amazon.

Did you know you’re not actually supposed to use those blue bulbs to suck out baby snot? We didn’t. So we used it on poor ol’ baby #1 during a journey I like to call “The Great Experiment.” (Good news: he’s still alive). Finally a friend recommended what looks super gross, but ended up being a baby snot miracle: The Nose Frida. This thing sucks out boogs safely and efficiently. It is also easy to clean if you’re one of those people who like to let their pots and pans “soak” for a few days instead of actually cleaning them (just let it soak in some soapy water for easy cleaning). A must-have for winter babies exposed to germ predators otherwise known as “relatives.”



Velcro Swaddlers


See it on Amazon.

Have you tried swaddling a baby in a normal baby blanket? Their little hands and feet pop out faster than you can say, “Crap, it’s your turn to try.” We didn’t have any velcro swaddlers with baby numero uno, but we did with numero dos and they are a lifesaver. Easy, cozy, and available in summer and winter fabrics (although I like the thin, summer fabric year round). And who doesn’t love a milk breath bambino?



Como Tomo Bottles

Como Tomo Bottle

See it on Amazon.

First baby didn’t take bottles. I don’t want to talk about it. This time around, we make sure the baby has a bottle at least twice a week to remind her how to eat from something other than ol’ mom. Full discretion, I did a lot of research on bottles. I read forums. I poured over reviews. I basically went to Internet hell and back to find these “breastfeeding friendly,” slow flow, easy to clean, gas reducing, and frankly adorable bottles. They are on the expensive side but worth it when your body gets a break from being a 24 hour milk buffet. They are also shaped to look and feel like a boob so that everything is less confusing for bebe. Win!



Skip Hop Diaper Bag

Skip Hop Diaper Bag

See it on Amazon.

I have a long and boring history with diaper bags. With Waylon I chose cloth bags, beautiful bags, bags with open tops and no pockets. I was going for the trendy look. The shabby chic look. The mom-who-doesn’t-know-what-the-hell-she’s-doing look. Those bags were beautiful, but are now covered in stains and the tears of a mom who just spilled diapers, wipes, a sippy cup, and three tampons in the parking lot because her bag doesn’t zip shut. I’m going to be straight with you: I don’t love how this bag looks. I do love how practical it is. Cross body, wipeable fabric, stroller clips, multiple pockets inside and out, and plenty of room for all the things I wish I wasn’t carrying around. There is a reason this bag has the highest reviews on Amazon.



Rock n play

Rock N Play

See it on Amazon.

My first baby didn’t like being put down. Again, I don’t want to talk about it. This time, however, I have a baby who tolerates being set down for a bit and the rock n’ play is a great place to put her. Admittedly it’s a stupid name (how is my newborn “playing” in this?), but she does fall asleep in there with some gentle rocking. She sleeps in a co-sleeper at night, but I know of some babies who sleep in a rock n play all day and all night. Simple, collapsible, transportable, and easy to use. It saves me every day. Sold.



The last post.

December 5, 2013

Photo Edited

This will be the last post before I give birth to another human. Please pray for my perineum. If you’re wondering if I’ve had the baby yet, you can always check this site or check social media. You know how to use the internet.

It’s been really nice having you guys around to care about my fetus and talk about things like will I actually like another baby as much as the first one?

I cannot fathom her, but I am excited to meet her.

There’s no rush. I am not so uncomfortable I could die (see: last pregnancy) and like all second time mothers, I know the reality of newborn care which is that it’s actually a lot easier when they are in your womb.

The truth is I’m treasuring these last few days with Waylon when I can eat nachos without guilt and sleep until 8am.

She’ll be here soon.

Everything is mostly ready, which really just means I dusted off a few baby things and weirdly scrubbed the pantry. Newborns don’t need much; blankets and boobs.

Austin is ready. He loves babies and is hoping to deliver this one having practiced on a few unsuspecting women during his OBGYN rotation. My mom response is, “we’ll see.”

Waylon is also blissfully ready, but we all know his big Christmas present this year will be less attention so I’m not holding my breath.

My bag is not packed, but the house has been cleaned and organized and I have semi edible things in the freezer. Unfortunately I continue to nest much to everyone’s annoyance. The other day I had Austin cleaning off the tops of all the ceiling fans and my mom scrubbing bathroom walls. Sorry not sorry.

We also installed the infant carseat, which actually doesn’t fit safely in our tiny car as the passenger seat will be crammed up to the windshield. At first we were panicked, then we both slid into denial/are hoping I sprout shorter legs in 2014.

New motto: choose joy.

Thank you for excusing these uterus posts and fist bumping me these past 39+ weeks.

See you on the other side.

December is finally here.


The Fourth Trimester or How To Make Everyone Fear You

November 21, 2013


Some call labor and delivery the fourth trimester.

Some call the postpartum newborn haze the fourth trimester.

I like to call the last three to four weeks of pregnancy the fourth trimester because it is so unlike the rest of the third that it deserves its own era. Its own milestone to commemorate growing a fully developed human/not being able to digest anything other than banana flavored chalk.

The last time around, I hit full term and was so miserable that Stalin would have been a better conversation partner. It was a hot and abnormally humid June. Some days the heat index reached 104 degrees, causing my feet to swell up like overstuffed sausages.

The whole thing was unpleasant, especially after I insisted on “One Last Beach Trip!” and got so severely sunburnt that I couldn’t walk for a week.

This sad and frankly horrifying photo pretty much sums up the fourth trimester with Waylon.

Sorry if you were about to eat breakfast.


This time around, my body is much less swollen and uncomfortable. My feet and ankles look human and I can still get in and out of the car without swears.

I’ve been asked for my secret to this relatively easier end and I wish I knew. I’m going to go ahead and guess it isn’t all the carbs and American cheese.

I should also point out that the fourth trimester is never easy. At the risk of sounding like a complainer, it’s still hard. The last few weeks is simply standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall off. You’re fine, you’re carrying your 30 pound toddler and 30 pound gut up and down the stairs, you’re still making hot meals a few times a week, until one of the following things happens:

+ You watch too many emotional montages of babies/ducks/Alzheimer’s patients.

+ Your toddler breaks a glass/throws up/tries to murder you.

+ You develop a head cold.

Then it’s all over. You’ve been pushed off the cliff. Irrational despair takes over and you are unable to move off the couch until you are forced to bathe or answer the front door.

Luckily this isn’t Austin’s first rodeo, so his reactions to my overreactions are mild and cautiously supportive.

Me: (side eye) I’m not cooking or cleaning for the rest of the week.

Austin: Okay.

Me: (glaring) Or maybe the rest of this pregnancy. So you should just prepare for that.

Austin: Okay.

Me: I can’t be pregnant and have a terrible cold and take care of a toddler and try to get anything else done. I just can’t do it. You need to know this.

Austin: Okay.


It’s all a waiting game until d-day. A fragile balance of excitement and crazy eyes. A time when Google serves as nothing more than a vehicle for “more gas + sign of labor?” A time of ugly cries and happy cries and scrubbing the bathroom floor with an old sock because you lack the necessary tools but NEED TO CLEAN.

A time to take deep breaths and remember: it won’t be long now.