words

I miss crafting with words.
I miss the flow, the spiral, the effortless dance that my fingers would play out while the words locked inside my head were fed through my fingertips and onto a page.
It hardly required effort, there wasn't even much thought attached, it was simply there--open the page, unlock the brain and go.

Today has been harder than I'd like to admit.
My first day back at this stay-at-home mom gig, and we've had a struggling afternoon. Jameson is finally napping now (please God, for at least another hour), and I managed to get some errands done (although I forgot the milk for Hubs tea. Dang it.), but this was not without mass effort.

I am lacking in patience, I am lacking in understanding, I am lacking in toddler-whispering skills that allow one to get through places like the library and Target without your two-year old son screaming at other children who happen to also be glancing at the Sesame Street DVDs, and grown women also buying bleach in the laundry aisle.
Time and again I come around with, "These are for everyone, and I know it makes you upset when you see other people using them, but we have to take turns. If you cannot take turns, we will leave." and then there are more shrieks, and then there is me, wrestling with a 30-pound mass of muscles and fury while trying to stand upright with a six-month old fetus in my belly.
What a sight to behold.

All those magic words, and acronyms spelling out empathy, and scripts listed out generally seem to work about 10% of the time, and the other 90% I am left fluttering around, praying to Jesus that I am not inherently creating a monster in this moment, and that I am also responding with as much grace and love as I can muster.
Why can't any of this just be clear cut?

Because humans are not clear cut, and if you are looking for evidence of this, look no further than my two-year old son who is at the height of his humanity. He has not yet figured out how to temper or hide his emotions, and so they are all there for everyone to see, front and center. And if you ever doubted that human beings were confused, easily upset, lost little creatures, then come and spend an afternoon at my house and observe otherwise.

I see myself in him all too often, crying up at God with my mess of emotions and humanity smacking me in the face, begging for someone to calm me down and walk me through this hormonal cloud I am stuck in. Just like my son needs me to take his hand, look him in the eye, and articulate what he is feeling while reassuring him that there is someone there who understands, so I, too, need God to hold my heart and remind me that He is bigger than all of this, and He gets it.

I often feel like I've been left to figure things out on my own. And maybe I have, for a little while, because that is part of growing up. I won't be able to tell Jameson what's wrong forever (and I am sure that the time will come when he will not appreciate my assuming that I know), and so God is probably giving me space to learn myself and my reactions, and to see if I have made any progress on the tantrum-throwing front.

I don't have a resolution here, or an acronym for myself to recite in the moments that God is silent.
I don't have an encouraging word to end this with, a miracle story of the moment that God decided to open up the heavens and let me know that He's heard me crying for three years.
I've just got myself, and this fledgling faith that has somehow managed to keep itself rooted through the tsunami's its been through. Sometimes I doubt it's existence, but it's there, I know it's there, because it stabs me in the heart every time I try to walk away.

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isolation.

Jameson didn't cry when I left the house for work this morning.

I know this is progress.
I'm glad my child wasn't left screaming and banging the door down after I walked out of it.
But at the same time, I had this strange, heart-wrenching moment of realization that he doesn't need me as much as he used to. Cue sadness.

Being a momma is the most contradictory, difficult, and completely illogical thing I have ever, EVER done.

I mean, I am happy that my kid didn't cry when I left this morning, but also kind of broken-hearted about it. How does that even add up or make sense?
Or how about those moments when I am so bone-tired, and Jameson just wants a little bit more of me than I think I can give him and I am overwhelmed with how much I love him, but also how much he drives me crazy.

I think the difficulty lies in making peace with the feelings.

It's easy to feel guilt over feeling 1200 different ways about your children--all at the same time.
It's easy to look at yourself and think, "If I were a better mom, I wouldn't be exasperated right now--I'd just be so thankful that I even have a child, not to mention the fact that he is healthy and smart and has food to eat." and then we dig ourselves into a hole with all of the ways we SHOULD be feeling piled up on top of the guilt for the things that we ARE feeling.

