20 week pregnancy update. Easter!

the bump

audrey posed me

being silly

How far along: 20 weeks, one day

Total weight gain: Not sure.

Maternity clothes?: No.

Stretch marks?: No.

Sleep: Ok.

Best moment of the week: Easter with the Wirebaughs. Hitting 20 weeks. Feeling baby move more and more.

Miss anything: No complaints.

Movement: Yes; it's awesome.

Cravings: Veggie wraps.

Anything make you queasy or sick: the smell of meat.
How are you feeling overall: like my belly popped the day I hit 20 weeks. Still feeling great.

Have you started to show: Kind of. Depends on the level of bloat and what I'm wearing.
Gender: No clue.

Labor signs: Nope.

Looking forward to:  spring, which means summer is coming, which means the baby is coming. Hitting 20 weeks kind of freaked me out because it's feeling so real now. August doesn't feel so far away anymore.

Let me make myself clear

I am tired of hearing about the Steubenville rape trial and how those "poor boys'" lives will be forever ruined. I am tired of reading about the sentencing of a group of young gang members who plied a 16-year-old girl with alcohol in order to brutally gang rape her. I am tired of it. Exhausted, really. As a woman and a mother and a daughter and a human being, I am sick and tired of it.

You don't get to rape people. Why don't more people say that loudly and clearly and without question to our boys? You don't get to dominate and humiliate girls and women. No matter if she's drunk and no matter what she's wearing and no matter what you've heard about her from other people and no matter what your friends are saying is cool. You don't get to rape people. And, God forbid, if you do, your life will be ruined. But your level of life ruined will be nothing compared to that daughter, mother, sister, granddaughter, friend who you brutalized.

We tell girls and women to travel in groups and don't linger too long in your car after you get in and keep your cell phone handy and don't leave your drink unattended at a bar and don't act too interested in a guy and a whole litany of rules intended to keep them safe. Here's the thing. That list isn't fool proof. Here's what is. Tell your boys and the boys you know and mentor and teach and befriend that there is no place in this world for rape. The boys who seem like good guys and the boys with "normal" childhoods and the boys on your kid's sports teams. The boys who had a tough upbringing and the boys that are rough around the edges and the boys who are screaming out for an adult to show them the way. You don't get to rape people.

Say it loudly and clearly and without question. Please.

On Monday I smiled. And there were lots of happy tears

11 ounces of sweet baby perfection.

The words "perfect," "gorgeous," "textbook," and "beautiful" spoken by the ultrasound tech, Dick, after many of the measurements and pictures.

Profile pictures of a sweet baby searching for its thumb, then finding it, and giving it a suck, just like his or her big sister did at her ultrasound.

Pictures of a little baby wiggling its big toe and playing with its umbilical cord.

Baby toes and baby nose, baby heart and baby brain, baby lips and baby fingers.

"Where is that pesky little thumb?"

"There it is. MMMM."

"Look at me. I can wiggle my big toe."

beautiful baby profile

 

Perfect baby heartbeat, which if you're one to believe high rate means girl, low rate means boy, then this is a boy. It was 135 at my last midwife appt and 142, then 137 at the ultrasound.

Arm, hand, bent knee. See all that?

Yes. 11 ounces of sweet baby perfection.

It wasn't exactly the morning we were expecting. Since Elliot was sick, Jim had to stay home with him instead of having all five of us go to see Cuatro, but Audrey wasn't about to miss seeing the baby so she and I headed to the appointment. It was 30 minutes with the prenatal counselor, then a 45 minute ultrasound, then 5 minutes with a doctor. Audrey got bored at times, but she had a book to occupy her if she needed a distraction. For the most part, she watched the baby in awe, grabbed my hand, giggled at the sweet moments, and got one step closer to being a big sister times two.

I've had a few ultrasounds in my four pregnancies, but they never ever get old or mundane. My baby has been growing for 19 weeks plus a few days. In that short time, the heart has fully formed. Brain formed, kidneys functioning, lungs working, genitals formed, fingerprints created. (The gender remains a mystery to us, although Audrey tried her darndest to decipher the ultrasound while I looked away. The tech assured me that our baby is definitely a boy. . . or a girl.)

It is all there. So many things must happen in perfect accord for our bodies to do what they do and to see that so clearly is a true gift. We got to see all of it working in beautiful harmony right there in black and white. This is shocking and miraculous and to see it right there on the screen in front of me brought tears to my eyes. Somehow I forgot that would happen. My baby popped on up the screen, little heart a-beating and fingers a-curling and the tears started. The happy, there is life growing inside of me, this is really happening tears. It is nothing short of an amazing and beautiful miracle. How our lives are formed. How we are knit together. How minutely small and enormously expansive this universe is. How it all works together. Amazing. Beautiful. Miracle. Did I mention that? Because it's true.

These next 20 weeks will be spent getting stronger and bigger. Baby cuatro will go from 11 ounces to 7 or 8 pounds, give or take. His or her body will mature enough to breathe and eat and grow outside of my body. And then the day will come when the sweet baby we now only see in black and white pictures is ready to meet us. And our arms will open in anticipation and our hearts will expand in ways not yet imagined and our family will breathe a deep sigh of, "There. That's better. We're all here now. Welcome baby. We didn't know how much we needed you until just this very moment."

On Monday I smiled. And there were lots of happy tears. I am so enormously grateful for this splendid surprise and humbled by this perfect gift.

