When the struggling ceases

I scoop her up off the floor, plop down into my favorite nursing chair, raise my shirt and offer her some milk. She latches, but as she does she extends her arm until her pudgy, dimpled, dainty elbow reaches a locked position.

This is how we nurse. We've nursed this way all 12.5 months of her life. I cradle her, smooth her hair, gaze at her eyelashes and smile. She looks at the ceiling then rolls her eyes as far as possible to see what is behind her, without unlatching.

She tolerates me. With my other babies there were tender nursing moments. Times when they would nurse, grin while milk streamed from the corners of their mouthes, unlatch and offer me a huge grin, only to spray milk all over the both of us.

But Evelyn is not that baby. She loves me, and wants me sometimes, but mostly I'm a source of nourishment for her. It's her Daddy who is her ultimate soother. She adores him more than any of our other children have at this young age. Normally it's Mommy and Mommy alone while they're breastfeeding. But not her.

She drinks until she's had her fill, then she unlatches with a smack, rolls away from me, requesting with her whole body to be released from my arms. She's done with me and I've come to terms with the fact that I am the one who is fond of the nursing, not her. I've finally realized it's not personal. She grins and me and smiles when we play together. She giggles at my over-exaggerated laughs. But if the choice is me or Daddy, Daddy wins every time.

Evelyn, 9.5 months, tolerating my affection.

Tonight, as the house was still, and I rocked her while she nursed, He washed Himself over me in a way that used to be familiar and regular.

"This is us," he whispered. "You use me solely for life-sustaining nourishment right now. There is no intimacy between us. You wait until you cannot wait any longer, have your fill of me, then you make it clear you're ready to have your space."

I recoiled in the truth that He showed me.

I've been angry. Hurt. I've felt neglected and robbed. I've wanted to walk away, and I probably would have, for not the consistent and fervent prayers of my husband and dearest friends. And now, I'm in a place where I'm no longer wanting or struggling to break free from this faith that has gripped me so tightly. I'm fine with it. It's here, it's who I am. It's a part of me.

I wait until I can wait no more, fling myself before the cross, fill myself with just enough to get me through the next trial, the next thing and then I'm done with him for a while.

In the simile that is my nursing relationship, I am Evelyn and He is me.

He longs for the intimacy that should exist, the affection and the joy upon my face as we embrace and delight in one another. And oh how He has never stopped delighting in me. He makes that clear when I draw near. He loves me as much as He ever has, increasingly as the days pass. As my love grows for my almost-walking babe, does His love for me.

My embraces with him have been distant. My (not as cute as Evelyn's) pudgy, dimpled elbows lock into place when He comes near because keeping Him at arms length is just easier. At arms length it can't hurt as much. At arms length I cannot hear His whispers clearly. At arms length, my perception is that if He should forget me again, then I can catch myself before I fall.

But the truth is, I was never forgotten. As much as my heart, and my enemy, wants be to believe the lie that I have been cast aside, He could not forget me. I know this is true because I could not forget my precious, independent, ever looking-for-a-distraction-while nursing, baby girl.

"Can a woman forget her nursing child,
that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?
Even these may forget,
yet I will not forget you.

Isaiah 49:15
Oh this love He has for me is relentless. He is showing me, as I pursue all but Him, that He is here. Offering the nourishment and sustenance I need for life, a rich life, right in his very arms. He hasn't quit offering it, though I have pushed it away, kept it at arms length and, sometimes, refused it all together even though it was exactly what I needed at that very moment.

This Jesus of mine, He cares for me. He keeps me in his tender grasp, and even lowers me gently as I thrash to get on my own two feet. How could I ever believe He would forsake me?

My girl, she's rewriting my knowledge as a mother, expanding on it day by day. Eight kids into this gig and He's still using these tiny (and not-so-tiny) people to show me that He sees me as I see them. Full of life, hope, love, joy and rich in mercy. This love He has that I am so thankful never ceases. Just like my love for the most independent 12 month old I've ever met. He takes me, defiance and all, embraces me, welcomes me back time and time and time again until one day, the arms relax, the eyes lift and meet his and a smile creeps across my face. And joy is found when the struggling ceases.

