The one about how it's been a decade

If you had asked me, on graduating from high school, where I hoped to be in ten years, I would have told you something like this:

1. Teaching
2. Married
3. A mommy
4. Owner of a horse ranch

Okay, so with the exception of the horse ranch (which, thankfully, it turns out is something I'd really prefer not to have after all), I was pretty spot on. 

It's difficult to look back and imagine the person I was the day I graduated high school.  I am both completely different, and perfectly the same in so many ways. 

The wall of seniors in Mr. Tonelli's room. (You kinda have to be a Columbine kid to get this one.  As of three years ago, it's still there!)  Can you spot me?

A little wiser.  A little less naiive.  Definitely more seasoned.  If you can believe it, I didn't even drink coffee until college, so clearly I've changed in some ways.  But I'm also still me: driven, planner, a little OCD.  Still pretty black and white when it comes to the things I believe are valuable, right and important. 

But those are no longer the most important adjectives I would use to describe myself.

I had it right.  Even at 18. 

The most important adjectives are the ones I've already listed: Teacher, wife, mommy.  These are the roles I treasure.

This weekend marks my ten year high school reunion.  In six more months, I will have spent every one of those days over the last ten years with my husband. 

Whatever anyone else says, I always felt like I dreamed big.  Those adjectives I dreamed for myself always were the very best of who I was. 

Ten years later, those roles are the very best of who I am.  And somehow, miraculously, all my dreams have come true.

Thirty.

Thirty down.

Ten to go.

Holy crap.

Baby size: Cucumber.  Or Squash, depending on who you ask (who makes up these things, anyway???)
15.2 to 16.7 inches
2.5-3.8 lbs
20 pounds gained - no additional weight since my last check up two weeks ago, but baby is still measuring fine.

70 days left. 

I don't pee when I laugh or sneeze.  I consider this a victory, because I feel like peeing all the time.  There are not enough potty breaks in the world to ease my need to pee, which I don't remember from having Leah. 

I mean, I know I peed a lot - I've got the photographic proof - but I remember feeling that sense of relief, even if it was only temporary.  So, really what I'm saying is that Peanut has parked himself on my bladder.  It must be comfy, like a soft, squishy pillow, cause I haven't not had to pee in like three days. 

If you paid me seven million dollars, I still couldn't take care of my personal hygene issues.  I'll spare you the details on that front, but if you've been pregnant, you know exactly where I'm talking about not being able to shave.

No heartburn.
No stretch marks (yet?).
No odd cravings.
Some sleep.
Mostly mello emotions, all impending major life events and solo-parenting considered.
Wedding rings on.
Tons and tons of movement.

No major medical maladies to speak of, save for the contractions which happen on a daily basis, and still no one seems to be concerned about.

Best moment of the week: Bringing Leah to bed with me in the middle of the night after she very, very sweetly asked if she could snuggle with me.  Feeling her warm, cuddly body against mine, breath heavy with sleep, as Baby wiggled away between the two of us.  My two little loves, safe and sound, and together.

Thirty?  Sheer perfection. 

The countdown has begun.  And it's soooooo wonderful. 

When it's good, it's great

Today looked like this:

And it was a great day!

We're so ready

8 out of 11.

That's how many weeks my husband will have been gone when he finally gets home on Saturday.

I've said it before, but seriously: hats off to the single parents.  You guys are some kind of awesome I truly hope never to be.

Because if I'm all they've got?  If it's just me that stands between us and disaster?  We're in big trouble. 

Casey has been gone since last Thursday - eight loooong days ago, and it has probably been the toughest stint of all.  I could give you a dozen legitimate reasons: I'm too big.  I'm too tired.  We're about to move... in like 4 days.  Two year olds are too much work for one person all.the.time without a break.

All of these things are true.  But mostly, we're just done. 

Both of us.  For the first time, the little has had nightmares and woken up missing her daddy. We've been doing the bad thing that I don't do very often and sleeping together.  Yes, in my book, when I child wakes up crying because they miss their parent, it warrants a little snuggle time in Mommy's bed.

It's a tough old job.  Not made any easier by the fact that I'm nearly 30 weeks pregnant. 

We've reached the point where, when it's 4:30 and she chucks something onto the floor from whatever its original resting point for the 927th time that day, bending over to pick it up is a really big deal.  And her two-year-old's game of I WANT THAT! followed immediately by I DON'T WANT THAT! is no longer amusing to my virtually nonexistant patience.  And the 5,000 ways she's developed to delay Mom from whatever task - no matter how minute - we're trying to accomplish?  Yeah, I'm pretty exhausted.

Mostly, though, it's myself I wind up mad at.

That I'm not more patient.  That I'm not more open to indulging her.  That I can't always play with her.  That, dare I admit it?  I've even yelled at her.  That despite my deep, deep-seeded desire to nurture and empower her spirit, I still reach that point that all moms know.  I believe it's called the end of our rope.

I am still not that perfect mom, despite both tremendous effort and tons of prayer.

You know her, right?  She's the one with the clean house, the happy, well-fed children kept busy and entertained as a result of their mother's craftiness.  The one who speaks with wisdom, kindness and love and always - always - without raising her voice. 