"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the creator of the heavenly lights." James 1:17

Palm Sunday



Our day began with a wonderful Palm Sunday service where a certain handsome 9-year-old sang with his Celebration Singers choir. Breaks my heart into proud little pieces every time. He is so tall and thin and handsome and his shy little smile when he spots us in the pew is simply delightful.

 

Isaac and the other Celebration Singers singing Hosanna in their bright, springy colors

Cutie.

Audrey got into the Palm Sunday spirit by adorning her wheelchair with the family's palm branches. Of course she had to pose with Cassie, her favorite puppy.

 

 Then our friends helped us out and transported/took care of the kids while Jim and I ran some errands in preparation for a painting project and a hiking trip. We got so much accomplished in one afternoon that we decided it would have taken us approximately three weekends to do the same amount if all of our kids had been there. We even snuck in dinner at a delicious hole in the wall Indian restaurant.

Uno with Kiri, Maren, Cassie the dog, and Maren's stuffed horse

Unfortunately a wonderful day ended with a fevered, lethargic Elliot. We have no idea what he has, but, as usual, children have impeccable timing when it comes to illness. Tomorrow we are all supposed to go to my 19 week ultrasound and Jim and I are both very disappointed that he probably can't come. Then the kids and I were heading to my great-grandma's funeral in South Dakota. We will get there one way or another to support my family and celebrate Grandma B. We'll also work to get Elliot back and up to his normal, cheerful self.

It was a wonderful, memorable Palm Sunday.

"Your tore the veil

You made a way

When you said, "It is done."

At the Cross by Hillsong

19 week update and pics

19 weeks, 1 day

belly shot + an Elliot photo bomb

How far along: 19 weeks

Total weight gain: Two pounds. It's kind of shocking how much a body can change with only two extra pregnancy pounds. OK. Not kind of shocking. Totally shocking.

Maternity clothes?: No.

Stretch marks?: No.

Sleep: Hit and miss. Last night was a miss that included another random 4 am wake up so I will be heading up to bed shortly.

Best moment of the week: Audrey, Elliot, and Jim felt the baby move. A healthy, positive midwife appointment.

Miss anything: Being able to eat more than 10 bites of food in any 4 hour period. Gas/bloating is at an all-time high and the only way to help it is to eat tiny meals.

Movement: Yes! Even from the outside, which is really early. It only happened once so far so we'll see how long until we can feel Cuatro again. 

Cravings: almonds. garbanzo beans. raw veggies. bean/veggie burrito. (sadly, these cravings do not help with the gas problem)

Anything make you queasy or sick: the smell sensitivity gets to me, but not enough to make me gag. Brushing my teeth has been known to make me queasy, but don't worry, I won't stop brushing my teeth.

How are you feeling overall: frumpy.

Have you started to show: Definitely growing, but not to the point that random people know I"m pregnant. Also depends on what I am wearing.


Gender: No clue.

Labor signs: Nope.

Looking forward to:  Big, exciting ultrasound on Monday. Jim and the kids will come to it so that should be fun. We won't find out gender, but it will be wonderful to see baby and see what kind of show she/he performs for us. Audrey sucked her thumb. Elliot crossed and uncrossed his legs. Isaac showed us his adorably puckered lips. Can't wait!

Celebrating new life on the first day of spring when it's 2 degrees

(Started writing this March 20, the first day of spring. Then I got sleepy and busy, so I'm finishing it today.)

Not a blade of grass, budding tree, or robin in site. New life is waiting somewhere under the deep freeze that we lovingly call the state of Minnesota. We can't properly celebrate spring just yet since it's a snowpants and parka kind of day, but we are certainly celebrating new life in our own way.

Today Jim, Audrey, and Elliot felt baby Cuatro move for the first time. We woke up. Scratch that; we were awoken by a certain adorable 4 year old who has cuddled up to me in bed at 6:30 am almost every morning since we changed the clock forward. (I send my stink eye to the inventor of daylight savings time. I beg you, let the clock be.) Audrey woke up at 7 so she joined the party in our room. I started to lotion my belly in hopes it staves off stretch marks and Elliot remarked that he wanted to feel the baby move, but I told him he'd have to wait until my tummy got bigger.

Elliot headed downstairs with Isaac while Audrey and I hung out in bed chatting. I laid there with my hand on my little baby belly and felt distinct movement.** Not the kind I feel tickling my tummy from inside, but the kind that bubbles and ripples under my hand. I called to Jim and he ran in. He felt the baby right away on the right side. He was so surprised, but he remembered the feeling well enough from little Elliot bumps and caresses that he knew it was the real deal.

I put Audrey's hand in the same place and called Elliot and Isaac up from the living room, telling them I thought they'd be able to feel Cuatro. Elliot raced up the stairs so I put his hand next to Audrey's and waited for the next roll. Luckily we didn't have to wait long as the baby did one more swoosh past our hands. It reminded me of pictures I've seen of dolphins breaking the surface of water. I couldn't see it on my belly, but it was just this pressure as though a dolphin were cresting the surface. Audrey and Elliot looked at me with wide eyes and cheered. It was a fantastic, beautiful moment.