A rare, tender, arm-not-locked moment.
Perhaps my most favorite photo of all time.

(Photo credit: Light of Mine Photography)

So, are you gonna have any more?

We've been asked at least a thousand times if we wanted a big family from the beginning. In short, the answer to that is no.

For the most part, Luke and I both grew up as only children. When we were doing premarriage counseling, we only skimmed the surface of talking about the size of the family we would have. Maybe 3, I think, was the number we settled on.

But here's the problem. We went from 1 baby to 3 babies in just 2 pregnancies spaced apart by only 22 months. From double coverage to zone coverage. We never played man-to-man coverage. And the biggest problem of all?

Hello, my name is Jessica and I am addicted to newborns.

I just love everything about them. From their too-big skin, to the tiny noises they make to the way they stick their tiny little butts out when they stretch. And the head smell? Intoxicating. I read recently that there was a scientific study that confirmed that there really is a chemical reaction that occurs in women when they smell the head of a newborn. What person on earth didn't already know this was happening?

But you know what else I love? All of it. 

I love the 6 month old who belly laughs at the ridiculousness of her 8 year old sister. Because, y'all, this right here makes me want to have 8 more. I can't even handle that laugh.

The two year old with the butt cheek hanging out of her panties? I love that. The way she calls EVERY.SINGLE.BUG. a "pink bug!" (stink bug). The way she seems to grow during just one nap time and wakes up speaking in fuller sentences than she did just a couple hours ago, makes my head spin and my heart swell.

The 4 year old who is old enough to understand how to make a joke and is usually the first to laugh at their own hilarity. The 6 year old who begins to read overnight and the almost 10 year old who has her own style. I mean, those boots. That skirt. I couldn't pull that off, ever. I mean, hello, SIDE PONYTAIL.

I love it. All of it. This gig of motherhood and watching these people grow is, by far, the best thing I've ever been allowed to experience. I just knew Ella would be our last biological baby. And then, well, Abigail happened.

I just knew Abigail would be the last birth, nursing experience and toddler that would come from my womb. And, you know, EVELYN.

I'm so glad we didn't stop having babies at our predetermined number of 3. I can't imagine all the life, laughter and joy we'd have missed out on.* Yes, it's hard. It's hard a lot lately. Luke and I haven't had a date in WAY TOO LONG. Every night, I fall into bed for a couple hours before I begin the up and down that is my nighttime. I'm exhausted and tired and I would love to have a couple of hours to myself every day just to sit in silence. I think about a few years from now if we don't have any more babies and all the ways our lives would seemingly be easier. But I know that easy is a lie that Moms buy all the time. No matter how many kids you have your life as a mom is never easy.

Is Evelyn our last baby? Who knows. We've always kept the option of adoption open. I don't plan on being pregnant again. Ever. Ever.

But I've said that before. And each of those time I really meant it.

And if I watch that video of Evelyn belly laughing enough, I'll toss that idea right out the window. Or maybe not. Maybe we will stick to it and not birth anymore babies and adopt a few kids who need a large, crazy family and live out our days.

So to answer the question of all of you nosey people who ask me while standing in the grocery store people want to know, I'm sure:

Are you going to have any more babies?

Short answer. Probably not. But who knows. Because all of this, this life. It's hard. But then my almost 6 month old belly laughs and my ovaries kick into high gear and I question every oath I took during her pregnancy that I would never, ever, ever again do this. And I maybe send my husband a text about wanting a homebirth next time. So, you know, there's THAT.

I'm off to watch that video of my baby belly laughing while simultaneously taking whiffs of hot trash in our garbage dumpster so I can remember what morning sickness feels like.

-----

* By no means do I think that having 3 kids or less means you're missing out or that everyone should have a big, crazy, colony of kids. I'm just saying that for us, stopping at 3 wouldn't have been right.

Evelyn at 1 month

My baby is a month old already. How in the world did that happen?!

I really wanted to take some of those cute photos of her every month, like you see on Pinterest and stuff. Pinterest is a joke. Clearly anyone who posts photos and crafty recipes there has nothing else to do with their life.

