Day 461 - When You Run Out

It is really, really hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that I cannot earn God’s love or blessings. You know, of course I’m not trying to earn either one. Nooooo. No. Maybe, you know, it would just be easier for God to love me and bless me if I read my bible every day and spent more time feeding the poor or praying over the worship services my husband leads or any of the other billion things I really should be doing.

Maybe… just maybe… if I did those things He’d hear me a little louder. Because I know He loves me. Right? I mean we all know that. Even when prayers go unanswered for years. Even when you’re desperate and He’s silent. Even when it seems like He’s either deaf or mad at you because if He really is your Father then He’d do what any dad would do and loan you some money so you can pay rent, right!? Right. Because we know He loves us, regardless of those things.

Right. Oh screw it. No. I don’t. Not always. Not before the last few months. Weeks. Ugh. Fine. Days. The last few days. I mean it’s really easy to believe it when everything is great. When you’ve got enough to cover your bills and you’re marrying the man of your dreams (or who turns out to be the man of your dreams, if you’re me) and you find out you’re pregnant and your baby is healthy then obviously God loves us.

But when you’re not sure how you’re going to pay the car payment that was due almost a month ago, and when you’ve been broke and couldn’t find a job when you could, got fired for the first time ever when you finally did, and then were too pregnant (and sick, to be really honest) to be hired before the baby comes. When you can’t take the birthing classes you wanted to because they cost too much and can’t hire a doula or a midwife because your insurance doesn’t cover it and you’re concerned about how you’re going to put gas in the car let alone paying a few hundred dollars, minimum, for a more natural birth experience. When you know you can’t be worrying about all this stuff  because it’s not good for the baby to have a stressed out mom and you’re doing all you can (which isn’t much) to help with the bills with babysitting jobs while your husband is doing everything he can to make enough and the jobs just won’t come. Then… then it’s really hard to keep believing that He loves us. You. Me. It’s really hard to believe that He loves me. It’s really hard to believe that He hasn’t completely abandoned me. It’s really hard to believe that He’s not punishing me, that I couldn’t do something – anything – to appease Him and get some ‘blessings’ flowing my direction. It’s really, really hard to trust that He’s taking care of us.

It’s really hard to not lose hope and just give up because what does it matter anyway? He’s not listening. We’re suffering. And no matter what I do, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that I put in over 100 applications and never heard anything back. It doesn’t matter that I worked my ass off, threw up at, on my way to, on my way home from, yet always wore a smile at the one job I did really manage to get because I was fired because (and I can’t prove this, but I was told that my being let go had absolutely nothing to do with job performance) I was pregnant and they didn’t want to deal with maternity leave. Or that the moving jobs that were once the bread and butter on which we survived just aren’t coming in anymore. No matter how much I try to scrimp and save we have been living week by week since we got married, and now are going day to day. I’ve broken down in tears about it a few times. I was scared. What if we got evicted? What if they had to repo my car? How would we ever get a house if my credit was ruined by a missed payment? How were we going to make sure we could take care of this baby when we didn’t have an extra ten dollars for the laundry mat? There may have been an end in sight but it was a year, or two, away and by then we’d be living on the street.

And then… then… I started to realize that He was changing me. That we were impoverished because He loved us, not in spite of it. To be clear: I subscribe to neither poverty theology nor health and wealth. What matters in both is the heart, and that what He was working on. Not my checkbook.

I realized that I was discontented with Our relationship. I wanted more from my faith than me begging constantly for the peace of mind that more money would bring and His constant silence. I wanted more. I needed more. I wanted to know Who He is; I wanted to know He had me no matter what happened, I wanted to ask for what mattered. I wanted my prayers to be filled with requests the ability to touch hearts, for peace among His people, for opportunities to serve, for my family, for my child. I wanted my prayers to change me, not my bank account. I found my chase after money, and the peace that it did indeed bring, to be empty, even though I never seemed to find any. Peace or money.

Our circumstances have changed slightly. It’s still tight, but at least it’s doable. Or it will be by the end of March. And there is not a darn thing I can do about it between now and then but trust that He’s got us. Because I don’t have anything to give. I’ve run out. I have no more tears to shed in fear, not when I am powerless and He is all. Not when I realize that losing some of my credit will not destroy my life, neither this one nor the next. Not when I realize that nothing is permanent. Not when I realize that we’re surrounded by family and my son will never go hungry or lack for a warm place to stay. There are more important things on which to spend my waking hours than checking and rechecking the fact that it doesn’t appear like we’re going to make it. A single opportunity, not missed but embraced and blessed, for the Lord to make another lost soul a Child is worth more than any dollar amount of which I could conceive. A closer walk with Him will do more for me in now and eternity than any measure of security I could get by actually having a savings account.

