Maternity pictures are a funny thing. They document the miracle of pregnancy, however, they also capture the hugeness of a person during her final and most unfortunate looking days of pregnancy…the “they” that I’m speaking of is “me.”

I’ve seen the “sexy” maternity photos where the mama is practically naked with wind blowing through her hair, she looks glorious and glowing and bursting with life.

You see friends, I have come to a conclusion about pregnancy. Are you ready? It’s really profound. Get ready.

There are some people (not me) that look amazing while pregnant. They look better, feel better and seem to GLOW. Then, there are people in my category. We are tired, look awful and rather than glowing it’s more akin to sweaty.

I’m not complaining though. I do not take the absolute miracle and gift of pregnancy for granted for one single second. I know plenty of people who would love to feel the pains of pregnancy. So, that said, I have accepted the fact that I get massively huge during pregnancy.

Truth hurts people. Again, not complaining. Just gearing up for my next round of WW in a few months.

Anywho, back to maternity pics.

Perhaps I should have had them taken when I was around 5 or 6 months before every surface of my body decided to celebrate pregnancy by expanding…but alas I did not.

At least I can show these pictures to my darling children and remind them of how I completely forfeited my body in order to grant them life…I can see a future guilt trip coming on. I gotta put these things in my back pocket for them they are teenagers and I have to prepare all the ammunition possible.

While I don’t love the way I look, I do love my amazing family…this picture makes me smile.

Hopefully it’ll make you smile too.

It was a normal Friday night in September.

Clear. Beautiful. Warm.

I am involved in a great ministry at our church where I co-produce a program 4 times a year. The bad news? It’s at 7:30pm.  Right in the middle of my sweethearts night-night routine.

In the months past, I just brought her with me and Zach would walk around with her, or I would wear her in the Bjorn. It wasn’t always easy, because heaven forbid that I miss bedtime.

As we have previously discussed, my darlings sleep habits aren’t exactly easy peasy. It’s like her sleep is behind a large steel door and I’m the only one with the key (which, let’s face it, I love it). I am able to get her to sleep with little trouble (if we follow the routine completely- to the letter), however, I am Mama. I have magical powers. Daddy is good, but he doesn’t have the sleep magic that I have. So, all that to say, while I knew that there would be tears on her part (and mine) without me being there, it was for the best. For a terrible sleeper, missing bedtime is never a good decision.

It was only the second time in her entire life that I didn’t put her to sleep, but I knew that it was for her own good.

So, that said, I went to my church program, did my thing and on the way home, stopped by Target to pick up things before heading home. I mean, I was out on the town people! It’s not often that I’m all by myself and have the luxury of stopping by Target, so I was thrilled!

While shopping I started thinking about it had been awhile since my “monthly visitor” had arrived. I dismissed the thought and continued on…but something was nagging me.

So, I headed to the pregnancy test aisle and picked one up just for fun.

I finished up and as I was checking out I tried counting days on the calendar trying to figure out how “late” I was. Math has never been my forte nor is actually writing dates down on the calendar to document said “visitors.” Therefore, with the test in hand I couldn’t wait until I got home to get the big news.

So there I am in the Target bathroom peeing on a stick.

I’m really classy like that.

Honestly, I wasn’t nervous or anxious I was just curious to know…

And there it was.

All I could do was laugh. I just laughed and laughed. I remember walking back to my car with the test in my pocket laughing hysterically. Although I was shocked, I was giddy with excitement.

On the way home I thanked God for this baby and cried and cried.

As I drove I started thinking about one of my best friends, Julie. I knew that she and her husband were hoping for a baby soon, and somehow I just knew that she was pregnant.

So I call her.

Julie: “Hey, what’s up?”

Molly: “Are you pregnant?”

Julie: “Um, um, um, um.”

Molly: “Yup, thought so.”

Julie: “Um, um, um, um.”

Molly: “When are you due?”

Julie: “Um, um, um, um.”

Molly: “I know that you’re pregnant. When are you due? You have to tell me because I’m pregnant too and I wanna know my due date!”

Julie: “WHAT, YOU’RE PREGNANT?”

Molly: “Just barely pregnant. I’m on my home to tell Zach, I just took a test at Target.”

Julie: “Target? You’re gross. I’m due May 15th.”

Molly: “I knew it!”

About that time, I pulled into my driveway at home and big goodbye to my sweet Julie.