I've decided that taking photos of your own baby (as a photographer) is MUCH harder than taking photos of someone else's baby. This girl gives me a run for my money any time the camera comes out. (I just remembered I didn't share any newborn photos I took of her. I'll do that next post. She was by far the HARDEST newborn session I've ever had.)

At one month old here statistics are; 10 pounds, 2 ounces and 22.5 inches. Yes, she gained nearly 2 pounds and grew an inch and a half in a month. Holy moly, right? I'm not surprised since she likes to eat. A lot. Last night she gave me the longest stretch of sleep yet, 4 hours and 15 minutes! Yipee!

I gave up having her pose with Raggedy Ann after she insisted on being swaddled and having her pacci in her mouth. Oh well, there's always her 2 month photos, right?

Evelyn's birth story

My Evelyn's birth was, by far, the most dramatic of all our children's births. 

I was 40 weeks and 5 days pregnant at my Friday afternoon appointment. Earlier that day I posted a semi-snarky status on facebook about people NOT asking me if I have "had that baby yet" because clearly, I was still pregnant and there wasn't photos of a cute, newborn baby blowing up their newsfeeds.

My OB had told me the week before that, unlike Ella (who I carried 42 weeks 2 (3?) days), he wouldn't be in favor of letting me go much past 41 weeks gestation because of my gestational diabetes. I blew his comment off at my 39 week appointment because my OB is very laid back about due dates and birth and very much in favor of letting a woman's body gestate for as long as is healthy for the mother and baby.

However, when my blood pressure showed to be up just a little bit, he began talking inductions. Abigail is the ONLY baby I have not be induced with. And she came 5 days before her due date in a glorious, pitocin free labor and birth. Remember?

Anyway, my OB, who is a pretty laid back kind of guy started strongly suggesting that I get induced THAT AFTERNOON. I just sat and looked at him, stone faced. Certain that if I said nothing he'd send me on my merry way and I'd have another natural labor and birth. Right? He wasn't catching my drift. "I get the feeling you aren't a fan of being induced," he said. I explained to him my loathing of pitocin and how I'm sure it's extracted from the veins of the devil before it's placed into the IV's of large, desperate, pregnant women who just want to meet their babies already. Ahem.

My OB typed some things onto his computer and said, "Well, let's check your cervix and see what our options are." I was 3cm dilated.

I tried to coax my OB into letting me wait a little longer but at the end of our appointment he had convinced me that inducing was our best option with the elevated blood pressure and all. He is really very kind and very much takes into account the desires of his patients. So when he didn't back down about the induction, I knew he was serious.

I immediately began feeling anxiety well up within me. This would be my 4th induction. I knew what pitocin did to my body and I really wanted to try to avoid an epidural again. I texted a few friends asking them to pray for my anxious heart and I drove myself to the chiropractor for one more adjustment before calling labor and delivery to see what time they wanted me to show up.

I'd been having contractions on and off for about a week but they were never consistent and they weren't terribly painful. More of a nuisance, really. Especially when I was trying to sleep or lay down. I called L&D and they told me to show up about 4:00-4:30pm. I called Luke to come home from work and went home to tell the kids.

I got to the hospital and checked into L&D by 5:30pm. They did all my paperwork, started a saline lock IV, asked me a bazillion questions. Then, the midwife came in for us to talk about our induction options. (The OB went off-call at 5:00pm and the midwife was on call for the weekend.) I had discussed with the OB having the midwife just break my water and try to start labor that way. But after talking with the midwife, and Luke (who knows my laboring body almost as well as I do) we decided that the lowest, slowest IV of pitocin would be the best approach. So at 7:00pm we began the drip of pitocin. It immediately made my sporadic contractions consistent, even though the intensity and pain of them didn't increase much. We bumped up the pitocin every hour (compared to every half hour for a normal induction).

The nursed checked me at about 1:30am and I was 5-6cm dilated. We bumped up the pitocin one final time and that's when the intense contractions began. I was finally in transition! Luke and I have a "dance" we do when I'm in transition. I simply CANNOT sit or lay down during transition contractions because the pain is just too intense. He knows, once my hands go from low to up around his neck, it's serious.