Please understand, being wise with money, living within our means, saving for our and Haven’s future is all quite important to us. But our poverty has held my attention to the exclusion of the things that do matter. And that is not okay.

Most of all, and this I cannot stress enough, my hope was not in God. My hope was not in His redemptive work in my life. My hope was not how I could spend my life to serve Him, or the ability to be His child, His beloved child, for now and for all time. My hope was stubbornly hoping that someday we wouldn’t be broke. That was my goal. Nothing productive could happen in our life until that day. Until we were set. Until I could open a savings account and go to the grocery store without worrying about overdraft fees. Then I could work with God, for Him, whole heartedly. Then I would know He loved us. Then I could have a functional relationship with Him again. Then I could focus on what He wanted for us. I could go through all sorts of things so long as it wasn’t poverty anymore.

Not shockingly: I was constantly frustrated and disappointed. I constantly felt abandoned and hopeless. I would want to hear God promising an end to this cycle. I would want that to be one of His promises. It isn’t. He didn’t protect His followers from death, I can guarantee you that He won’t protect you from a missed payment. Even if you are reading your bible every day. I was stuck in a hamster wheel of hope and disappointment because a savings account is a really, really stupid place to put your hope in. No, not yours. Mine. It is a really, really stupid thing that I was doing for years.

Ugh. As if the honesty of this post didn’t hurt enough already – let’s just make it a bit worse, shall we? (Deep breath, band-aid ripped.) Because before my hope was in a savings account, it was in a man (no, not my husband, thank God) but in a man who never showed up (again, thank God). And before it was in a man it was in a job. I can’t imagine it’s as emotional for you to read that as it was for me to write it, but… that hurt.

And here’s where it starts to stop hurting my heart, and start hurting my mind through the process of boggling. God, in His infinite wisdom, used our poverty to smash my idol. My pride went into hiding when I had to ask to borrow money to make a payment on my car. My deep, deep desire for financial security lost its giant priority status when I realized that my credit rating didn’t define me and there were worse things in the world than losing a few points off it. I want a relationship with God, deep, deep in my soul, I want that more than a savings account. I want that more than a house. I want that more than all the adventures I want to take around the world someday. I want that more than anything. And nothing – nothing can take that from me. My salvation is not connected in anyway with late or missed or on time payments.

When I finally hit the place I had been dreading, when I couldn’t make it work with what I had, when I lost what I had fought so hard for, namely the ability to be financially independent and never need to ask for help, that my idol crumbled down around me and I could see the true goal. I could see Him, and how His silence has been a loving guide to this beautiful moment.

And now I’m sharing it with you. Because my pride be damned. Because as my idol crumbles, I pray that yours would too. Because I’m tired of seeing my friends be trapped in the same trap, in the same hamster wheel of false hope, and the inevitable disappointment and anger and sense of abandonment that comes with false hope.

Often times, we've run in these hamster wheels together. Pushing each other forward, encouraging each other. Only now do I see how wrong that is, that we were all lusting after idols and not enjoying our God. Not enjoying Him or what He had already blessed us with. Not even wanting to. Putting our whole lives on hold, putting our very souls on hold, until we got what we wanted from God. What we believed, what we had convinced ourselves He had promised us.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I spurred you on toward your idol. I'm sorry I thanked you for pushing me to mine. I'm sorry I didn't know the truth to tell you. The truth I wish someone had told me, even though it's more than likely I wouldn't have listened. Because it's hard, the truth. Because it's not what you want to hear, it's not what any of us want to hear. But it is what we all need to hear.

In a world full of health and wealth preachers, we desperately need to remember the truth. In a world where we are told, repeatedly, that we have EARNED these blessings if we only cling to them, God will be forced to give them to us. I saw a video on the internet a few days ago, where a woman was trying to encourage her followers that God would repay her seven times what had been lost. We're told God owes us. We're told to project good thoughts and our desires will come. We're told all of this spiritual bullshit that chains us and keeps us from the true Joy. It keeps us from Him by filling us with false desires and false promises. It is nothing but bondage.

The real promise is that He will never leave us, nor forsake us. He promised us eternal life, with Him. He promised us a relationship with the Father. The real promise is that if we accept Him, we are going to suffer. Maybe it will be our relationships, maybe our finances, maybe our jobs, maybe our health. Suffering will come. We are not greater than our Master, and Jesus suffered. He promised us we would too. Not once did He ever promise to change the world to better suit our wants. He promised He would change us. 