I walked in the door set down the bags and called Zach into the kitchen. As he was putting something into the cabinet, I grabbed him and put my arms around his neck and said, “I’m pregnant.”

Then he passed out and I had to give him CPR.

Nah, not really. But he did turn as white a ghost.

Zach: “How did this happen?”

Me: “Really? Do you want to go through the birds and the bees again? Aren’t you excited? We get to have another Bitzy!”

Zach: “Yes, of course. Shocked, but excited. How did this happen again?”

This conversation is very typical of Zach and me.  I don’t over think things. I don’t go back in time and try to figure things out or dwell on the past, I just move forward and obsess about today and what the future nursery will look like. Not Zach, he’s more analytical trying to put all the pieces together.

He’s the cheese to my macaroni.

(which actually sounds pretty good right now).

Then, after all the hugging and CPR we retreated to our family room where we cuddled and watched TV and every now and then I would look at him and say, “I’m pregnant” and he would just grin.

Sometimes the unexpected blessings are the most fun.

Here’s the latest and greatest picture of our new sweetheart.

New life excites me like nothing else. So excited for May 27th!  God is amazing!

I’m alive…but sleepy. Oh so sleepy.

Too sleepy to be witty or interesting. Way too sleepy to even type.

Turns out that this child in my belly and my beautiful Bitzy are requiring 100% of my energy.

So rather than piecing sentences together from my scattered half-brain, I will give you a few pictures of my sweetheart. She’s cooler than my silly stories anyhow.

I’ll write again soon, promise.

We didn’t mean to…but we got pregnant.  This pregnancy was extremely unexpected.  We  were totally shocked that  only 6 months after we were married Zach had knocked me up.  Figures as much.

Even though it was a surprise the second I saw the “Pregnant” spelled out on the stick (I  mean, why risk it with the whole line thing?  Don’t be a cheapskate- pay the money to get  your news spelled out for you- none of this 2 line business), I was smitten.  I thought about this little person growing  inside of me constantly.  The more I fell in love with my little one the more I worried. What if something happens?  What if the baby isn’t healthy?  What if, what if, what if?

And then, the “what if” happened.

I woke up on October 2, 2008 feeling energetic and happy.  I hadn’t felt this good in weeks.  I was actually hungry and not nauseous when I woke up.  I thought that maybe all the 1st trimester scary/puky/yucky stuff was over.  At nearly 11 weeks preggers I was ready to feel good again and have the 1st trimester  behind me.

And then in the midst of my bliss, I saw blood.

I knew that this was more than spotting.  One benefit to being a psycho worrier is that you have researched long and hard enough to know when something is wrong…really wrong.  So, I called the doctor and explained the situation and he wanted to see me that day.  That’s when I knew I was in trouble.

After lots of reassurances from everyone about how I shouldn’t worry…blah, blah, blah, it’s totally normal…blah, blah, blah- the ultrasound showed my little baby without a heartbeat.  The baby had just stopped growing.  No reason really.  The ultrasound tech called it, “Bad luck.”  So for the past 4 weeks I had loved/obsessed/worried about this little Poppy and he/she was in heaven the whole time.

I was heartbroken.

I had never really grieved before this.  In hindsight, it’s kind of amazing to be 28 years old and to be a rookie at experiencing gut wrenching heartache. That’s the good news.  The bad news is that I had no practice with grief.

I remember walking in the woods with Zach only a few days after we found out and I was unusally quiet. He was attempting to get me to share with him, trying to dig into my mommy heart, but I honestly had no words. The only way I could describe my hurt was to say, “Sadness is sitting on my chest and I can’t breathe.”

There had never been a time (nor has there been since) when I felt as if I couldn’t tell Zach my exact feelings at the exact moment that I felt them.  The hurt left me tongue-tied.

Now it’s been over a year and I still miss my Poppy every single day.  I suppose that I will always grieve for my baby that I never had the pleasure of meeting.  I wonder if he/she would have looked liked me (since Bitzy is the spitting image of Zach).  I wonder lots of things about this mystery baby.

But mainly when I miss this child, I am grateful.  So many fantastic friendships grew out of our loss.  Zach and I grew closer together.  I was able to connect with my mama in a new way.  I became a part of an unfortunate club that binds all mommies together who have lost a child.  But mostly, I have experienced the deep cleansing balm of hope. This hope that only comes from the hand of God.  He reminds me daily that…

He is real.

He is active.

He is alive.