She definitely exists.  That mom who could do with grace and ease what I try and fail to do every day.  At least, that's what I never fail to convince myself. 

The good (and bad?) news is that there is nothing to do but pick up and try again tomorrow, remembering how very precious and important these moments are.  Not only because they are so fleeting and wonderful, even in the same moment that they are challenging, but because they are so significant in answering the question of who she will become.

That's the best and scariest thought of all.  (It begs the question: What do we do on the days when I'm just not enough?)  So come home soon, Daddy. 

We're sooooo ready. 

There will be diapers

There will not be a nursery, designed with loving care.

There will not be new bedding, picked out by a mommy who knew it was "the one."

There will not be a brand new crib.

There will not be hoardes of new clothes, because, let's face it: Auntie Jess already had a boy. 

There will not be a house to call our own.

But, as of today, there will be diapers.

And because I want to make sure that there can be a mommy at home full time, we're going a direction I never, ever imagined we would go.  You may be looking at the last diapers we'll ever buy. 

Yes, we're going green.  Or - more likely - brown.  After a lot of research, we settled on Rumparooz, which have a fabulous reputation in the hiney-covering department.  I'm not gonna lie, I'm a little nervous about this new adventure. 

At the same time, though, it gave me such satisfaction to pick these babies up!  With everything else so up in the air and the arrival of this baby coming up so quickly, I have horrible guilt over all the things Leah had in place which he will not.

But, by golly, he will have diapers.  And three people who love him to pieces.

What else does he need, really?

A chip off the old block

No doubt about it, I was a water baby growing up.

Summer days were more often than not spent in the pool, or playing in the back yard on a slip and slide or running through the sprinklers. 

And you guys: my kid?  She's exactly the same.

I'm a big fan of Water World.  We're so lucky to be considered "residents," meaning that the outrageous prices don't apply to us.  Better is the fact that if we go after nap time, even the resident rate is cut in half, so going to this fabulous water park is no more expensive than going to the regular pool.

So far this summer, Leah and I have only been twice, and both times it has been awesome.

Seriously, the girl loves to swim.  She splashes and wiggles and jumps much more boldly into the water than anything she undertakes anywhere else. 

Because I taught swim lessons like a million years ago, I've been working with her any time we're in the pool (and sometimes, let's face it, in the bath) to help her get the hang of things.  It's really starting to stick.

She knows to turn herself onto her tummy, stick out her legs and kick.  Mostly, she keeps her legs under her and frog-jumps through the water, but it still counts.  She knows to blow bubbles in the water, and spit it out if it gets in her mouth.  All of this is with the assistance of her floaties, of course - we're not too crazy. 

She adamantly insists, "No Mommy, don't help me!  Let me do it by myself!" And so I do. 

And I have to say, I'm pretty tickled with her progress. 

I might even try to get some pictures next time we go... it's hard though, because I can't resist getting in the pool and playing with her!

A road map and a neon sign

So it's really happening. 

We're actually moving. 

I suppose that, for some people, the whole SOLD! sign would have indicated this.  But somehow, I've failed to believe it for the past month or so.  It didn't hit me until we were packing up the boxes.

Yes, our house is now roughly 22% travel-ready.  Mostly due to the efforts of my lovely husband, as it takes me three times as long as it should.  Not only because I'm pregnant, but also because everything makes me super nostalgic and I have to sit and cry before boxing it up.

Pregnancy hormones?  Whew - glad I dodged that bullet!

Not to mention, we still don't have a permanent place to unpack all of these boxes.

This is the part I'm really, really not good at.  I'm a planner.  I have been my whole life.  I'm the kind of person who knows exactly what she wants, carefully weighs all the options, figures out the most efficient way of getting there and works with every fiber in my being to do so.

That's why I sucked so hard at the whole getting pregnant thing.  There's absolutely no way to plan, predict, work hard for or control when that would happen. 

The story is much the same on the house front.  We've had two offers in and both have been out-bid.  Not a thing I can do about that.  Can't plan or work for getting a house - at least, not in this market.

I'm committed this time around to praying diligently and trying hard to listen to where God would have us go.  I'm genuinely seeking, knowing that He has always provided for us in bigger ways than we could have ever hoped.  But the answers right now don't seem very clear or obvious.

So, God: I'll totally go where you want me to be.  Truly.  It's just that I'd prefer a road map and a neon sign in case I get lost.  Cool?

For now, we're going home to stay with my mom.  I feel so lucky that this is an option, and I think it makes the most sense given all the other things that are going on.  It will be a huge blessing not to have to be alone with a two year old in my third trimester when Casey goes out of town. 

It will be equally as big a blessing not to have to pay rent, as this is one expensive baby we're having.  (That's a conversation for another time, but let's just suffice it to say that my pregnancy has spanned two insurance plan years.  Good times.)  Seriously, he'd better either be really worth it, or poop gold. 

I know that there is a lot of good coming out of this situation if I choose to see it that way. 

But it's definitely a challenge for me to tame all those unknowns and could be's.