So here it is. Here's what I wish I had known a long time ago, when my hope was in a job, a man, a savings account.

You are not your job. You're not your diploma, your degree, or your paycheck. You're not what your friends think about you, or your critics for that matter. Being a high powered lawyer/doctor/sales rep/coordinator/director/ whatever it is you feel you need to be to be whole, recognized, appreciated, etc  is not you. You may never get that job you think is going to 'set you'. And if you do, you'll be disappointed because it's not what you wanted it to be, and you won't feel like you wanted to feel. You'll still be you. The same you before you got the job. It's not going to change you. It's not going to save you. It's just a job. Chances are you will have many.

Maybe that man will never come. And that’s not God punishing you, nor not following through on His promises. He’s not ignoring you. You can’t earn that man. And no matter how long you wait there is no promise that he will ever show up. And when that man is your hope, you will know nothing but disappointment. Even if he comes, you will know nothing but disappointment because he cannot change you from the inside out. He cannot fill you, nor fulfill all that you long for. Because he is not your reward. He is not the end. God is. And you don’t have to wait. You don’t have to be disappointed. You don’t have to feel abandoned and angry and disappointed. You don’t have to blame God or yourself for once again losing hope.

Maybe you'll always be poor. Judging by the current state of the economy, there is absolutely no guarantee that you’re going to strike it rich one day. And if you’re waiting for money, for your circumstances to change, you might just be waiting the rest of your life. It grieves me to see you hope and hope and hope until you have a mental, emotional, and spiritual breakdown because the weight of the constant disappointment is too much to bear. Maybe your life isn't going to be what you thought it was going to be. Maybe it's not headed where you thought it was. But it's yours, and God loves you, and He is in control, no matter what happens. And He can change you right now. He can give you joy, even if you're still broke, and lonely, and confused. He is your joy. He is. 

Maybe we all have super messed up priorities. Maybe we’ve lost sight of the gospel. Of what He really gave. Of the security eternal life offers. Of the joy of a relationship with the Creator God who made us all and in whom all good things have their source. Of the need to share this news with everyone.

Of the need to be free of this bondage in which we put ourselves, and the need to show the world what freedom really looks like.

Of the need to live freely.

(Note: it has nothing to do with America or being American.)

I’m still at the epiphany stage of all of this but I can tell you one thing: tonight the only reason I’m not going to sleep is because it appears my lovely unborn son has found a way to kick my nerves and send shooting pain to random places and not because I’m worried about being broke. And maybe, during the 3am Fringe marathon that helps distract me from being so incredibly uncomfortable, I’ll say a prayer to the real goal and thank Him for my freedom and beg Him to never let me lose sight of it. No matter how much suffering that path leads me through. Because He’s worth it. Because He’ll never disappoint you. Because He will get you out of the wheel.

I love you guys. Thanks for reading.

Day 460 - Bad Words Start With H

Today marks my 22nd week of pregnancy.

I love my son, cannot wait for his birth, and would not change a thing for the world. That being said: this pregnancy sucks. I have honest to goodness lost count of how many times I have thrown up. And I'm not counting dry heaving in the morning, I mean gripping the toilet seat as I violently eject the entire contents of my stomach. Over. And Over. And Over. 

Granted, since entering into the second trimester, I am now off the anti-vomit medication as instead of twice a day, my body only decides that it didn't actually want to digest anything once or twice a week. Though I now have a lot less warning. Before, I'd actually gag a few times, allowing myself time to get to the bathroom. Now, I get one if I'm lucky. It's just sudden. No warning. No nausea. Just a sudden reversal of the usual function of my esophagus. But like I said, still better than it was two months ago. 

Two months into my second trimester, I have discovered some of the uglier, and less talked about, symptoms of a rough pregnancy. The heartburn, while less than pleasant, is dealt with so long as I have enough Tums around. The constipation, while uncomfortable, is also something that can be dealt with. The gas that accompanies the constipation is actually incredibly painful, but thankfully not very long lasting. 

And then... then I became acquainted with what I like to call the hell of pregnancy. Worse than vomiting, worse than exhaustion, worse than constipation, and worse than gas. It is a silent suffering, for the most part. My husband knows my woes, but my even my northern frankness has difficulty telling anyone other than a medical professional about my pain, let alone asking for advice. After all, there are a number of socially acceptable responses to the question, "How is this pregnancy treating you?"

