It was high time we had a girl (Part I)

November 2013. Nathan had just turned one.  I was pretty certain that there would be another Vandabailey before his second birthday came around. I promised myself that I'd wait and take the pregnancy test on Veteran's Day--because I always found out about prior pregnancies, even the one that didn't work out, on notable dates. I'm all about streaks.  But I just couldn't wait. So I took a test three days early. Then I promised myself that I'd keep it to myself until Veteran's Day.

I lasted about six hours.

We went to the temple that evening, and I thought it would be the coolest thing ever if I told Allan IN the temple. You know, so the big reveal would be a celestial reveal.  Turns out the beautiful woodwork, luxe upholstery, and sparkling chandeliers didn't help soften Allan's stress. I believe his first words were "But we already have a baby..." I don't blame him. I'm a really horrible case of pregnancy. It was also 9pm and we hadn't yet eaten dinner. Lesson learned.

Reality soon set in-- But he adjusted and I panicked. I also threw up. I also became slightly emotionally unstable. I knew it had to be a girl.

An appropriately scheduled Valentine's Day ultrasound confirmed my suspicions. We celebrated that night with Cherry 7-UP. I was concerned, however. How on earth could I raise a confident, well-adjusted daughter in this world? I have so many hang-ups about who I am, and I don't want to pass my insecurities onto my children. Daughters are particularly vulnerable to their mother's feelings of self worth, I'm certain.

A friend of mine shared this thought: "Your daughter will be her own person. She will probably be very different than you." So simple, but her inspired counsel marked a turning point. My fear completely vanished.  I was so excited to find out who my daughter was and what she had to offer this world.

As we approached the final stretch and I began to panic that she would fall out of me in the van on the way to the hospital, I frequently called the nurses and scheduled extra appointments with my OB. He was wonderfully patient with my neuroses, telling me that this was the same song-and-dance he goes through with any patient pregnant with their fourth or beyond. I just kept praying and praying that I would know when to head to the hospital. I am embarrassed to recall how much I discussed my symptoms and paranoia with friends and family. It was all-consuming. Every day starting in mid-June was an agonizingly slow day.

Sadly, I don't have any pictures from this pregnancy, except for this lovely neck-on-up shot. Baby girl, I was a ripe pregnant momma. I assure you.

 

Just start writing.

How does one attempt to catch up after almost two years of silence? I've wanted to start blogging again for a long while now, but so many things have kept me back. First and foremost, the overwhelming thought that it has to be perfect. Same old story, I know. Who does it have to be perfect for, you ask?

Me. Because I hate anything less when it comes to reading my own writing. A negative side effect of my love of language, I suppose.

I've thoroughly enjoyed going through old posts, and I realize how much I will forever treasure the words I've written. I remember so much more of Jack's early years because I documented them. Life started getting really blurry during Micah's first year. I'm convinced that it would be far less blurry had I consistently written about our life at that time. My journal is more personal--not as many anecdotes about the kids, and certainly no pictures (save a few toddler scribblings when my back was turned). It reminds me of the thoughts going through my head these past years, but doesn't help conjure up memories of our day-to-day life.

So here we are. Now.

Actually, I lied. This was the kids two months ago. But Micah still undresses at inappropriate times, Nathan still things everything is hilarious, Jack still tries to be the perfect example, and Astrid is still adorable. So, I'd say it's still where we are now.