5 months

Oh! Just What I Wanted!

We'll post ultrasound pics as soon as we get them scanned in, but I had to express how just plain happy I am that we're having a girl. The feeling of getting exactly what I wanted is exhilarating.

I'm humbled that the God of the universe would take my requests into account. He's given me the desire of my heart and I'm so humbled and thankful. He didn't have to do that, but did. James 1:17 has come to mind over and over again this week. It says, "Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights..."

You know those moments where you just can't believe how amazing your life has turned out? That's been me for the last... well, three years. I've always been blessed, but God has outdone Himself in the last couple of years. And now this, I've been walking around with a goofy smile on my face for days. I'm beside myself. Giddy!

I'm excited about a lot of things when it comes to having a baby girl. I've been doing a lot of planning and dreaming in my mind since before we even knew she was a she; but mostly I'm excited about the daddy she's going to have. It makes me tear up when I think about all the love she's going to be drenched in by him. Much like I got from my own dad. What a gift.

I surprised Mark with a cake that said "It's a girl!" the night we found out. I got him champagne and Martinellis for me ; )

Recent Highlights

1. I look pregnant. And please don't tell me I didn't. I get irritated when people say, "I thought you said you popped?! You can hardly even tell you're pregnant." Because this is not normal.

2. I feel GREAT. Like pre-pregnancy great. I have energy, can eat more than Asiago cheese bagels from Panera, and don't even want to bite the head's off innocent strangers and husbands for no apparent reason at all. Praise the baby Jesus! I started getting a little panicky there when I was waiting for that second trimester energy boost to kick in and instead week 12 and 13 were some of my most lethargic and I started puking for the first time. Ya, that's a story. It involves loosing it on the very popular 2nd Street in Long Beach THREE times, not one of which I managed to make it to one of the trash cans they have on every block. Ooops. It was 10am on a Saturday morning after taking down an original-sized Jamba Juice. That's when you wish they made t-shirts that said, "I'm not still drunk from the night before, I'm pregnant.

3. We have our anatomy and gender ultrasound appointment scheduled. We'll know our fate on Dec. 20th. We're not one of those couples that say we don't care what gender the baby is. We both really want a girl and aren't very good at hiding it if one is supposed to. Maybe it's because Mark's family is all boys and it's time for a girl Russell, or maybe it's because Makayla was (is) a girl, and she's the closest thing we've been to being a family of three, or because my idea of a boy is my brother; rowdy and a bit of a hooligan at times. Although I will say, I'm becoming more and more team "as long as the baby's healthy" the closer we get to knowing, which is a relief, because I really, really didn't want to cry in front of the ultrasound tech.

...still praying for pink.

4. I can feel the baby move. I can only feel it from the inside, not with my hand's on my tummy yet, and only tiny little movements, but it's still an incredible feeling. I love the reminder that this is all really happening, that something really is growing and living inside of me.

Top 10 Reasons Why I Need A Girl Baby

1. The name Ava.

2. These shower invites.

 3. Lots and lots of headbands with ridiculously large bows. Black and white damask bows. I'll take her little pout too, please.

4. Dream Big Little Girl decal for the nursery.

 

 

5. This frame.

 

 

 

 

 

6. But with "Ava Shay" or "Ava Kate"

7. These funky/fun pillows on the rocking chair in the nursery.

8. More ridiculously large bows on headbands.                                                  

9. Because I want one and always have.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

10. This.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cleaning is my Love Language

In case your wondering, my house has looked the same since the break down(s) you read about in the previous post. Until Wednesday that is. I worked until 9:30pm that night and called Mark on my way home. He informed me that he had cleaned the house. I could hear the smile, and pride, in his voice through the phone. This should have been great news to me. I should have been ecstatic. But you see, my idea of clean and Mark's idea is clean is, shall we say, different. His idea of cleaning the house is really more like "tidying up." He's great at clearing the items off the counter tops, coffee table and floor, but stops short of wiping the surfaces, vacuuming the carpet or mopping the floors.

Since I was really in no place to judge anyone's standards of cleanliness at that point in time, I said a sincere "Thank you, baby" and reminded myself to be gracious towards his efforts when I got home, even if it wasn't the sparkling cleaning job I craved, but couldn't quite muster the energy to achieve myself. I got home and was shocked, surprised, and just plain blessed. The boy CLEANED. Like scrubbed, disinfected, and organized shelves and rooms that I've been avoiding for months. I could just about see my reflection in the bathtub. I could have cried, and looking back now, I'm surprised I didn't as that's my usual M.O. these days. I couldn't stop kissing him. And then it hit me. Cleaning is my love language. Words of affirmation? Eh. Quality time? It's nice. Physical touch? Sometimes. Receiving gifts? Sure. Acts of service? If it's cleaning, YES! YES! YES! I really don't think I've felt that loved since our wedding day.