When did motherhood become so cut and dried and black and white?
When did it become easy to look around and see how we are supposed to be and all of the areas that we're failing in, instead of noticing the things we have managed to accomplish--like growing a tiny human INSIDE OF OUR BODIES, and then keeping said human alive and teaching them some semblance of manners, even if they don't always get it?

Motherhood is too hard to do alone, but we isolate ourselves anyway.
That is ridiculous, and it makes me sad.
People need people. We were never meant to be alone.
Period.

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day 11 [round two]

Day 11
Meal 1: 1 1/2 sausages, 2 eggs, coffee w/creamer

Meal 2: Leftover lamb, romaine and spinach salad w/tomatoes and balsamic/olive oil dressing, 1/2 sweet potato

Snack: Bacon, apple w/almond butter

Meal 3: 2 1/2 bowls zucchini stew, 1 sweet potato

I don't even know what to say about today.
Jameson woke up in the middle of the night again last night, and Hubs worked an overnight, so it was my cranky butt that got up with him bright and early this morning. Then he threw his oatmeal on the floor and somehow managed to aim the bowl just right that it shattered on my carpeted floor.
I literally sat there with the pieces in my hands for a good five minutes and thought about how I would cry if I had the energy for it. 

Although, one way I know whole30 is working is the fact that I'm not a walking zombie even though my sleep has been crazy interrupted. Sure, I'm tired, but I'm functioning on one cup of coffee in the morning and managing to do okay. So, there's that.

No news on the laptop yet. Hubs is taking the keys off to try and clean underneath them and I managed to get the backup to run before I shut it off completely. Worse case scenario: it's kaput and we become a one computer family for awhile. We'll deal. It was pretty old anyway, and it was refurbished when I got it, so it's had a good life.
But maybe this isn't the end--maybe the laptop gods will see fit to let it live another day.

Either way, I'm trying to embrace the forced semi-hiatus from staring at a computer screen.  (Maybe this was God's plan all along. I'd been moaning about not being productive enough/spending enough time with my family...)

Managed to get Jameson and I out of the house and over to a friend's for lunch where I met up with two mom's from way back in my preggo days and their kids. It was good to be with other women who just let me whinge about my sleep-hating kid, and to let said kid trash someone else's living room for awhile. The best parts were when he'd run over to me saying, "Mama, MAMA!" and then give me a kiss and go about his merry business.
Man, I love that guy so much.

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sloooow down.

Friday's post got a lot of responses from people, and I am kind of surprised, but also blessed.

It also made me realize that eventually I should probably tell my story a little bit more, so people don't think I'm just a raving lunatic that puts everything out there for the internet to judge.

Hopefully I can get to that later this week, as long as Jameson is feeling better. I'm coming into this week majorly behind, since he came down with a throat infection on Saturday morning, and has been pretty sad ever since.

Thankfully, he's on antibiotics now (which I am not the biggest fan of, but in this case, they are like manna from heaven) and seems to be perking up a little. So, hopefully I can catch up on life sometime soon.

As always, here are pictures to compensate. :)

swimming for England.

such a boy.

he tries to eat the water that splashes him.

"cake, mom. cake."

"really? you're going to take a picture now, dad?"

"enough. I have business to attend to."

the ogre walk of champions.

------------------------------

Hubs has said that he wants will allow himself to be featured on this little piece of the internet, so if you've got questions/ideas for him, leave them in the comments and I'll see to it that he gets them. 

Pretty soon we'll have our very first guest post. 

Dang. I'm really on the up-and-up, aren't I?

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summer days

It's almost the end of July and "summer" has just barely arrived.
The weather people are saying that it will last for this whole week, but I always take English weather with a grain of salt.
So, for now, we are spending as much time outdoors and in the sun as we can, since I know that fall/winter/eternal rain will be on us sooner than we know it.
I think I should have been born in California, because ever since I moved to England, I've discovered that I need sunshine like I need water. It just changes everything.

And this guy...oh, this guy melts my heart every. single. day.

How have you celebrated summer so far? Got any tips to make me feel better about the awful (except for this week) British weather?

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weight.

As I was laying in bed, nursing Jameson to sleep tonight I had this brief revelation stop and settle in on my shoulders:

Life is so much heavier than it used to be.