You can talk about nausea, you can talk about vomiting, you can talk about breast swelling, stretch marks, headaches, swollen feet, mood swings, bizarre cravings, and all of them will get a response of a sigh and some sympathy. What you don't respond with is "Actually, the pressure of the growing uterus on my anus has caused some of the blood vessels to swell up and now the very thought of pooping is horrifying. As if that wasn't bad enough, I have to shove some small white pills up my butt twice a day to try and make every moment less painful because the torture that pooping has become aside, I really never realized how important a non swollen anus is to every day life, namely walking."

That's right, ladies and gents, I've got hemorrhoids. Well. Just the one, actually. But the hatred I hold for it is deeper and more violent than any hate I have ever known. The very word is a swear word to me now. It belongs only in the deepest circle of hell. Certainly not part of the circle of life joy that is growing a human being inside your uterus. A human being who seems to get endless amounts of pleasure by kicking me when I want to go to sleep, or stretching out entirely when I'm trying to exercise. A human being who I have loved since the moment I let myself believe he was real, the first time I saw him and his tiny heartbeat when he was the size of a gummy bear. Now, roughly the length of a banana and just over a pound, my squirmy little kicker is ever more interested in revealing his presence in new and painful ways. I have been told to expect this for the rest of our lives together, as apparently this phenomena does not end at birth, but begins anew.

In all honesty, I can't wait. Bring on the blow outs, the self hair cuts, the glue and glitter, the screaming, the nonsense, the heartbreaks, the panic, and everything in between. I'm a mom now. I don't get to not talk about poop and all the things that go with it. Because everybody poops, and at some point in their life, everybody has trouble pooping. It's part of real life. A small part, to be sure. But maybe if we could get over the embarrassment of such a small thing, we wouldn't be so uncomfortable being real about the bigger things either. 

Day 459 - What Happened To The Rabbit Hole?

As you can see, the blog has once again changed. Not just a redesign, but a change in direction as well.

I began the journey of 1,000 Days In The Rabbit Hole over three years ago. Much has changed since then, myself most of all. Not just age, location, and marital status, but worldview, lifestyle, and purpose. The Sparkly Marshmallow Theory of Life, though wonderfully useful and enlightening in in my early 20's, now suits me like an ill fitted evening gown. The Rabbit Hole does not change, though my understanding of it continues to expand with time and experience. And thus the 1,000 days is not truly over, and as a remnant I will continue to number the posts. 

While I love sharing my thoughts with the world (my vanity loves the audience), I've also come to realize that sitting down, contemplating events, episodes, trials, and blessings in their turn helps me a great deal, whether or not anyone reads them. 

So it's time to change my digital outfit to better suit my changed inner voice. The blog will probably undergo a number of design and possibly name changes over the next few weeks as I attempt to fine tune everything and get resuited to blogging. 

This time around the focus will be on laughing through honesty as I continue to learn how to navigate this life with grace. There will be recipes, plenty of DIYs, tips and tidbits about frugality, as well as things I really ought to have learned before my mid twenties. There will be questions without answers, problems without solutions, and loose ends like you would not believe. And I promise to always be honest in regards to myself, though like before I might change names to protect privacy. 

I hope you will join me as I intentionally learn from all that God gives me. The good, the bad, and the mind boggling. I hope you will tell me your stories, in honesty and humor, and that we might continue along together as friends. I hope a great many things, and have little fear of being disappointed. Life, while often different from our expectations, rarely disappoints when we ask for grace. 

Day 458 - Talking Donkeys

I got fired. Not for anything I did, or didn't do. That was made clear. But because my personality just wasn't as 'bubbly' as what they were wanting. I can't argue with that. Despite the fact that pregnancy has made me a much nicer person, in general. Well, at least more 'girly' according to most. And definitely more feminine. If this isn't 'bubbly' enough for them, I'm never going to be. And I'm okay with that.

I was incredibly thankful for my job, and would have never quit. But honestly, I cried in relief when I found out I didn't have to go in Monday morning. Not because I hated my job, or because it was torture, but because I am so tired. Because I have been desperate for more time with my husband, and time to catch up on my pregnancy. It's been a month since I've read any articles about what is happening to my body and my baby. 

And sure, part of me wants to panic because we needed that job and now I'm unemployed, 4 months pregnant, and it's a week before Thanksgiving. But I'm not going to. And here's why. 

I was talking to my mom about it this morning, and she said, "Well it sounds to me like a talking donkey."