It spoke, and continues to speak, volumes to me that he would not just clean, but clean the way he knew would bless me the most. It was up to me to think of what would really show love to him, his way. The ball was in my court. Let's just say he got some positive reinforcement that night and the house has looked great ever since. A win/win. I think we're on to something.

(Reluctantly) Letting go of Perfect

I go to bed at 8:30pm now. We got an invitation to a friend's birthday party that started at 9pm on Saturday. My first thought was, "Now who in the world starts a party at 9:30pm?" Oh ya, me about 13 1/2 weeks ago. I fell asleep at our friends house a couple of weeks ago while they were all carving pumpkins, before their 2 year old's bedtime. I keep waiting for that burst of energy I'm supposed to get now that I'm ending the first trimester and entering into the second. And waiting, and waiting, and waiting. Yesterday as I was watching The Real Housewives of Atlanta for. six. hours. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps my energy was back, but I'm just so used to taking it easy (read: being lazy) that I'm now in a slump and hadn't even realized it's homecoming, let alone celebrated it. And if not, then what about faking it 'til I make it? "Making it" would include doing something, anything, other than working, sleeping or eating. The house hadn't been cleaned in two weeks, I hadn't grocery shopped in that long either. We’re out of toilet paper. Using napkins. I've been to the gym only once in that time span. It was worth a try. So with my best pep talk, I willed myself to get off the coach and clean one room. You know, small goals, baby steps, to make it seem more manageable. I made three valiant attempts, I really did. Except each one ended with me crying as soon as I got up and falling back on the coach in a weepy, pathetic heap. I didn't even make it into the other room. 

These are the times when I hear voices in my head saying things like, "I knew this would happen. I knew I’d loose control and fall apart, that the house would turn into a disaster, that Mark would be working a 32 hour shift on my day off, and here we are." My thinking then degrades to, "If I can't hack it now, before the baby's even here, how in the world do I think I'll be able to do all this once s/he arrives." My mind spins with scenes of working full-time, on a lot less sleep, with a baby to take care of. I have to battle those voices and images and counter them with things like, "You're right, you're not in control, but God is. And wouldn't you rather Him be in control than your weak little self right about now?" Yes. Yes, I would. I wish I had the will and energy to get everything back on track on my own. But I don't. And I have a feeling I'm right where I'm supposed to be. Unable to do it on my own. Utterly dependent on God. That was yesterday. Today is a new day. I'm going to do what I can and leave the rest to God. Trusting He'll give me the the exact amount of strength, exactly when I need it and letting good enough be the new perfect in the Russell household. I love perfect, so this is not easy, but it's where I'm at right now, without much of a choice but to go with it. Wish me luck.

Progression

1 month

2 months

3 months


4 months

 5 months (I thought I was huge here. Ha!)


 6 months

 7 months

 8 months

 9 months

 10 months

To Our Baby (written at week 4)

Dear Little Poppyseed, 

That's what your dad and I call you because right now you're only the size of one! We love you and have been talking about you since before we even got married. Your dad especially, it's so cute how he wanted to have kids the instant we got married. We actually did get pregnant, on our honeymoon, and found out our first month of marriage. We lost that baby, that's why I'm a little tentative to even write you this letter, talk to you, connect and bond with you, naming you, even with these nicknames; because I fear losing you too 'lil poppy. I pray for you every day, that God would make you big and strong and healthy and able to hang on and grow and thrive in me until the day we get to hold you.

So please stay strong, please stick little one, your mommy and daddy want to meet you and love on you and teach you all of God's ways and share with you everything He's blessed us with. He really has been ridiculously good to us, with our loving families, by bringing your dad and I together, by giving us fulfilling careers and incredible friends, and now you, it all seems way too good to be true. But that's how He is. He's good. You'll learn that Little. And that's why I choose to write to you, connect with you, bond with you, love you; without knowing the outcome, because I trust Him. His timing truly is perfect, He's proved that over and over again. And every good and perfect gift truly is of Him. He knows your dad and I and he knows you and He has a plan. He's in control. I will thank God for every day I get with you. I will take care of you and this body of mine that is your home for however long He makes it so. For you are cared for and you are loved. Goodnight Little Poppyseed. We love you.

Love,

Mom & Dad

Conception Story

I wanted to get this story down in writing before I fogot because it's such a testament at just how impeccable and perfect God's timing truly is, everytime... even when it doesn't feel like it.

So here's the time-line:

February 2009: We've been married all of one month and my period is two days late. My breasts are tender, I'm exhausted. Mark suggests I take a pregnancy test, "better to know that sit around and worry." I don't know if I agree. Not knowing means there's still a chance I'm just late and not pregnant. He buys me one. I take it. It's positive. I cry for four hours. I'm so not ready for this. I don't even know how to be a wife yet, let alone a mom. He's shocked too, but handling the news much better than me, he's always been more faithful, more trusting of God than I have. I don't say anything, do anything, but stare at the walls of our bedroom in Colorado Springs and cry, cry, cry. We watch an episode of the office. Somehow it's not as funny this time.