I think it has to do with being a parent: all of a sudden the choices I make seriously affect another person's life in a total and complete manner. 

It's different than having a spouse, who is also a fully-grown adult, and is capable of making their own minor decisions and also has an opinion on major decisions. With a child, I have to do what is best for them--I have to think for them. And when you really stop and think about it, that's a terrifying prospect.

If he grows up with certain character flaws or ends up in therapy later on in life, chances are that it will have something to do with my decisions for him. Wow.

To be honest, it's no wonder that I've spent the last twelve months drowning in a sea of anxiety and despair. The weight of this responsibility is enough to bear, without all of the opinions and commentary that everyone else likes to heap on top (whether it's well-intentioned or not). 

To be brutally honest, I feel like it's only now that I'm starting to climb out of this fog and step into this place of freedom with my parenting choices--to be secure in them, and to not care what anyone else thinks. It's like a weird form of self-esteem, and I've had to stop being validated by other people and do what is best for my son. Mine. Not anyone else's.

Even though I thought about all of these things before I got pregnant, and before Jameson was born, there is just something so solid about it all now that he's here and starting to exercise his independent will. It's got a whole new real-ness about it now that I am just discovering and figuring out how to handle.

I hope we don't screw him up too much. Just kidding. Sort of.

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Dear Jameson [first birthday edition]

June 30, 2011.

July 1, 2012.

Dear Jameson,
I'm nearly two weeks late with this. Per usual. See there's this thing about your mother--she tries really, really hard to be organized and she absolutely HATES being late, but she usually is anyway. Deadlines are just not kind to her. But back to you...

I cannot believe an entire year has gone by since I spent that night in the hospital, squeezing your dad's hand and yelling through my contractions, just trying to concentrate on the fact that you were finally going to be in my arms in a few short hours. I remember the moment after I gave birth to you, seeing you lying there on the hospital bed and thinking, "That's him. That's my baby." You were so beautiful, and so foreign--I couldn't wait to get to know you and find out everything about you.

Oh, my son. You have turned my world absolutely upside down in the best way possible.

There are so many things I am afraid of forgetting about this first year, even though I know that there is no way for me to hold on to all of the little details. But there are a few things that I hope I remember...

--I hope I remember just how happy you are. You enjoy life so much, and it is so evident to everyone that watches you. You wake up in the morning with a big grin on your face that gets even bigger when you look over to find your dad and I just lying there, watching you. When you get excited, it radiates throughout your whole entire body--literally to the tips of your toes (which you point and stand on, while you clap and scream). If I could capture just a fraction of your joy, I would be one of the happiest people I know.

--I hope I remember how independent and adventurous you are (and I hope you stay that way forever). Some would call it "strong-willed", others would call it rebellion, but I know that you are simply determined to do things your own way and I am okay with that. You are soaking up the world around you, and I can just see you learning and figuring out new things and it makes me so proud of you. You love new experiences and new people, and I am just in awe of how smart you are already.

--I hope I remember that I did the best I could with what I had. Sometimes I am harder on myself than I should be, but then I have to sit back and remember that I love you with everything in me (and even more, I think) and that is what matters. I hope you know how much I love you, and even though I know you won't understand it until you hold a child of your own in your arms, maybe you'll be able to tell through my broken words and actions.

There are a million other things I could write about, like the way you dance when you hear latin music, or the way you giggle at your Papa every morning, and the way you press your whole body in to mine--like you just want us to be one person again for awhile.

Jameson, you are my sunshine. I know I can be impatient with you, and I am sorry for the times I've failed you already--even Mommas are broken, imperfect people. You are the bright part of all of my dark days, and you keep me going even when I don't think I can anymore. You are growing up right before my very eyes and I am the most blessed woman in the world to be your mother.

I love you, bubba. Happy birthday.
Mom.

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chaos.

Today, when I tried to put Jameson down for a nap in his room, he just wasn't having it. He kept pulling away from me while he was nursing, intent at staring at anything he could find. He's been napping in our room for the past few days since he's been sick, so instead of fighting with him, I just decided to take that route again.