For about an hour, from 1:45am until 2:45am my contractions were hard, consistent and every 3 or so minutes apart. My disposition changed and I told Amanda, who was in the room with us, along with my Mom and Dad, to text a couple friends and tell them that I was certainly in transition, because I knew they'd know how to pray me through. Luke and I did our "dance" that full hour. The contractions got harder, but I knew that they were bringing forth our daughter. And y'all, Luke is an AMAZING laboring partner. He knows when to hold me up, when to whisper encouragements, when to pray over me, when to get me water and when to be my advocate. I don't know how I'd make it through childbirth without him by my side. He's my prophet, provider, protector and priest in every sense of the word during those hours.

I don't think I'll ever forget opening the door to the bathroom (after changing into that sexy hospital gown and before all the induction business got started) and seeing my husband, kneeling on the labor room floor, his hands outstretched to cover the hospital bed, and him praying over it. That is why it's so easy to submit to him and why it's so easy to be his wife.

Anyway, back to birth. At 2:45am the nurse called the midwife. I labored those last 15 minutes literally hanging from Luke's neck. I'm pretty sure the last 3 contractions I had standing up, he was literally holding me up. The pressure was so intense, I just knew that the midwife would come in and simply catch our baby. I was that close to delivery. Or so I thought.

The midwife came in about 3:00am. She checked me to see how dilated I was. I was 6 cm. SIX CENTIMETERS. I felt defeated. And confused. I looked at Luke and the look on his face was exactly how I felt. It simply wasn't possible I was only 6cm because we'd just done our transition dance for the last hour. I think we were both completely thrown off our game. I remember telling Luke and the midwife that it was time to call for an epidural because I knew I could not make it another hour (my usual transition from 6-7cm to fully dilated) with the pain I was in. For whatever reason, it was decided that I wouldn't get an epidural but instead they'd give me some stadol and turn off the pitocin. I remember asking the midwife if I could push because I felt so much pressure. She told me I could not and that if I did, I would risk tearing my cervix. She did say that if it helped with the pain, I could bear down.

So here I am, in the bed, laying on my side and the contractions are not getting any easier to manage. It was the most intense, painful thing I've ever felt in my life. It felt nothing like my labor with Abigail, where it just felt like my pelvis would snap in half. It was an all consuming pain. My entire body hurt with each contraction. It was horrible. I began begging and pleading with Luke to find the midwife (who had left the room at that point) and to demand for her to call the anesthesiologist. I begged and pleaded and told him that it was just too painful and I simply could not bear it. It was too much. This went on for I think 3 or so contractions (remember - 3 or so minutes apart - so by now it's 3:09ish). The nurse put on another sterile glove to check me since I was obviously in major pain. Then, the next contraction came. I remembered what the midwife had said about bearing down. I knew I had to do something to help with the pain because, y'all, I HAVE NEVER.

So, I just decided to bear down a teeny, tiny bit. Apparently that was the only cue my body needed. Natural instinct took over and my body began to all out push. I was still laying on my side and I said, out loud, "She's coming now!" The nurse pulled back the cover and apparently got the clue that I was NOT at 6cm any longer. She walked to the door to get the midwife and I remember my Mom saying, "Her head is out!"

The nurse walked back around the foot of the bed just as my body pushed one last time. She caught Evelyn with one hand, the one that had the glove, thankfully. I have photos of her holding Evelyn with one hand trying to pull up my gown for skin to skin while the midwife is still putting on her gloves. I'd post one here but this is a co-ed blog (I think?) and while it doesn't show any "areas" of me (because the bed wasn't broken down and I wasn't even in stirrups!) it is a little, um, special. But if you know me in real life and come over, I'll show you.

At 3:12am our Evelyn Love was born. (At about 3:00am I was still 6cm. It was crazy fast.)

My poor husband y'all. I remember about the time this picture was taken. I was looking at my baby and something was dripping on my arm. IT WAS MY HUSBAND'S TEARS. Later, he told me that he's never seen me in that much pain and it was torture to know that he could do nothing about it.