I wake up in the morning, go to the bathroom and loose the baby. I am relieved. I feel guilty for feeling relieved. But so, so relieved. We are very careful from then on.

August 6-7, 2010: My two best friends and I from college had a girl's weekend in San Luis Obispo, our college town where Jill still lives with her husband and their ten month old. It was the first time since we'd all been together since my wedding a year and a half ago. They started to ask when Mark and I were going to start trying to have babies and I admitted that I was no where near ready. Not just not ready, but I feared that I never would be. I thought that I would be "farther along by now, more ready" but those maternal instincts were still not there and knowing that Mark wanted kids pretty soon here was making me worried if I'd ever be ready. They assured me I would be. I hoped they were right.

August 10, 2010: We receive a call from Safe Families, an incredible organization we know of through Mariners Church that we had applied to be a part of that helps provide a "safe family" to care for a child as a single parent experiences any kind of crisis in their life. It could be that they have to go to jail, get surgery, are suddenly homeless, etc. and there is no one to care for their child so they call or are referred to Safe Families. Check it out: http://www.safe-families.org/ We get the story on little Makayla, a six month old baby girl who's mom has to serve 5 days in jail and has no one else in her life to take her baby while she does so.

August 13-17, 2010: We have Makayla, absolutely fall in love with her in .02 seconds and have THE HARDEST time when we have to give her back on Tuesday. Seriously, I thought it would be no problem giving a child back, the point of the program [after all] is to reunite the children with their parents, we were [after all] doing it to serve selflessly, I had just told my friends the weekend prior [after all] that I was so far from being ready for babies that it worried me. I had skimmed through that part of the program's training [after all], thinking it wasn't an issue.

But really, can you blame me?

August 18, 2010: It's my 30th birthday. I get a voicemail from a friend saying she "had a dream I was pregnant, I'm not am I? By the way, Happy Birthday." I receieve a text from a different friend, one I haven't heard from in months, she too had a dream I was pregnant, and of course, happy birthday.

I cry through my entire birthday dinner, the one at a trendy and packed new lounge might I add. We're heartbroken that "our baby" has been taken away (we had slipped into calling each other "mommy" and "daddy." I even got a text one of the days when Mark had to work and I stayed home with her that asked how "his girls" were.) We feel like something, everything, was missing all of a sudden.

We start talking about having kids and this time the conversation went very differently. We were both ready. More than ready. Before that the plan was to wait until after he was done with residency. It made sense: he'd have a much better schedule, we'd have more money, I would have been in my job for years and would have some flexibility. Now two more years of waiting before I even got pregnant, let alone gave birth, seemed like eternity.

August 21-22, 2010: I mention to Mark that I should be ovulating next week according to the app I have on my phone (yep, there's an app for that). We go to Rite Aid and buy an kit so we can start paying closer attention to this whole cycle thing that I've had since I was a teen, but never much cared about mastering until now. We stop using anything to prevent pregnancy for the first time since our honeymoon (when we thought we were safe, ha!)


August 24, 2010: The kit says I'll be ovulating within the next 24-36 hrs. I come into bed and tell Mark that 1) I'll be ovulating soon so if we're really serious about trying this is go time 2) I don't think we should be trying. Fear, logic, selfishness, whatever you want to call it had kicked. Fall is my busiest time at work and I didn't feel I could afford to be tired and sick and all of what I'd been reading the first trimester brought. He agreed and was fine with waiting. We went back to using protection.

Sept. 6, 2010: I woke up with a feeling after dreaming about babies. We had my boss' wedding to go to the next day and wanted to be able to drink without worrying about it so I took the test to put my mind at ease, more than sure it would be negative. This is what I saw:

The same moment I saw the "pregnant" appear on the digital test I heard my husband coming up the stairs and swung the bathroom door open. I just kept saying, "I'm pregnant," "I'm pregnant," "I'm pregnant" over and over again. He said I looked like a bobble head saying it repeatedly. I was definitely in shock. So was he. We hugged, kissed, said "Oh my gosh" many, many times. And then he said, "Well, I'm going to go back to doing laundry now, because that's what I was doing before I got this news." What a guy.

I love that my change of mind came too late. I love that God said, "Nope, you are ready. You don't think you are, but you are." I love that he allowed us to be a hint of ready before he brought us this pregnancy. I love that this fall hasn't been that bad at work and that I've felt pretty dang good throughout the first trimester. I love that He knows me better than I know myself. I love that His perfect timing never ceases to amaze me.

New to This

I've been thinking about starting a blog for awhile but only recently found a reason to, our baby! I have so many thoughts and feelings running around my head, ones that should be shared with this little peach (it's the size of a peach this month, how cute is that?!) one day so I'm going to put them here. I promise here and now though that I will never, ever blog about the color, nor the consistency, of our baby's poop though, I promise.