We laid down, and I watched his big eyes start to close, sloooooowly, and I had this extreme urge to do something--anything other than laying down, doing nothing.

But then I heard the rain pattering on my window, and I felt my baby's warm body fit next to mine, and I heard a voice in my head say, "Rest."

I started to counter with, "But..."

And it persisted. "Just rest. You used to dream of moments like this--a free morning to nap, with the rain outside, and someone you love next to you. Rest."

So I did.
And it was wonderful.

---------------------

Today is Wednesday, which means that my mother-in-law takes Jameson to her house in the afternoon so that I can get some work done, and maybe Hubs and I can get some quality time in together. 

I have some really nice, flexible clients that have been so patient with me in this "figuring out what I'm doing" period, that I really wanted to make sure I got a lot accomplished today. But when I sat down to write yet another article on something I don't really care about, I wanted to scream. And cry. And pull at my hair, like my son does when I take something away from him.

I am so tired of this constant struggle. 

Why can't "just" being a mom be enough? 

I know the logical reasons why--we need my income to build up our American savings account (especially if I ever want to visit again or move back), but that doesn't mean I like it. Not to mention that it does a number on my stress level when I'm sitting there thinking, "If you want to go home, you'd better get this article done!"

I guess it's just another moment of wondering why things are the way they are, and why we're in the place that we're in.

I've been doing my best lately to let God meet me where I'm at, and choosing to see Him in my life, rather than being angry when He doesn't show up the way I want Him too...I guess this is just one of those moments that I'm going to have to let go of and muscle through.

This is what I'm living by lately:

"Your emptiness is but the preparation for your being filled, and your casting down is but the making ready for your lifting up."

 -Charles Spurgeon, Morning and Evening (November 4, Morning).

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my view this morning.

The sunlight streaming through the blinds this morning was so amazing, and I couldn't help myself.

I grabbed my camera and easily took over a hundred pictures.

I know some of these are a little soft, but I don't care.

To me, they're full of the most beautiful things in my life,

and in these moments,

we were happy.

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five months.

Jameson baby is five months old today.

Unbelievable.

Next month, he will be half of a year. *cue weepy mom moment*

He is growing up way too fast.

This past week, he learned how to blow raspberries (along with the giant string of drool that comes out with them). Now, when he's really happy and he likes you, you'll get a raspberry (and a spray of baby spit) in the face.

He can roll over, from back to front, and he is lightning fast. Seriously, about a second after you lay him down on his back, he's already kicking himself over so that he can be on his tummy. However, he's still not a fan on this position, and cries for you to come get him if you leave him there too long.

He smiles a bit more now, mostly when he's tired, but also when he thinks you're funny. His little laugh is so cute, and there is no one that can make him giggle more than his Papa.

The teething monster showed up almost a month and a half ago now, and we have yet to see any progress. I swear I can feel a sharp ridge on his bottom gums, but I still can't see anything. Ugh. Poor monster baby. The teething necklace is still definitely helping, but we've also resorted to teething granules a bit more frequently since his pain seems to be getting worse. I wish his teeth would just show up!

He still loves the boob milk, and I'm happy to keep it that way for now. We're going to start baby-led weaning around six months (as long as he's ready), and I'm excited for him to try new things. So far he's sucked on bits of honeydew, apple, and orange, and has made faces at all three. We're going with the "Food for fun until one" adage, and I'm planning on nursing him until he's a year old, but hopefully for a while longer.

We love cloth-diapering (there's a post coming on that soon) and Hubs is officially an advocate for it. There is just something about washing diapers and hanging them up to dry that speaks to my momma-hood. I'm not even sure I can explain it. It just feels right.

But really, the most exciting thing is that we leave for the States in FIVE days, and I can't wait! Although I'm not looking forward to the eight-hour plane ride (which is only one of many, many plane rides we will be taking), I'm at the point now where I don't even care. It's been over a year since I've been home, and I can't wait for everyone to meet the new man in my life.

And finally, here are some pictures. Because what blog post about my baby would be complete without the pictures?