Why, pray tell, wasn't Isaac in on the fun? When I went downstairs he was reading on the couch. I asked him why he didn't come up when I was calling and he said he hadn't heard me. I told him that I called for him and Elliot to come up to feel the baby move, to which he responded, "Oh, I didn't even hear you. Probably because I was reading." That is a true story about our focused first born. Two kids sitting side by side on a couch. One hears me call to hear the baby move and runs upstairs. The other is fully engrossed in a book and doesn't even know anyone in the house is speaking.

What a wonderful way to celebrate the first day of spring. Sure, it was 6 degrees out with a wind chill below zero, but our celebration was even better than budding trees and green grass. Although we'll take those two things as well. Anytime now, really.

HAPPY SPRING!

**Considering I have never been remotely as gassy in my life as I am right now, pregnant or otherwise, I know the difference between gas and baby. I can assure you that this was not gas.**

unbridled joy, excitement, and adorableness, if I do say so myself

Dates Audrey is looking forward to:

April 1-re-xray leg to determine if she can get a smaller cast. This is something we're hoping and praying for like crazy because she is so eager to start walking again.

April 26-pictures for dance class. She would love to be cast-free by this date. If that's not possible, then she'd like a shorter cast so it's not as obvious in the picture.

June 1-dance recital. She's confident she'll be strong enough to dance with her class. She goes to class each Monday to watch her class dance so she doesn't forget the routine.

But today was a pretty big day, too. Audrey got her costume today and it is absolutely adorable, cast and all. She was beyond thrilled. As soon as we got home and ready to try it on she said, "This is going to look beautiful." She was so very right. I can't tell which shines more brightly. The glitter or the smile. I personally think the smile wins.

Costume for her tap dance

fancy poofy tutu for her ballet dance

What a treat it will be to watch her spin and twirl again.

All about the E.J.V.

Elliot wonders:
*if we can play monopoly. We've played it four times in five days. Yes, our 4-year-old begs for monopoly and then sits and plays for over three hours, seeing the game to the very end.
Thanks to his monopoly obsession he can now read the word Pennsylvania and the different railroads and the chance cards. My other kids gobbled up the phonics lessons and learned to read parts to whole, but I think Elliot will do just the opposite. He is curious about every word he sees and I really think he'll learn whole words and then apply that knowledge to other words. We shall see and I predict we'll see soon because he wants to know all things words.

*what 9 + 19 and 21 + 34 and any other number combination equals. He is in a learning frenzy. Also thanks to his monopoly obsession he can now add 100 + 120 and other crazy combinations that he's learned from adding up real estate. He counts cars on the road and lines in a poem and pages in a book and anything else he can get his hands on.
Funny how just a few months ago I wasn't sure how seriously we'd tackle kindergarten stuff this fall because I wasn't sure he'd be ready. Now I have to think of more and challenging things for him every day.

 

*when he'll be able to get his bike out again. We all share that wonder. Guess we'll keep the snowboots and ski gear out a while longer.

*when August will get here. He is all about the baby and can't wait to be a big brother. He kisses my tummy and, since finding out that cuatro can hear now, gets close to my belly and introduces himself as his big brother, then starts giggling. It is so very adorable.

*how he can grow so quickly. Nearly every day he looks in the mirror and is surprised at how tall he is. Then he does a big run and jump and says he can jump higher, too. He astonishes even himself. He is growing so quickly and thinning out and getting stronger every day. It is so fun to watch.

*how many light bulbs we have in our house. This combines two of his loves: counting and riddles. If I want to go into his room or pass him in the kitchen, he wants us to gain entrance by answering a riddle. He may ask, "How many light bulbs are in our house?" or "What color is the duck behind my back?" Gosh, I love his strange little riddles.

*why I don't elbow dada. This morning he climbed into our bed at about 6:30 am and Jim was softly snoring. It wasn't bothering me since I knew there was no way I'd fall back to sleep considering I was sandwiched between a snoring husband and a kid who "whispered" to me every two to three minutes. Elliot "whispered," "Mama, is that you?" When I said it wasn't he asked, "Then why don't you elbow dada?" The kids know that if Jim's laying on his back and his snoring gets too loud, I give him an elbow to the side, he rolls over, and the snoring stops.

* if we can read another book. Thanks to his big siblings, he has a deep-seated love for American Girl books. He was pretty heartbroken when Kaya's Escape ended on such a cliffhanger. His other favorites are history books, Dora and Diego, and animal books. Nothing like snuggling up with a good book and a cuddly kiddo.

Life at 4 1/2 is a trip. I just can't get enough of this boy. Just in case you ever wonder.

18 weeks pregnant

How far along: 18 weeks

Total weight gain: Not sure. I'll find out Thursday at my midwife appointment. Not sure I'll share this information here though. Or even look at the scale.

Maternity clothes?: No.

Stretch marks?: No.

Sleep: This week was much better. There was a slight problem last night resulting in this conversation:
    Jim came down at 6:40 to go to work. He asked, "Did you just wake up?"
    me: "NO!"
    Jim: "And how do you feel about that?"
    me: "Not good. I woke up at 4 because I was tired of sleeping on my side or I had to pee or I was thirsty or something. Then I tossed and turned for a while. Then Audrey woke up at 4:30 and needed to go to the bathroom. Then I tossed and turned for a really long time. Then I gave up and came down here. So, I've been up since 4. Yeah."

Best moment of the week: A healthy house. Looking at baby name books with the kids. Having more energy. As in, I cooked dinner many nights this week. I went out of our house in the evening once. This is big news. Hearing the kids talk to my belly now that they know Cuatro can hear.