"Say what?"

"You would have never quit that job. And they didn't fire you because of job performance, but what sounds like a highly personal issue that had little to do with you. It was for a time, and when the time was over, God intervened because He knew you'd never quit. He's changing your course."

I thought it over for a few moments, and she had a point. This was a talking donkey. Not that I was doing something wrong, but that it was time to make another change. I may be rather limited for my next options, as I'm limited in a 'physical labor' aspect and by 'physical labor' I mean standing more than fifteen minutes at a time. But I'm excited for what comes next. Nothing about what we learned during my extended unemployment has changed. God always provided. It was extraordinarily tight sometimes, but we made it. Being pregnant does not change who God is or how He loves us. 

So Anthem and I are just looking forward, because the next step is right around the corner, and in the mean time I get to enjoy this wonderful holiday season with my new family and sleep in and clean my house and catch up on reading and crochet my little heart out. And frankly: I've never been more excited or happier in my life. 

And because I'm pregnant, that thought makes me a little teary. But I think Paul knew what it felt like, even if he wasn't raging on hormones. The peace that passes understanding. Being excited about being in a tight place because you just know deep down in your heart that it's the right thing and that it's not up to you and all you have to do is trust, let go of what you never had a hold of, and look forward. Because I am. 

Day 457 - Texas, Home Sweet Home

Yesterday my mom ran into one of my old teachers. They talked about a lot, though I did come up. The teacher said she had heard I was pregnant, and she was happy for me. I know the teacher. She's just saying that. She always wanted 'great' things for me, and being a pregnant worship leaders wife working as a patient coordinator in a dermatologists office, regardless of how ridiculously happy I am, would not qualify as 'great'.

I'm not sure what 'great' is. When I was in high school I thought it was becoming a lawyer. When I was in college I thought it was any high powered job that would make a for a fast paced career, or at least a big move in my life that had me doing once in a lifetime stuff that took a lot of bravery even if it meant a lot of ramen noodles. What I've come to realize about most of these ideas of 'great' that were floating around in my head were of me as single, self sufficient, and far too busy for 'love' or if I had to endure such a thing, 'love' that was always on the back burner. And kids... kids seemed like a failure that one must endure if one feels obligated to.

I'm overjoyed about being pregnant, even with all of the sickness and not being flush with money. I love my husband more than I have words to express, and am happier with my life than I could have ever imagined. I adore my unborn child and can't believe I'm so blessed as to be making children, and soon to be raising children, with Anthem. I love our tiny apartment. I love what I've learned about money through poverty. I even love my job, though I'll probably love it more when I'm not sleeping so much that I have little life outside of it.

Missing the cold of Iowa while getting used to the warmth of my new home has led me to remember more than usual. And be thankful. There was so much negativity in Iowa. Life was such a struggle. I had a lot to learn, and I'm thankful for all I went through, though I wish I hadn't put myself through quite so much. Alas. I don't know. I don't mean to be mean, but tonight when I took a shower all I could think of was washing all of that off of me for good.

I'm a Texan now. This is my home. And while I will forever mock Texans about their lack of ability to function under 40 degrees, and try my hardest to make sure my children have midwestern accents, I love it here. I love that we hardly even listen to the Supreme Court here because we're Texas and we do whatever we please. I love that we all have guns. I feel safer because we all have guns. I love that we asked our neighbors to chill out on the smoking because I'm pregnant and THEY DID IT. For real. They cut down on their smoking indoors and now go out to their cars. Because they're nice people. Because they're Texans.

I'm a pregnant, worship leader's wife, working as a patient coordinator in a dermatologists office, living in a tiny apartment in Texas and I am doing something great. I am living my life. Not the life anyone else had planned for me. Not the life I had planned. But the life I was given an opportunity to explore and run with and enjoy each and every moment with the greatest man I've ever met. That life. That life is great.

Day 456 - The Best Part

Update on the pregnancy: I'm on medication to keep food down as it was getting to a dangerous level of losing my meals. Which is great. I can keep food down, and feel much better most nights.

But today's post only has a small amount to do with pregnancy and a large amount to do with marriage. I know I'm still a newly wed, but I think we have our own brand of wisdom. Maybe not compared to those who have 10-60 years under their belt, but learning is learning and I wish I had known some things when I was single.

I thought I knew what I was 'waiting' for. I didn't. It's so much better. For example:

1) Every date night ends with you going home with your hottie. Every. Single. One.