He was "The Last Airbender" for Halloween.
Perfect, I know.

The concentration (and drool) is overwhelming.

Oh mom. You're so embarrassing.

My beautiful, beautiful baby.

The artsy shot.

Hey guys? Guys? Can you come get me now?

Love.

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one week (and a birth story)

(This was supposed to be published yesterday, but I got sidetracked, so it's going up a day late. Oh well.)

My baby is one week old today.
I cannot believe it.
I've already got "bittersweet momma" moments going on as I realize that he looks different than he did a week ago--his cheeks are filling out, and he actually put weight on after being born instead of losing it, like most babies.

Words cannot describe all of my feelings about being a momma.
There are so many emotions wrapped up in this small, 7lb, 14 oz baby boy that I'm not sure I could even begin to dissect them if I wanted too.

Suffice it to say that I did not know it was possible to love another person so completely, simply because they exist. Not only that, but all of those fears I had about meeting my son and wondering who he was going to be have faded into the background as I look at him and realize, "I know you." There are moments when I feel like my heart is going to explode because I am so overwhelmed by him and everything he means. He is the most tangible answer to prayer I have ever gotten, and I feel so blessed and so unworthy all at once.

*Disclaimer: birth story to follow. If you don't want the details, it's probably a good idea to stop reading. I won't be offended, I promise. :)

On June 28th, when I was six days overdue, my midwife came over to do another check and see if I had made any progress. I had been examined four days earlier and was pretty much closed tight, with the outcome looking kind of grim. She let me know that an induction would be scheduled, but only until I was fourteen days overdue (unless there was a medical reason that we needed to get that baby out).

So, when she came on that Tuesday, I was preparing myself for more bad news, and had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that it was looking like I had an induction (and two extra weeks of pregnancy) ahead of me. However, when she performed the check, she found that I was 2cm dilated, 50% effaced, and Jameson had moved his head all the way down (even though he was still back-to-back). She performed a membrane sweep, and said that she would hold off on scheduling the induction because she felt like, "This ought to get things going."

A few hours after she left, I began having some irregular contractions that lasted throughout the rest of the day, all that night, and into Wednesday. Although I was getting excited, I also knew that this was called the "latent phase" of labor and could last anywhere from 24 hours to a week. By Wednesday night, however, my contractions were becoming a bit more painful, and a bit more regular. Hubs and I went to bed around midnight, and at 12:30 am, I started to feel this little trickle of liquid coming out, but being the people-pleaser that I am, I didn't want to let anyone know that my water had broken until I was sure...I think I ran into the bathroom about four times before I was convinced that I wasn't just accidentally peeing myself. When I decided that, yes, my water had broken, I got in the shower while Hubs went and woke up my parents to let them know that we were going to head to the hospital.

By the time we got into the labor ward, my contractions were getting stronger and much more regular than they had been. However, the midwife on-call decided not to do a check because she didn't want to introduce an infection, so she told us to go home and come back when my contractions were 2 minutes apart for at least an hour. But by the time we made it home, my contractions were a minute and a half apart, and coming on strong. Hubs put the TENS machine on my back, which helped for a bit, but about fifteen minutes after we got home, we decided that it was time to head back.

This time around, we went straight to the delivery suite, where the midwife on-call checked and found that I was 3-4 cm, which equaled active labor. I asked to labor in the birthing pool, and somehow managed to crawl in about 45 minutes later. Half an hour after getting into the water, the contractions were so strong that it literally felt like I was being ripped apart from the inside. I threw up from the pain, and began to panic--I had only been in active labor for an hour and a half, and there was no way that I was going to be able to make it through another few hours with contractions like these (or worse). The gas and air that I had planned on using to help me cope was doing nothing except to make me more nauseous than I already was. I started saying, "I can't do this. I cannot keep going like this. I need drugs. I want BIG drugs." The midwife tried to calm me down, saying that I couldn't have an epidural until my dilation was checked again, but they had a policy of not checking before four hours had passed from the previous check. She offered me some codeine, which I took, but knew that it wouldn't kick in for at least a half hour.