Miss anything: Running fast. I am struggling with this aspect of pregnancy. This was supposed to be my spring/summer to regain speed after surgery last spring and that clearly won't happen. I'm trying to focus on running healthy while pregnant and strength training. Some days it works and other days I look at my pace and cringe.

Movement: Yes! Not often and I have to be paying close attention, but there are definitely baby flutters in there. Cuatro put on a little song and dance on Wednesday night after dinner.

Cravings: Tropical fruit. This is a mean craving for a woman in MN in March to experience. Citrus. A sloppy, juicy peach. Licorice.

Anything make you queasy or sick: no, but I am ridiculously sensitive to smell. And I can't even touch meat of any kind. 

How are you feeling overall: I have more energy, which is a blessing. This is the first week where I've noticed that my body is inhabited by another human. Nothing drastic, just a shift in my body and an awareness that, holy  moly, at the end of this ride is a human.

Have you started to show: I think I popped this week. There is definitely a little belly there. I don't think that people who don't know I'm pregnant would know I'm pregnant, but the belly is there.

Gender: No idea. I couldn't even guess.

Labor signs: Nope.

Belly button status: In.

Looking forward to:  Next midwife appointment. Feeling more movement. Looking pregnant instead of chunky.

March: a reflection on life

This is what March looks like this year.

Isn't that gray on white with a side of wind just lovely?

It's not spring yet. I live in MN. The groundhog is a liar. It's pretty much par for the course. It is a harder pill to swallow when my neighborhood is a ghost town because of all of the people on spring break trips. It becomes highly offensive when I am reminded that the weather for this same week in 2012 looked like this:

                              
And caused meteoroligists to say things like this:

"Last year, this week was historically warm, temperatures in the 60s, 70s, and even the first 80 ever recorded in March, shattering five high temperature records along the way." Belinda Jensen, Kare 11 news

It messed up our growing season and all hearty Minnesotans were certain it meant the end of the earth or a really horrific tornado season or a terrible winter in 2013. What I mean to say is, we knew we'd pay for it one way or another. That's just how we think. Pessimistic? Realistic? You be the judge.

One of the things I love about Minnesota is the seasons. I would not fully appreciate the first spring day worthy of short-sleeves if I hadn't shoveled for the 143rd time and gotten my kid into his snow pants for the 204th time. Similarly, the crispness of fall is such a glorious respite after some hot, muggy, sit me in the lake until the sun sets summer days. I enjoy all of it. Sledding and puddle jumping and swimming and leaf jumping. I want a sliver of each to make my year complete.

But Minnesota is notorious for long winters. It leaves Southerners cringing at the mere thought and the most hard core of us wishing for a vacation right about now. Yes, now would be fabulous. There is nary a retired grandparent in sight for they have all migrated south, following the time honored tradition of the monarchs. The rest of us are jealous.

So we grab a piece of spring wherever we can find it. Most of us boycott wearing winter coats sometime in March. It's still cold, of course, but we're just done with it. I mean, it has to get warm eventually, right? We put away the soup recipes and start pulling out the shorts we haven't worn in six months. We buy our kids happy, springy shoes like this:

They're pretty much guaranteed to have to wear them in the house over wool socks for a while, but they sure do spruce the place up a bit.

I love the changing of the seasons. I love the promises it holds. The buds are waiting, just waiting for that sun to peek through and warm them and they will burst to life. The birds have already started their trips back, certain that brighter days are coming. In fact, some of them are already here. (To those birds I say, "I'm sorry, you should have thought that through a bit more.")

Spring is coming. What wonderful news. And as hard as it is to imagine, by next November I will be chomping at the bit for some snowy, cold winter weather. Because without winter, how would we really appreciate spring? And if that isn't a metaphor for life then, by golly, I just don't know what is.
                                                 
So hang on to these truths. Cling to them if you must. On the other side of pain is healing. On the other side of darkness is light. On the other side of heartbreak is love. On the other side of sadness is joy. On the other side of winter is spring.

So hold on. And call your mama, no matter how old you are and no matter if we just had an argument and no matter if you feel alone. The road is so much easier if you have someone who loves you along for the ride. Just in case you ever wonder.

I'm all up here on my pregnancy high horse

I get it. I'm growing a kid. It's an important job and I take it pretty seriously. The no caffeine and lunch meat and smoking are easy because I'm non-smoking, non-caffeine drinking vegetarian. There are days I'd like an adult beverage, but I never have one because I'm taking care of my baby. I'm going on a much-needed, highly anticipated, April would you just get here already, trip to a cozy little cabin with my husband. It has a hot tub and I will not step into it because it's not good for the baby. I eat my veggies and get my protein and run and do strength training and yada yada yada. This is me, making good choices for my baby.

But wait. Most of those are good choices for me, too. Aside from refraining from responsible drinking and hot tubbing, all of the things I'm doing "for baby" are actually things that make me a healthier version of me, too.

Which is why I got all kinds of worked up as I watched the news yesterday. Some doctor was on some morning show talking about some studies that shows that the last study they did was wrong. (Weird. That never happens. *sarcasm*) See, they used to tell pregnant women not to have peanut butter because it would give their baby peanut allergies. Now they're saying have some peanut butter (not sure what the magic amount is) because some exposure to peanut butter in utero lessens the likelihood that bebe will have a nut allergy. We just better hope we pick the proper daily intake of peanut butter or else.