While I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone, I do pray that everyone is able to experience God tangibly working in their lives.  It is incredible and life changing and He is able to take heartache and redeem it for His good purpose. Pretty amazing isn’t?

And ya know what?  Through all the hurt, God gave us a desire for a child.  We realized that we yearned to be parents. We prayed and we were filled with hope that God would grant us a child…

And He did.  Only 3 months later we found out that we were pregnant again.  This time, we weren’t shocked, we were filled with gratitude and HOPE.

There is always hope.  Always.

Romans 15:13 says, “I pray that God, the source of hope, will fill you completely with joy and peace because you trust in him. Then you will overflow with confident hope through the power of the Holy Spirit.”

Amen.

I hate jumping jacks.  Not because they are hard but because inevitably I will end up peeing on myself.  Without fail. Every single time. I could do a zillion Kegels and I would still be a fountain of urine.  It’s gross I know.  But it is what it is.  Apparently my bladder likes to come and out play. A lot.

I thought that it was bad…and then I had a baby.

I was 41+ weeks pregnant and my mama and I were going for a walk in hopes that my sweet pea would make her arrival before she had to be evicted.  During the walk I mentioned that I felt like I was peeing on myself.  After a few hours my mama suggested that I call the doctor just in case it was my water leaking.

He said to go on to labor and delivery to check it out.  I told him that I would go, but that I would not be leaving that hospital without a baby, so if wasn’t my water they would need to make labor happen. Bitsy was nearly 2 weeks late and my emotions were in no condition to be toyed with. I was big, emotional and sick of being pregnant.

I have watched many a baby story and in my feeble mind I thought that I was only a few hours away from meeting my sweetheart. TLC showcases women who have fast and sweet labors, not long and sweaty ones.  I soon learned that   labor takes no prisoners and that TLC could kiss my tush.

Anyway, turns out that my water was, in fact, leaking, but I wasn’t exactly sure when it began so the 24 hour clock was ticking. You see, once your water begins to leak  you safety have 24 hours to get the kid out before infection sets in.  So, since I wasn’t exactly sure when it began they started a Pitocin drip (the drug that makes labor go faster=more painful). It is a nightmare for those of us who want a natural labor.

So anyway, Zach and I were hell-bent on giving birth without pain medication, so I labored for twelve hours on Pitocin.  I honestly that I was going to die it was so horrible.  In the pit of my misery my husband kept reminding me that I was in transition, the stage of labor right before pushing.  I was showing all the textbook signs that I would meet my baby soon.  So I labored on.  Unfortunately while I exhibited all the signs of transition my stubborn cervix was still only dilated to a 5.

Mean ole cervix with no regard for my 12 miserable hours of natural labor.

Finally, the doctor came in and said that we were going to have to do a c-section because I wasn’t progressing.  I begged him to give me another chance! (As if I had anything to do with it).

He said that we had 2 options.  Numero uno: To get an epidural and put the Pitocin on high in hopes of speeding things up.  Numero does (did I spell that right?), to have a c-section.

By the way, this was not my normal doctor.  This was a mean & awful doctor who I was terrified of, just for the record.

After a bazillion weeks of classes to learn how to have a natural birth it came down to two choices.  Neither of which I wanted to do.

“So that’s it?” I wondered.  After all of my natural labor dreams, it had come down to these 2 pitiful options?  After dragging my husband to 24 hours of classes to learn out to push a watermelon out of my body with no drugs, this harsh and awful doctor was stealing it all away?

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen.  DIDN’T HE READ MY BIRTH PLAN?????

I was heartbroken. And Zach was sweaty.

And then I began vomiting and forgot about my broken heart.

We had a choice to make.  So, we choose the epidural.  I really, really, really didn’t want a c-section.

Getting the epidural was extremely traumatic….and bloody.  Zach is forever scarred by the memory.

By the time the anesthesiologist came in to administer the epidural, I was contracting every 60 seconds and was in severe pain, as in, I’m screaming bloody murder with each contraction while he was digging into my spine with a huge needle.

Probably not the greatest scenario for getting an epidural.

That poor doctor.  He kept saying, “Why did you wait so long?”  If I could’ve spoken in between screams I would have told him where to shove it, but luckily I was hollering too much to speak and since he was holding the keys to my mobility I’m glad that I didn’t speak up.