Look at his hand on my face. I can't even look at these without tearing up. In that top photo, he hasn't even looked at his daughter yet. He was so concerned for me.

I nursed her for that first hour and she latched on like a champ. Also, THE STADOL FINALLY KICKED IN and my husband, my parents and Amanda were laughing at me hysterically. Apparently, I was slurring my speech and totally blitzed, as is evidenced by the photo below. I didn't feel loopy but I do remember thinking that it was really hard to blink.

Once our Love had finished nursing, Luke escorted her to the newborn nursery. And I did what any drunk person who hasn't eaten in 12 hours would do, I sent my dad to IHOP. No longer a diabetic, I wanted the LARGEST stack of pancakes he could carry back to the hospital. With syrup. An IV of syrup, please. And some juice.

Our girl weighed in as the biggest baby we've ever had. A whopping 8 pounds, 4 ounces and 21 inches long. The cheeks. I'm sure there's a pound of baby in each one.

The next morning (read: 5 hours later) our kids came to the hospital to meet their newest sibling.

They were all SO excited. Elizabeth was so thrilled that she couldn't contain her tears of joy. (Take a hard look at that photo above.) I was so worried that she was upset. But when she finally made it over to the bed all she could tell me was, "I'm just so, so happy she's here!"

Elizabeth has been the first to hold every baby in our family, as is expected since she's the oldest. But Ashlee is, in fact, a baby addict. I think she gets high off baby head sniffs. Luke and I decided that this time, Ashlee would be the first to hold the baby. Her face when I put Evelyn in her arms was priceless.

Even Abigail was smitten and totally thrilled with her new sister.

Our first family of TEN photo. Please ignore the face of Lucas. He hadn't held Evelyn yet and wasn't too happy about it.

The entire experience was unlike any other birth I've experienced. Which is true for our precious, baby girl - she's her own person. She's a delight to us all. We all take turns kissing her big, chubby cheeks and doting on her. I have a feeling she will be spoiled by all 9 of us. Just you wait.

Welcome to the world Evelyn!

Well, I guess better late than never, huh?

Earlier this month, we welcomed our precious Baby #8.

Evelyn Love

8lb 4oz, 21 inches long

born at 3:12am 

(middle of the night births are HARD to recover from, y'alll)

I'll post her birth story and more photos soon, or when she decides to stop nursing for stretches longer than 20 minutes.

She is a delight to us all and the main topics of conversations in our house now include whose turn it is to hold her, how often she needs to drink Mommy's milk and how totally cute and adorable her (insert any random feature) is.

Indeed, we are in love. Pun totally intended.

Also, have you ever seen a belly button like that? It totally freaked me out. Look how long the skin is! Stay tuned for her birth story. It's unlike any of my previous births. She entered the world in her own, special way. And I'm so thrilled to hold her on the outside. You just have no idea.

The photographer's apprentice

A while back, as sort of a half-hobby, half-distraction from grief and life, I started a photography business. I still have LOTS to learn but I've enjoyed getting to know more about light, editing and learning more about my style.

For her 8th birthday, we got Elizabeth a little point-and-shoot camera. Since I bought my new camera a few months ago, Elizabeth has been saying that she wants to learn to be a photographer, like me. It's cute but I tell her over and over and over again that the best way to become a better photographer is to take lots and lots and lots of pictures.

Then, a few weeks ago, Luke had the idea for me to take Elizabeth, and let her have a maternity photoshoot with me. So, today, while the littles napped, Ashlee was at a friend's house and the boys were at karate, we did just that. I showed her the basics of working my camera, made sure the camera strap was nice and secure around her neck then handed it to her, gave her a few instructions about shadows and direct sunlight then told her to take over.

I'll admit, being 38+ weeks pregnant I don't enjoy being on this side of the camera. But, I also know that 25 years from now, when Baby #8 is likely starting her own family, she'll like seeing photos of her Momma's large belly with her tiny self squished inside. Here's my little photographer's apprentice's debut photos. I did the editing, but the photos are all hers. During my wardrobe change (read: I got cold and changed shirts) she took a photo of our school table,

and our pet bird, Alex.