Then the yahoo went on to say that when pregnant women eat junk food, which he classified as fast food, high fat, high sodium, high sugar foods, it triggers the same brain response as if we introduced our baby to opiates. Seriously? Because we don't have enough to worry about, what with growing a human and remembering which cheeses we can't eat and when we should have more Omega 3 fatty acid because the baby's brain is developing most rapidly and choosing a name that won't send the kid to therapy in a few years and which car seat to remortgage our house in order to afford and if co-sleeping will make the kid appropriately attached or too clingy and if breastfeeding will work and if it doesn't are we evil and short changing our baby and did we not try hard enough and. and. and.

How about we tell pregnant women what we tell the rest of the population? The information that almost all of us know and not enough of us follow. Focus on fruits, veggies, and whole grains. Minimize high calorie, low fiber, high sugar foods. Stay fit and active. Why do we instead make a laundry list of unrealistic expectations that women are supposed to memorize. . . until the list is changed due to the latest "scientific study."

Let's give pregnant women a break. I'm not talking about the women who are seriously harming their babies by smoking, drinking, avoiding the OB/midwife, doing drugs, staying with an abusive partner, etc. We, friends, family, doctors, need to reach out to those women to help them and their unborn baby because what they're doing isn't safe for either of them. But the rest of us, out here getting prenatal care and popping our vitamins and eating a well-balanced diet? Leave us the heck alone. Sometimes a pregnant woman wants a brownie or some licorice. It may or may not involve a spoon full of peanut butter on top. . . and yes, I'm referring to both brownies and licorice because cravings are true.

So, pregnant women of the world, go have a brownie. Take care of you and take care of baby. And for goodness sake, go take a nap. You are about to experience a degree of sleep deprivation normally reserved for POW camps.

Here's me, cautiously stepping off of my high horse.

The great Bobby Jr. name debate rages on

One of the many things that our kids are looking forward to in regards to having another baby in the house is choosing a name. Since all of the kids were so little and had such teeny, little voices that couldn't pronounce Ls and/or Rs, Jim and I would think of names and have the kids say them to see how cute it sounded. This time they can actually offer input. Well, realistic input. When I was pregnant with Elliot, Isaac suggested Christmas tree. We decided to go in another direction. Isaac and Elliot love to jokingly suggest Bobby, Jr. At least I keep laughing and slapping my knee like they're joking. Where in the world did this Bobby Jr. fascination come from and when in the world will it end?! Now that I think about it, maybe their input isn't all that realistic after all.

For some reason, the kids have it in their head that the baby's name must start with an O. They figure since we have an A, E, and I, O is the logical next step. Jim and I are leaning toward a vowel, just because we're pretty much riding the vowel train and would this kid feel weird about being the only non-vowel?

If Elliot had been a girl, he'd have been Clara Noelle and we wouldn't be having this vowel talk. But, HOORAY, we're so happy he's an Elliot so these are the discussions we have. Yesterday we finally remembered to pick up some baby name books from the library and Audrey dug in. In fact, she couldn't even wait until we got home.

perusing the baby names as her favorite pups, Cassie and Tricks, look on

She asked me to flip right to the girl names that start with an O and she gave her first suggestion. Oceana. OK. I'm really starting to rethink this whole "realistic input" on the part of the kids. We'll keep looking, but it sure is fun to have their help.

I'm also taking it as a huge compliment that Isaac thinks we should find a baby name that means "likes to exercise" since I run so much.

happy news

Good grief, after what feels like weeks of doom and gloom, we are more than ready for some rainbows and puppy kisses around here. Actually, puppy kisses gross me out, but you know what I mean.

On Sunday, all the kids and I made it to Sunday school and then all five of us went to church. This has been a long time coming and it was a soothing aloe to my spirit. The kids were wonderfully cooperative this morning, which was absolutely necessary since Jim was sleeping in after a long night of working and I had to get three kids up and ready to leave for church at 8:40. (Jim met us there at 10:45) Add in the fact that one kid is in a cast and they all lost an hour of sleep and you can see why happy, cooperative children were necessary. Three cheers for happy, cooperative kids.

Audrey had a friend over on Saturday and they had so much fun playing together; she was so unabashedly happy. In fact, when she prayed she said, "Thank you God for Emily and for all of the people that help me pass the time." (We are all thankful for the long list of people who help her pass the time.)

Then Audrey went to Sunday school for the first time since her accident. She stayed with me in my class, but she saw everyone in large group time and they signed her cast and made her feel so special.

As I wheeled her in, the wonderful Sunday school director, Miss Elaine, said, "I'm so excited to welcome Audrey back to Sunday school. We've missed her so much, but she was healing up at home from a broken leg. But look at her face. She may have broken her leg, but look at her smile. She's showing that we can still smile and be positive when hard things happen to us." It brought tears to my eyes to see her smile and relax after feeling so worried about people seeing her.

In fact, it went so well that she decided to take part in the spring musical after all. She is going to do sign language and she is really looking forward to it and that is such a relief. To see her fear and uncertainty be replaced with hope and strength is something I've waited and prayed for since her accident.