When that awfully scary epidural finally began working, it was incredible.  Just minutes before I thought my body was exploding and the next I’m drifting off to dreamland.  Oh the wonders of modern medicine.

But I was still perplexed.  How was I exhibiting all the signs of transition and had been stuck at 5cm for over 12 hours? Just has Zach and I were trying to figure out this mystery we hear the nurse say, “Oh my.  Oh my goodness.  Oh dear.”

Probably not the greatest thing to hear during labor.

Apparently I had 1300 cc’s (about a 2 liter) of urine that had come out of my catheter.

Turns out, the reason that I was stuck at 5 cm’s was that my bladder had made a comfortable seat on my cervix and wasn’t budging, hence halting the labor process.

Stubborn, mean & labor ruining bladder.  I will never forgive you!

The great news is that it didn’t rupture, the bad news is that it made for an incredibly long and painful labor.  And I suppose it’s also bad news that it was stretched out like spandex…but let’s focus on the positive.

After it was all said and done I got a baby.  A beautiful healthy 8lbs 9oz baby girl.  Who is quite literally the most beautiful baby that I’ve ever seen.  Sorry Gerber baby, you got nothing on Gracie.

The moral of the story is: screw jumping jacks, I never liked you anyway.

PS:  While I won’t be doing jumping jacks anytime soon (or ever again), I’m happy to report that my bladder and I are just fine even after a 22 hour long labor.

I would rather eat yellow cake batter than almost anything.  Yes, I am aware that raw eggs could make me very sick. It’s totally worth the risk.

Gracie is the single most fantastic thing that I’ve ever done and I want about 30 more children.  I figure if I get pregnant every year for the next ten years and have triplets every time then it’s possible!  Then, I’ll have all of my 31 babies before my eggs dry up and just in time for a TLC prime time show.

I hate going to the mall.  I’ll take Target any day.

I have amazing girlfriends.  They truly are a blessing straight from the hand of God (wait, that’s not a confession. Sorry).

When I’m at home I hardly ever cover my mouth to sneeze.  I’m gross that way.

I loved my husband long before he loved me.  It’s true.  I was totally bananas over him in college and he broke my heart.  But don’t worry, I won him over eventually.  The lesson here is, girls never give up.  Stalk ‘em long enough and they’ll come around.

I love breastfeeding so much that I wonder if I’ll be the mom who is breastfeeding the kid ’til she’s 7.

I am kind of a hypochondriac.  The weird thing about this isn’t the “fear” of dying, it’s more that I want to know what’s happening with my body at all times.  This also correlates with my obsession with all medical shows.  I’m sort of a doctor.  Who need Medical school when Grey’s Anatomy is on?

Speaking of, every single time I have my blood pressure taken I get really nervous and I’m afraid that it will skyrocket and then the doctor will make me take medicine unnecessarily.  I know that this probably will never happen, but it still makes me nervous.

I used to love to clean and now I just can’t be bothered with it.  My house is dusty and dirty but I just can’t find the motivation or the time/energy to clean it.  So, I suppose I’ll continue to waste money paying someone to.  (Don’t judge me.).

I find it funny/odd that so many people take pride in being “sarcastic.”  I think that having the “gift of sarcasm” is just an excuse to be rude.

I used to love Duke basketball, but these days, I have no interest in it. Sorry Duke, it was a fun ride.

When I see things that remind me of something I often have to really think about whether I remember it from my own life, a dream or a movie.  It all gets muddled in my mind…. how old am I anyway?  Am I losing it already?

My favorite color is yellow (wait, is that a confession?  I don’t think so.  There I go again).

I accidentally borrowed (not stole) my parent’s car when I was at the ripe old age of 13.  And…I wrecked it.  And…then lied about it.  Not my finest moment, but a learning experience to be sure.

I think Snuggies are weird and scratchy…and they are made out of felt. I hate felt (unless it’s on a board and you’re putting up little Bible characters like Miss Jean did when I was in Sunday School).  Shouldn’t something called a “snuggie” be soft and cuddly and not feel like cardboard?

My mama and my husband are my two best friends.  They have to love me, they have no choice.

I have been told that I’m “so photogenic.”  I confess that I have spent an embarrassingly absurb amount of time practicing in the mirror. Sure, most of this happened when I was 13, but let’s face it, I have an occasional practice session. BTW:   If it’s true that I am, in fact, photogenic, does this mean that in real life I’m not nearly as attractive as I am in pictures?

There are many more confessions…stay tuned.