She really got into telling me to look at my belly, where to put my hands and which side my hair needed to be on.

She told me that I'm not good at doing a real smile, because all my smiles looked fake. Ha!

Overall, for a 9.5 year old, I think she did pretty well! And, it really was fun spending time with my oldest girl, allowing her to feel the weight of the camera in her hand and having some creative freedom.

So there I am, in all my 38+ week glory. Y'all have a great Christmas! Hopefully, the next post will be one of a baby on the outside.

Simply Remember

I feel like I've spent a lot of the last 9 years of my life trying to remember things.

Return those library books, don't forget to get a gallon of milk on the way home, so-and-so's birthday is tomorrow, send a follow up email about such-and-such, don't forget to ask so-and-so about that thing, take the trash to the curb, take a meal to this family, etc, etc.

But then there are the important things. Don't forget the way Elizabeth said the word "juice" the first 5 years of her life. Don't forget the way Lucas and Ashlee liked to trade plates when they were still chubby-faced toddlers. Or the way Ashlee hid food under her leg and would eat it all at the end of her meal. Or the way Olivia would dance to any beat from the age of 6 months on. Or the way Aaron held his pacci in the side of his mouth like a cigar when he was learning to crawl. Or how an 18 month old Ella could be pitching an epic fit one minute and belly laughing the next.

That's the thing when you add 1 or 2 babies every two or so years, you tend to be caught up in the busyness of the day to day and you forget a lot of things. Luke says the first six months of the twins' life is a complete blur to him. I say the first three months. I remember getting up one morning a few days after the twins were born. I walked into the living room and my Mom had swaddled two of Elizabeth's babies up. She was pretending to nurse them, sitting there in just her underwear. All of the sudden she seemed SO BIG. And I just started crying.

I'll never forget this though, the twins were tiny, less than a couple months old. I was getting Elizabeth ready for bed and I stripped off her shirt, pants and undies. The stench that came from her small, 2 year old body was enough to make me recoil. I looked at Luke, shocked, and asked, "When was the last time we bathed Elizabeth?" We both thought for several minutes and we could not remember. I'm sure it had been over a week.

I've always taken a lot of pictures. I guess somewhere subconsciously I knew that those pictures would be the lifeline to my memories. But with the purchase of our smartphones and the conception of my photography business, using a real camera on my own kids is something that's sort of slipped onto the back burner.

So yesterday, when Abigail was upstairs "helping" me make lunch while the other kids were happily entertained with the electronic babysitter, I could have gotten swept up in the moment of hungry kids, lunch time, my pelvis begging me to sit down, my bladder beseeching me to empty it's contents. Again. But instead, I noticed my sweet 21 month old, in a princess dress that she INSISTED on wearing, standing on top of our shoe bins, eating a banana and completely captivated by a squirrel doing only-a-squirrel-knows-what in our front yard. The light hit her face and I moved as fast as my feet could waddle me to grab the camera. My real camera.

Because THIS is what I don't want to forget.

This girl, a cheek full of banana, pointing at a squirrel, telling me to "come 'ere," giggling when I say, "That's not a puppy!"

Her dimple on that one side. It's becoming less obvious the bigger she gets. I've seriously prayed it will stay forever even though she'll probably hate it as a teenager,

sticky, slimy banana finger prints all over my window sill,

her amazement at how fast that little squirrel ran away when she knocked on the window,

and how I wouldn't let her stand on the microwave, so she would stretch a tulle covered foot over there, then look at me over her shoulder and grin.

And how after she realized the squirrel wasn't coming back, she spent the rest of her time "helping" me make grilled cheeses by licking the butter when I wasn't looking. For me, it's less about not forgetting and more about remembering the little things. Savoring the details, letting go of the things that are suppose to be these big memory makers and just enjoying my kids exactly where they are. Breathing them in and trying my best to simply remember.

A little catching up

I've been wanting to sit down and actually blog for a long time. But, I felt pressured that my posts needed to be something of substance. And well, I don't have that right now.