By now the panic was overwhelming and I was getting desperate. I could feel a lot of pressure, and (what I figured) was the sensation that I needed to start pushing. Hubs suggested that I have the midwife check how far along I was, even though it had only been an hour and a half since my last check, just so I could get my own bearings. So, although she didn't think that I had made much progress, she agreed to take a look. I managed to get out of the pool and back into my room, even though it seemed almost impossible to move. The midwife checked my progress and, come to find out, I was 9 centimeters. Yeah. 9. (No wonder I was panicking...I was going through transition and didn't know it.) Clearly surprised, she tried to reassure me with the fact that I was going to have a baby soon, and (unfortunately for me) drugs were not an option any more. With every contraction, the need to push got stronger, but I was told to breathe through it and fight that urge as much as possible. I needed to dilate to a 10 before pushing Jameson out, otherwise swelling could occur and that would make pushing him out that much longer (and more difficult). I asked when I would know that I could start pushing and she said, "When your body won't let you hold back anymore. Your body will take over and you won't be able to stop."

The back of the bed had been raised, and I crawled on top of it with my arms thrown over the back, in a kneeling position. Eventually, I started to push and couldn't stop. This was the stage that felt like forever, as I could feel his head moving down sloooowly with each push, but after I physically couldn't keep pushing, he would move back up. It felt like I was making absolutely no progress, and even though I knew that it was important for him to move down slowly in order to stretch everything out, it was frustrating. I finally felt him move down and stay there even after the contraction had finished. I knew his head was going to come out soon, and I geared myself up to push harder than I ever had. The next contraction hit, and the amount of energy it took to push his head out was unreal. It's almost hard to explain--it was a superhuman moment where I am sure that the Lord helped, because there was no way that I did that on my own.

After I felt his head come out, I tried to wait for the next contraction, but the delusional thought in my head was "I can't just leave him hanging there!" and so I decided to just push the rest of him out. It was almost like he slipped out on his own, and the midwife kind of jumped up to catch him. I had only been pushing for a half hour, but it felt like eternity.

After he was out, I started saying, "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh." I picked him up off the bed, slippery and crying, and thought to myself, "Who is this little person that just came out of my body? I don't know who you are!" I stared at his face and couldn't believe that this was my son. My son, that had just been inside my body five minutes earlier. He looked just like his dad, and the first thing I said to Hubs was, "He has your nose!" Jameson only cried for a few minutes, and (after pooping all over me) we just stared at each other. The midwife left, and it was just the three of us in that little room. My two guys. My family.

--------------------------------

Although I spent most of my pregnancy trying to prepare myself for a natural birth, I don't think that there is anyway that I could have known how I was going to react until labor began. I truly did not want an epidural going into this whole thing, but by the time I hit transition (the puking and panicking stage) I was ready to try anything. 

To be honest, I felt like a bit of a failure asking for one, since I had just spent the last nine months gearing up to do this without pain relief, but I knew that (had I not actually been 9 centimeters) there was no way that I could have made it through another few hours with contractions as strong as they were--I was physically and mentally exhausted, and it was more important to me to get Jameson out safely than to save face. 

All of this to say, I think I'm grateful that everything went as quickly as it did, even though it meant that the pain became so intense so fast. It was only seven hours from my water breaking to actually pushing Jameson out, which is pretty unheard of for a first-time mother. Giving birth naturally is an experience I would not have wanted to miss, and I think my recovery has been quicker because of it. However, I understand completely (and have no judgment against in any way) why women opt for pain relief. Childbirth is something that words literally cannot describe and no one can prepare you for until you're actually going through it.

So there you go. 

If you made it all the way, thanks for hanging in there. 

This past week has been the biggest journey of my life, and we are simply getting through it day by day. 

I am a happy woman, a blessed woman, and every time I look at my son, I am overwhelmed with the fact that God chose to let Hubs and I take care of this beautiful boy.

The end.

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Jameson Jia Sheung Ho

On June 30th, at 7:14 in the morning, Jameson baby made his grand entrance into the outside world.

We're on day 4 of life today, and although I don't quite have the energy to do a full post about his arrival just yet, I figured I'd do a little update to try and keep things current around here.