2) Because of #1 - date nights usually don't end until you actually fall asleep, in bed, in whatever it is you wear to bed, wrapped around a hottie.

3) He doesn't mind when you get knocked up with his kid. In fact, he's over the moon about it. Because he always wanted kids with you. It's why he waited until your wedding night to make love to you. Because he respected you, even then, as the mother of his children.

4) Every day is an adventure. Today I came home and my husband was composing. It was awesome. Some days we do just lie in bed for the evening but that's just because I'm pregnant, exhausted, and often nauseated. But even our errand days are amazing because we spend them together.

5) You get out of yourself. I get tired of my own voice in my head. Anthem brings me clarity in ways I yearned after for years. He helps me cut through the nonsense, not by focusing on it or me, but by drawing my focus away from myself.

6) You get out of yourself. I really cannot stress that enough. It's glorious.

7) It's 10x easier to try new things when the greatest person you've ever known is holding your hand and doing it with you.

8) Love isn't always unrequited. There's a lot more... tempestuous and heady emotion during the highs and lows of crushes and infatuations and unrequited love and all it's drama. But when the person smashing himself against you loves you as deeply as you love him... well it's like breathing deeply for the first time of your favorite scent.

9) There is something deeply satisfying about being known intimately. There are things about me, and I'm not even talking about intimate things, that only Anthem knows. Because only Anthem bothered to find them out.

10) Stretching yourself feels good. Stretching yourself frees you. The more you do it, the easier it is. The first time Anthem wanted me to watch an anime series with him, I honestly thought, "Oh great. A guy who watches cartoons in his mid twenties. Awesome." Note: if that isn't dripping with sarcasm, you're reading it wrong. However, knowing how intelligent he was, I chose to grudgingly give it a try. And I fell in love. It's my favorite anime series to this day. The Last Airbender in case you were curious. Seriously. Not the movie, that was awful. The cartoon. So good. Anyway. I discovered that anime is a fantastic medium to express depth of emotion and creativity. (For depth of emotion try Full Metal Alchemist. That is heavy and makes you want to cry.) For creativity, Howl's Moving Castle. Beautiful. It's not about being a twenty something that still watches cartoons. It's about being wise enough to embrace all art forms, even those that are judged as childish.

There's a lot more. But that's all I have the energy for tonight. Ladies... don't chase the emotions. Men... don't chase drama queens. Steady love is just as exciting, I promise.

Day 455 - The Pregnancy Diaries

By the time you're reading this, I'll have written it about three months ago. The first trimester is something that Anthem and I are keeping for close family and friends. But I want to document it, for me. For us. For our child. So I'm just writing down all the things that have happened the last week and a half.

Sept 13: Anthem and I find out we're pregnant. And I take 3 tests just to make sure. 

Sept 14-15: We tell our family and listen to many women scream in gleeful excitement. It's incredibly encouraging, and very emotionally draining. 

Sept 16: I get hired at my new job, and have a doctor's appointment to confirm pregnancy. 

Sept 17: Morning sickness and extreme fatigue kick in. 

Sept 22: The couple we asked to be our child's godparents accepted. 

So we're at September 24th right now, and I love the baby growing inside me. I love learning about it, and planning with Anthem. I love that Anthem talks to the baby already. I love that Anthem is so incredibly kind, considerate, and helpful.

I hate pregnancy. I loathe everything about it. I hate being sick all the time. I hate dry heaving in the morning because there is nothing in my stomach to throw up. I hate feeling like I'm going to lose what little I was able to eat whenever I get tired, and I am tired all the time. I hate being tired all the time and asking James to do every single thing around the house because I just can't get up. I hate going to bed at 8pm every night because I'm exhausted. I hate that my boobs are so sensitive, they hurt if the wind blows them wrong. I hate the headaches. I hate the constant emotions that make me want to cry. 

Like when our dear friends agreed to be the godparents of our new child. I about burst into tears. Or when I couldn't keep dinner down and burst into tears. Or when Anthem texts me to tell our baby that he loves it and I burst into tears because knowing Anthem is going to be the greatest father I could possibly imagine and nothing moves me more than knowing that my children will be so loved and cared for by their father. By my husband. Whose life has already changed due to their tiny little appearance. 

I mean good tears. But lots of them.

The bottom line is that it's nothing like what I expected. I love Haven, but I'm not crazy about what that little one is doing to my body, my hormones, or my energy levels. Puking up dinner doesn't make the miracle of life any less miraculous. It just makes it a bit more... human.

Let me finish with this statement: I'm never whining about periods ever again.