Speaking of spring musicals, I'd like to introduce the umpire in the play, "Sermon on the Mound." He is practicing how he will shout strike and out and researching what he should wear. So far, he's settled on a catcher's mask, black pants, and a gray shirt with a chest pad. To say he's excited is clearly an understatement. Photographic proof . . .

posing with his smile, his mask, and the ump he is using as inspiration for his costume

We spent the afternoon at the car show. Fun? Ehhh. I was a good sport at the car show and checked out all of the trucks and sports cars that the boys were interested in, as well as the cars that are options for our growing family. But, I've already begged Jim to never make me go to another car show for as long as I live. I've been to two and that is more than enough.

We have narrowed down our major choices and no car salespeople hassled us about it and we didn't have to drive from dealership to dealership, so I guess it was worth the time and effort. Plus we had free tickets. Paying to go to a car show would be a ridiculous use of money for me. Other people love it. I tolerate it because I love people who love it. Like this kid here. . .

trucks, cars, and suvs. This kid was pumped.

Adios, doom and gloom. Don't let the door hit you on the way out.

17 weeks pregnant.

I consider this stage the, "hey, lady, lay off the brownies, why dontcha?" stage. I don't look pregnant, but I also don't look like me. I feel fluffy. Think Frosty the snowman or the Doughboy. It's an attractive feeling. :)

How far along: 17 weeks

Total weight gain: Not sure. My next appointment is March 21 so I'll know then. Since I was down 1 pound last time, I expect to "pull big numbers" in the opposite way of "The Biggest Loser."

Maternity clothes?: No.

Stretch marks?: No.

Sleep: Bad. Just bad. Stomach flu hit the house and Jim's been sick all week so I've been sleeping on the couch so I'm close enough to get to kids that need help, but far enough away from him to not get it. So, yeah, bad.

Best moment of the week: Feeling Cuatro move!! When the kids stopped puking.

Miss anything: Margarita. I'd love a margarita.

Movement: Yes! Not often and I have to be paying close attention, but there are definitely baby flutters in there. So, so amazing.

Cravings: Blueberries. Bread. And someone else to cook for me.

Anything make you queasy or sick: Cleaning up puke leads to dry heaving.

How are you feeling overall: Tired. Overwhelmed. Sore back. Fluffy. The only feeling I attribute to Cuatro is the fluffy part. The rest I attribute to broken legs, puking kids, sick/working husband.

Have you started to show: Some days I think I have and others I don't. It all depends on the bloat.

Gender: It's a surprise!

Labor signs: Nope.

Belly button status: In.

Looking forward to:  Healthy family. Sleeping in my bed. Ultrasound coming up in a few weeks.

And without further ado, the fluff.

It is hard to believe I'm not a fashion blogger, isn't it? I mean, look at me in all of my fashionable glory. Just got back from a run. Nine-year-old took my picture.

Side view of my little pooch. I notice the fluff more in my love handles than in the front. Lovely.

the vanWestrienen version of March Madness. . . don't be jealous; we started our madness in February

Isaac turns 9. Hey, that was fun! We'll take more fun, please. 2/11

Audrey's broken leg. 2/18

Morons at the hospital. 2/19

A week of respectful, yet angry conversations with ski schools and hospitals over the aforementioned situations and finding out what works and what doesn't in caring for the audy-boo. 2/19-2/25

Audrey gets her cast. Hallelujah! 2/25

Audrey gets the stomach flu. Boo! This is especially insulting since we haven't left the house since she got her cast. Yet somehow, the germs found her. Stomach flu and immobile child. . . not a good combination. She and I quarantine ourselves upstairs for 24 hours in an attempt to keep the pukers from making the rounds. 3/1

Jim spends one entire week working all day, coming home, and going to bed by 7:30.
One night he lit the midnight oil, by which I mean he was in bed at 5 pm when I got home from taking Audrey and the boys to the hospital for a follow-up x-ray appointment. 3/3-3/8

Isaac wakes up puking. We might "luck out" because it appears this is a one-shot deal. overnight 3/7

Once we got Isaac settled back in bed, DeNae laid in bed, pulled the covers over her head, and told Jim, "I'm just done with life right now." Dramatic, yes, but some days a person just needs a break from real life. Sometimes the only option for a break is a little temper tantrum under the covers. overnight 3/7

Elliot spends the day puking. This is not a one-shot deal. 3/8

Jim is supposed to have the day off, but gets called in to fix a broken transfer switch, panel, generator, something or other. It's great timing because it's just as his shakes and chills are coming back after about a 3 hour reprieve. It's really not great timing. You got that, right? I'd love him home to help carry Audrey or Elliot or get vomited on by someone. And he'd love to be home so he could hit the hay again. 3/8

The snow melts, the birds return, the walking paths are cleared of slush, no one is sick, we spend the day enjoying the sunshine and disinfecting the house. 3/9 (This is me predicting the future. Doesn't it sound splendid?)

Here's how today is going down. (Well, this is how I hope it goes down. Clearly I have no say in how life really goes.) MercyMe DVD, PBS, movie on the Aztec empire, lots of books, naps, bland food, and hopefully recovering children. Thankfully we still have Pedialyte, applesauce, and saltines left over from Audrey's bout with stomach flu.

Don't we look like a lively bunch?