My recovery is going okay, and he is doing beautifully for such a new baby. Hubs and I are getting some decent amounts of sleep and are so thankful for my parents presence over the past few weeks--they have been lifesavers with all the cooking, cleaning, and crying-baby-comforting that they have been doing.

Jameson is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and I cannot even begin to describe how much I love him. He is my answer to prayer, and the absolute best thing I have ever made.

We are happy.

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overdue

Today is June 27.

Jameson baby was due on June 22.

However, as of now, he has decided that he likes his current accommodations, and will not be joining the outside world for awhile.

Unfortunately for me, England has decided to get it's one week of summer now, which means that it is currently 90ish degrees and we don't have an air conditioner.
Despite wandering around in nothing but the smallest amount of clothing possible and drinking ice water, I am so hot and miserable that I'm not sure words can do it justice.

Also, my stretch marks appeared over night, which is a whole new battle to fight.
I think that I figured since I had gotten this far, maybe I had dodged them. Had my son come out on time, maybe I would have.
However, this is not the case, and so I am the proud new owner of a body that is completely unfamiliar.

Pray for me (and my husband).
I'm trying to remember what the finish line brings with it, and how much all of this will be worth it when I get there.
Plus, I will only be pregnant for nine more days at the most, since they'll induce me if I go fourteen days overdue. It might sound pessimistic, but I am trying to ready myself for this, since the midwife did not make my situation sound very promising at my last visit.
She comes tomorrow to check things over again, but I don't really think much progress has been made.
Again, I'm just reminding myself that he will come out eventually, even if it's July 6.

Sorry for the whining...I just had to let it out somewhere.

-C

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preview

So, I've been wanting to take maternity pictures for ages (especially before my face puffs up and I start to look like Marshmallow Man).

However, there was no way that we could afford to pay for a shoot in a studio, so Hubs and I decided to host our own. On one of our neighborhood walks, we found a shortcut back to this random field, and figured that it would probably be a great place to take some shots.

*Cue us packing up camera equipment (and even a change of clothes!) and trekking through the forest to get there.

Hubs did a fantastic job and we even got some shots of the two of us (with the help of our self-timer) and I am pretty darn happy with the way they turned out. I've got some editing work ahead of me, but here's a peek at the few that I've managed to work on.

So there you have it.

I'll put a link up to the rest as soon as I finish them up.

What do you think?

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a letter.

May 29, 2011

Dear Jameson,
Although there are still 24 days left until your due date, I can't help but wonder if I'm going to meet you a little sooner. At the moment, you've got your bum stuck way out on my right side while you kindly jab your heels into my left kidney--clearly you are running out of room. Not only that, but we're nearing you're favorite time of day--1 am, which means you're about to get a dance party started in my belly.

It's a strange thing, being pregnant with you--knowing that you're in there growing, thinking your own thoughts with your own personality already. To be honest, even though I know that I made you, you feel like a stranger in so many ways. You are already your own person, who does exactly what he wants to. This scares me in some ways, since it makes it difficult for me to picture your life--who will you be at five? Fifteen? Twenty-five? Will you still love me, or will you look at me with eyes that only see a failing human being? Your dad says that worrying about these things is pointless, but I can't help it. You are my son, my firstborn, the child I dreamt about while I was still a child--and I love you so much that it scares me. I think I am afraid you will break my heart.

Whatever you do and whoever you become, I hope you know that I'll love you forever. You are my greatest accomplishment, my best work. I could go on to write a hundred books and sing a thousand songs, but you will always be my most beautiful creation.

My hopes for you are small, but important. I hope you love the Lord with all your heart and follow Him always, even when you don't think you can. I hope you find a woman who loves you, and takes care of you, but also puts you in your place. I hope you love her more than yourself and cherish her more than anything on this earth. I hope the regrets you will have in life are not so big that they become insurmountable, but not so small that you fail to learn from them. I hope you are like your dad, with a bit of me mixed in, and that you embrace exactly who you are with abandon.

My baby, my son, my answer to prayer--
I love you more than any words can say.