But, before this was a place for me to share about missions, it was a place for me to document my family's life. It makes me sad that I've allowed that to slip away in the wake of my grief. So, my plan now is just to blog a little each week and if it gets deep in here, then it gets deep. If it stays superficial and sticks to updates on our life and our kids, that's fine too.

So, the last time I really blogged about the ongoings of our family was May. That's pathetic. SO MUCH has happened since May.

For starters, we moved in July. We bought a house, we painted, we expanded the amount of bedrooms in our house and I think we are settled. I still have stuff to hang on the walls but now it's less about the emotions behind it and more about the fact that the main level of this house was done in the 50s and the walls are plaster, y'all. PLASTER.

It's not easy to hang anything up. So if you know how to hang up pictures on plaster walls without having to drill a hole and add one of those plastic anchors, I'd love to know.

In August, we found out that Baby #8 is a(nother) GIRL! The boys weren't quite so thrilled at first, but now everyone is eager Beavers to meet this chick. Including me. Because she clearly doesn't understand that this isn't my first rodeo and it's not fun for her to lay sideways/diagonal/all on one side and rhythmically kick me in the cervix.

Around that same time, Amanda found out that they are expecting their second child. Here's a photo of us at the baby shower she threw for me in October. My first baby shower I've had since the twins, by the way. Which, A) I didn't realize there was so much new crap that was necessary for a baby. And B) It's weird having a baby shower when you've already got 7 kids. Even when I really did NEED all of the things I received because my stuff is worn slap out, but still. It's weird.

I'm 28 weeks. She's 16. No comments please. Yes, she's pregnant. I promise.

At the end of October Amanda and Nick loaded up all their possessions and their adorable daughter and moved to the other side of the world country to follow God's call for Nick to be in full time military service. We had a small 1st birthday party for their daughter (a month or so early) where I tried my best not to ugly cry. I held it together until the night before they drove out of town. Then, it was snot city y'all. Poor Luke. His pregnant, emotional wife lost it on him. He may or may not have cried a little too. We miss them just about every other second. But who's counting? Oh wait, all 9 of us are.

I was blessed with a half sister who is 13 years younger than me. She was 5 when I went off to college and I never moved back home. So we aren't as close as I wish we were. But, somehow God allowed Amanda to become just like a sister to me. Seriously. I probably annoy the crap out of her texting her all day long, telling her about the weird things my pregnant body is doing and telling her how she should live her life. And I don't really care because sisters can be annoying and bossy like that. And also, she loves it. I think.

We are homeschooling again this year. I bought this new, elaborate, beautifully designed curriculum over the summer at our state's homeschool convention. I went a whole new route and just knew it would be the perfect thing for our family. We moved, and about a month before I had planned to start school I opened the perfectly packaged boxes of curriculum, got high off the new-school fumes and sat down to plan out our days.

I stared at it blankly for two days while my planning book sat empty, called other veteran homeschool moms, debated joining a local co-op that meets once a week, panicked, tried to find all the books at the library, failed, then promptly boxed that beautiful curriculum right back up and sent it back to the company for a refund. I shed not one single tear.

We are doing our own thing this year with a compilation of resources. It might be the best year we've had so far. Which, of course, means that I'm already scheming what I want to change for next year. Because clearly I appreciate torturing myself.

The baby is due at the end of December. I'm hoping she holds on until January because it's hard to compete with the Savior of the World for your birthday and also our anniversary is December 28th and I'd like to not feel guilty when our 20th anniversary rolls around and I want to take a european cruise vacation like Jen Hatmaker is doing right now and be gone on her birthday.

Which now that I think about it, maybe coming between Christmas and our anniversary would be ideal because then if we leave on our anniversary trip I don't have to worry about being back in time for a January birthday. But if she's born early January we could just go after her birthday.

Also, Amanda will be in town through the first week in January and I'd like to have her here for the baby's birth since I'm pretty sure I don't remember how to bring a baby home from the hospital without her. Decisions, decisions.

Like I have any control over it anyway. But still. Remember Ella? Lord help me.