 

**Disclaimer** There are real problems in this world. Truly sick kids like the children we see when we go to the hospital for x-rays and I thank God it's just a broken leg and I pray for those kids and the stress and love their families feel. War and famine and strife. I get that. And I hate that. I realize my complaints are piddly little annoyances, but they are our annoyances and they wear on a person. But, we have lots of people who love us and we are healthy so eventually this will pass and we'll tell the story of Feb/March 2013 when it felt like everything was falling apart, but we made it. Until then. . . Yuck.

the indescribable joy of car shopping

I really, strongly dislike car shopping. Since my dream of driving a cute, little, red mini cooper will always remain firmly entrenched in dream land due to the substantiated fact that we are fertile myrtles from way back in the day, my prerequisite for a vehicle goes something like this.

Hmm. One stroller and/or a baby-wearing device, two booster seats for the 4 and 6-year-olds, one car seat for un petit bebe, one tall, lanky 9-year-old, and a mama. I think not.

1-Get me safely from point A to B.
2-Fit all of the assorted car seats/booster seats/stroller/kid whatnot for our little people.
3-Don't be a mini-van.

To summarize, I don't particularly care what color the car is, how new or old it is, or how many miles are on it. Start when I turn the key, ding when I really, REALLY need to get gas**, stop when I press the brake, turn off when I turn the key the other way. Don't make me throw all of my husband's hard earned cash at the BP/Shell executives. It's just that the only way my vehicle is going to be associated with the word mini is if it's combined with the word cooper.

But, kind of like how I gave away all of the baby toys, maternity clothes, and general baby paraphernalia and asked the neighbors if they were okay with us getting rid of the baby swing on the communal backyard swingset/climber, I am now eating my words.

This weekend, we are venturing to the car show to check out all of the behemoth SUVs and "stylish" minivans. How do I feel about this? I will simply say, "Aah, the things we do for love." Isaac's fascination with vehicles since finding out we were purchasing a new one borders on the OCD. He is reading all of Jim's Car and Driver magazines and every car ride includes him telling us the name of every, absolutely every, single car, truck, or SUV we pass. How do I feel about this? I will simply say, "Wow, that boy sucks up information like a Hoover. Then he likes to share the information. In great detail." He may walk through the joint drooling. In reality, he will walk through the joint inhaling information through his pores, which he will later use to regale us with fun facts. He likes to quiz Elliot and Audrey on cars, so they can study up while we're there. The gang is thrilled and counting the days.

 

At any rate, we'll pack up the wheelchair and the kiddos, head to the big city, and check out all the larger than life vehicles. Then in a few weeks or months, depending on how tired I get of smooshing a wheelchair into a small trunk, we'll go to a car dealership and Jim and a salesperson will kick tires and trade car stats and haggle. I consider this the mature version of a peeing contest. I will stand by the side feeling incredibly uncomfortable, dreaming of a mini cooper while calculating where we'll put booster seats and a car seat and a tall, lanky 9-year-old. And it'll be totally worth it.

who wouldn't want to add to this brood?

But it will never come to this. . .

No. Just no.

**Jim was more than slightly horrified when we were all in my station wagon and he said he was going to stop for gas on the way home and Isaac said, "But I didn't hear it ding." Yep, I literally only stop for gas after it dings. Shining moment of responsible car ownership right there.

wiggle, squirm-cuatro makes her/his presence known

It's official. For a few days I couldn't quite tell, but I am really happy, overjoyed, and more than slightly excited to announce: that little squirmy, fidgety feeling in my belly is cuatro. This only serves to confirm that it is the best, happiest little feeling in the world.

::editing ultrasound pics::

 

Picture and video from my 9 week ultrasound. It's ok. You can go ahead and squeal at the cuteness!

Mothering is easy. Mothering is hard.

Sometimes I read a blog post like this one and it socks me right in the gut. Oh, how I savor that flavor of conviction mixed with guilt mixed with my kids deserve more with a side of I'm capable of so much more. It's a hard cocktail to swallow, I must say. And, to be truthful, I had to read this particular post twice because the first time I read it I was weeping so hard that I couldn't see the computer screen.

I have these messages that I bellow from the rooftops to my kids. You are loved. You are precious. My love for you comes without strings and is neverending. There is nothing you could ever do that could even for a moment change how much I love you. I tell them this as we read stories and snuggle before bed and play games and eat dinner. I tell it to them in the hugs we give and the laughs we share and the secret smiles we send and the cuddles we love and the traditions we create. (Read, I share these messages in the easy moments of mothering.)

Then I have these other messages I inadvertently give, yet I give them nonetheless. These messages come out when I've answered the question, "What's for dinner?" thirteen times in 8 minutes. As though these children don't memorize poems and songs and entire lines of dialogue for a musical. These messages come out when we are running late to church or dance or basketball or really anywhere, because I hate being late because I feel it is a judgement on my ability to have my junk together. These messages come out when I ask someone to clean up and they move the stuff from one spot to a different spot. Not the actual "put away" spot, mind you, just a different placement on the counter or floor or whatever.

These messages come in the form of a deep sigh of annoyance as shoulders sag and my head tilts back. I mean, I could pretty much patent the deep sigh of annoyance. They come in the form of raised voice and salty sarcasm and "I'm not answering that question again" and "Maybe later." But really, if I'm honest, and you're getting honesty in spades with this post, the deep sigh is pretty much my go to rude, dismissive message. And that is just wrong.

Mothering is easy. Free hugs. Being surrounded by the laughter of children you supremely love every single day. Board games. Favorite chapter books shared and giggled over and cried over. Milestones and discoveries around every single corner. Banana bread in the oven as we clean up a counter of flour. Walking through the tree farm, choosing, and naming, just the right Christmas tree. This is the good stuff. The Pampers commercial stuff.