Mom

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a percolator.

My brain is stewing things around right now, but none of it is coherent enough to craft into sensible sentences.

So, for now, here's a picture of me and my giant 36-week-pregnant belly (can you tell that he's dropped? 'cause I can. Ha.):

Also, my "What To Expect When You're Expecting" app has just informed me that my baby is the size of a watermelon.

Whoa.

It's no wonder I have to lift my stomach up when I roll over in bed at night.

Although I am the crankiest person on the planet right now, due to the ridiculous amount of uncomfortableness I am experiencing, God keeps whacking me on the head with the fact that all of this (including the heartburn, nausea, backache, grinding hips, sciatica, insomnia, exhaustion, pelvic ligaments that are too loose, and electric shocks that occur when Jameson stabs me with his heels) is a blessing and I need to treat it that way. 

I have a healthy baby growing inside of me, and I am just a few weeks away from meeting him.

I couldn't ask for anything more than that.

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nesting

First of all, let me apologize for the haphazard appearance of my blog right now.

I started the redesigning process, got frustrated with the template I was working in and haven't had the energy to wade through all of the HTML and other things since. However, it's driving me crazy to look at, so it will get done soon.

Secondly, I now fully understand what pregnant women mean when they talk about nesting.

Our American friends over here, Erica and Zac, just had their baby boy, Clive Weatherly, yesterday. He is a beautiful 8 lbs., 7 oz. and 21 inches long. Hubs and I were lucky enough to be able to visit them in the hospital and it was such a surreal experience. Ever since I got over here, Erica and I have been pregnant together, moaning about all of the aches and pains we were going through and speculating about what labor was really going to be like.

But now that she's had Clive (and she actually does know what labor is like), I'm the lone pregnant ranger. It seems that the reality that there is actually a real baby in my belly who will be making an appearance sometime in the next seven weeks has truly sunk in, and I am like a crazy woman on a mission.

I had a mini-panic attack last night, thinking about all of the things we have left to do before Jameson gets here, and the first thing I thought about this morning was "Lists. I've got to make lists."
So, suffice it to say that I have a "Nesting List" broken down into three categories with the things to-do underneath each heading.

(When I get stressed, my OCD tendencies start to really show themselves. Ha.)

I have this sudden burst of energy now, and my husband has actually said that he is afraid of me.

Let the fun begin.

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three months

My third trimester starts today.

Jameson Jia Sheung Ho is due three months from yesterday.

I'm not sure that I've even really got my head wrapped around this quite yet. I think it still feels far away, but at the same time it is drawing imminently closer and I am trying not to run around in a panic about all of the things that I would like to have done before he gets here.

Although this has probably been the most trying time in our lives (for many reasons), I look around and I see the fact that we have still been given all of the things we need to bring our son into the world and take care of him for the first few months of his life.

I'm not too sure about the months afterwards, but I am doing my best to rest in the knowledge that at least the "now" is taken care of.

To tell you the truth, I am so in love with my son, that three months almost feels like an unbearable amount of time to wait to meet him.

I want to be a mom now, and time is ticking by.

Although I am still dealing with the realities of labor and birth, when I think about my baby, it's almost like an afterthought.

The little person I have waited for my entire life is almost here, and I am as ready as I will ever be.

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son.

It's a boy.

That tiny little "it" I've been carrying around for the past twenty weeks has always been a boy.

My boy.
My son.

I cannot even begin to describe what it is like to type those words, let alone see them and know that I wrote them.

I'm going to be honest and say that I was kind of disappointed when the ultrasound tech said that he was "300% sure" that our baby is a boy.
I've been walking around with visions of ballet, and lace, and sequins for the past few months and to have that replaced with dirt, and frogs, and mayhem was an...adjustment.

However.
That boy in there is still that baby that I have been falling in love with, that I have been feeling kick and wiggle in my belly, and he is still mine.

I'm scared for this, yes.
I feel like I've got a handle on girls, I know what to do...but when it comes to boys, I feel slightly lost.

But he's my boy.

My son.

And I'm his mom.

And that's it.
That's all there is.

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