Mothering is hard. Rolled eyes. Long hours. Sassy retorts. Repetitive questions multiplied by 32,417. Sibling arguments over such pressing issues as how much room one gets to use on the couch and who gets to go first in Candy Land. The neverending hungry people and laundry and dust and unmade beds and dirty dishes. Add in the errant broken bone, stomach flu, ear infection. This is the hard stuff. The stuff we don't know about when we're anxiously, eagerly, overjoyously awaiting our first baby. The stuff Pampers doesn't want us to know about.

Mothering is easy and mothering is hard. There is beauty in it every single day and there is someone else's booger on your shirt sleeve periodically, too. It is our job to take these little precious snuggle muffins and somehow, really, how is this not a miracle, grow them into caring, empathetic, responsible grown-ups just 18 years later.

This task is not on our minds when we're struggling to establish breastfeeding and living off of a few hours of sleep, a glass of milk, and a spoonful of peanut butter. A girl needs some protein, ya know? But it is our task nonetheless and if we (I) get bogged down in that laundry list of the tough parts of mothering, we (again, I) lose sight of the big picture.

Raised voices and sarcastic responses to repetitive questions and, yes, sighs of annoyance, do nothing to strengthen the relationship we need with our children in order to get them to the caring, empathetic, responsible grown-ups we all hope to raise. Those responses do nothing to show our children how to treat others and how to expect to be treated by others and how much we love them and how they are truly and wonderfully made and, for the Christians in the bunch, how our love for them pales in comparison to the love of our God.

So, there you have it. I'll never, ever, ever in my long-legged life lose my patience again. Yeah, not so realistic, huh? We are, after all, human. (Can I just say we, all the mamas in the house, really are human? Even those mamas that seem to rock the pinterest and take the vacations and have the kids in clean AND matching clothes? It's gotta give somewhere, even for those mamas.) But I can be more present and I can practice what I preach and model what I expect and keep my eye on the big picture of relationship. Parental relationships, sibling relationships, relationship with Christ.

I'm a mama. Through the easy parts and the hard parts, I am mama to these three (soon-to-be four) gifts. I want to make the most of it. I want my big and little messages to match so that my kids never doubt the truth of my big message. You are loved. You are precious. My love for you comes without strings and is neverending. There is nothing you could ever do that could even for a moment change how much I love you. Just in case you ever wonder.

plastic surgery, parenting, society, my brain (it's scary in here)

Recently, and on more than one occasion, I have looked in the mirror and thought, "This is as good as it's going to get." And, truth be told, when I looked in the mirror this morning, the word that came to mind was haggard. Not exactly the adjective I like to use to describe myself, but it is what it is. Barring plastic surgery, my wrinkles will only get more prominent and more numerous. My skin will only sag more. Gosh, I hate writing that. Really, seriously hate it.

I was one of those know it all 20-somethings with no children and taut skin, certain of the fact that I would age gracefully, proudly look my age, and never resort to plastic surgery. Now I'm 35-years-old, pregnant with my fourth child, more vain than I knew, and more affected by society's picture of beauty than I thought. I am watching my peers looking so dang gorgeous as they head toward and past 40 and I am watching those women on my big HD television wondering how they look so very good when I look so very 35. I want to look good and young and fit and I wonder if I can do that without plastic surgery. And I think about how clothes would fit so much better and how much more confident I would feel if my breasts were bigger. And how my smile would be so much prettier if I didn't have those crow's feet and those wrinkles between my eyes.

And then my mama guilt kicks in and I think of the repercussions on my children and society at large every time someone goes under the knife, not for a bona fide medical reason, but simply to look prettier or perkier or thinner or younger.

What does that tell my daughter about being happy and confident and comfortable with herself and trusting that God made her just as she is meant to be? What does it tell my sons about how women should look and what to expect of them as they get older? What does it say about our society, that we are never content with ourselves, not to mention our homes, our cars, our very lives? We want an upgrade, a quick fix, and we're willing to pay big money for it.

And where does it stop? I fill in the eye wrinkles and augment the breasts. And a few years later my neck sags and I have age spots on my hands and my waist line is expanding. Where do I draw the line?

AT&T's recent commercials say what almost all Americans wholeheartedly believe. A man is sitting around talking to a group of early elementary age kids. They are speaking about smart phones, but they are inadventently speaking about our culture. "More is better." "Faster is better." "Doing two things at a time is better than one."

We pledge allegiance to more and prettier and richer and busier and faster and bigger. We salute hyperbole and perfection, or at least the illusion of perfection. More than any religion, we collectively believe we deserve, no, more than that, we are owed, happiness, whether it comes in the form of the car we want or the house we want or even the body we want.

We deserve it and if we just have this one other thing, we'll be happy. Until we visit a friend's bigger, more extravagant house or click onto pinterest and see those trendy, gorgeous outfits or glimpse those pictures of thin, stunning women on the magazine cover. Then we want that, too. And that, only that, will make us happy. Until. . .

Where does it end?

Clearly I have no answers. I am floundering in the land of vanity and aging and beauty and fitness and wondering how it all fits together. I am asking big and little questions. I am struggling with how to find answers that fit in my belief system, my wishes for my body, my hopes for our world, my hopes for my children. I wish there were easy answers, but for now I'm just filled with questions. What do you think?