I feel like this month sort of flew by. Something about the weather getting above 30 degrees made me super motivated to get out of our apartment. Either that or I just really couldn’t handle being stuck inside any more. Frankly, Moses can’t either. He gets bored and then he turns into a giant fuss monster.

That’s right. My five month old gets bored. Like temper tantrum/total meltdown bored. Heaven help me.

Thank God for strollers and sunny days. This long winter’s just about been the death of me.

Now that I’m no longer nursing, I’m trying to get the baby weight off. And the pre-baby weight as well. Easier said than done. Still, I’m trying. And trying is better than not trying, right?

We’re also house shopping. This is equally fun and frustrating. Okay, maybe not quite equally, but still. If you’re a praying person, you can pray that we’re able to find and buy the right house quickly. We have very much outgrown the space we’re in and the house hunt is just exhausting.

I didn’t take a lot of photos this month, but I did take this one and I can’t help but post it.



At five months old, baby Moses…

- is suuuuuuch a flirt. Especially with the cashiers at Target. Seriously. Look at that “Hey ladies” grin. We’re in trouble.

- can roll from back to front and front to back and push up Little Mermaid style on his belly. However, he usually doesn’t do any of these things because he still hates tummy time.

- wakes up a lot in the middle of the night. Probably wouldn’t be a huge deal if he had his own room and could fuss himself back to sleep, but he doesn’t and Mama is just about losing it from sleep deprivation. Still, we’re always working on finding ways to help him learn to be a better sleeper. We’ve also recently started sleeping on the futon. Desperate times.

- loooooves being worn in a Moby or Bjorn. Never the Ergo and sometimes the ring sling. Apparently he prefers hand-me-down or borrowed baby wearing devices. Wish I’d known that before I dropped over $100 on the other two. Sigh. I guess it makes sense though– he is a Maurer after all. ;) Thriftiness is in his blood.

- is doing pretty great with feedings now that we’ve got him all situated. Meds + fancy formula + anti-colic bottles = a much happier tummy for Moses.

- just started solids and loooooves them. He actually gets mad and yells if I don’t keep it coming fast enough.

- is teething like crazy. Nothing’s popped through yet. I’m using everything in my teething arsenal to try to help him in the meantime. Poor guy.

- loves to squeal and squawk and smile and sing.

- reeeeally loves his Daddy. I love watching him get all excited when Aaron gets home. Best ever.

- doesn’t hate Sundays any more! Granted, the day is really, really long and when nap time rolls around, he is really, REALLY ready for it. He loooooves watching the worship team, but the second Hansel gets up to pray– meltdown. Then it’s off to the restless child room where he usually spends most of the time laying on his blanket and happily watching the lights, windows, and other restless children. Manageable. Much more manageable.


Four months. Whew. This third month has been a rollercoaster.

He’s better!!
He’s worse…
He’s better!!
He’s worse…

So it goes.

I’ve read things about a four month regression, but apparently my son felt the need to jump the gun on that. Hopefully this doesn’t mean he’ll do it again this month.. or keep doing it for another month. Uggghhh. It’s a good thing he’s so stinking cute.



Rollercoastery things include no longer sleeping through the night (-.-), no longer having the ability to self-soothe without the use of gripe water and a pacifier, and (you guessed it) more nursing issues!

I swear, the next person that asks me if I just loooooove breastfeeding gets a high five… in the face.

I guess the biggest thing this month is that we’ve learned Moses has silent reflux. Yeah, it’s as awesome as it sounds. Basically, this means he has a lot of stomach acid and gas pain and they interfere with feedings. It also means he’s spent a lot of time crying inconsolably. Ergo, so have I. He’s now on Prilosec and exclusively formula fed.

That’s right. Devil dust. The expensive kind too. Turns out, for Moses, breast is not best. In fact he does far better with an anti-colic bottle and fancy shmancy partially broken down, hypoallergenic formula than he ever did with breastmilk. And while there’s a part of me that’s sad that I never really got to experience “the magic” of breastfeeding, I’m really okay with it. And there is no one on the face of this planet that can dare suggest that I gave up too soon or didn’t try hard enough or didn’t do absolutely everything I possibly could to make it work. It just didn’t. I’ve learned that what matters most is that your kid has a happy, full tummy– not so much if it’s full of breastmilk or formula. Or rice cereal. Or applesauce.



A clue: I’m still very hormonal and emotional. Unless you’re feeling the need for a free avant-garde nose job, I suggest that all hardcore breastfeeding fanatics should exercise restraint here. There’s one Gospel. Breastfeeding has nothing to do with it. Mothering is hard enough as it is. And that’s all I have to say on the subject.

At four months, baby Moses…


- weighs over 16 lbs

- wears 6 month clothing.

- is trying so hard to roll from back to front. Any day now.

- still hates tummy time. Probably because of the reflux.

- loves his feet. Usually just one at a time though, he’s usually gnawing on one hand while the other is grabbing his toes.

- pretty much always wants to be held and bounced on a big purple exercise ball in our living room in front of the TV. Doesn’t matter if it’s actually turned on or not. Reflections on the screen are just as entertaining as any program .

-  has super fast growing finger nails. Hates having them trimmed. Screams bloody murder as soon as I start. But likes to scratch the mess out of his face if I don’t. Soooo…

- is getting better at grasping. Favorite items include linky rings, burp rags, and Mama’s hair.

- loves the Moby Wrap and his stroller. Can’t waaaaait til the weather is nice enough to maximize these tools outdoors.

- loooooooooves his Daddy.



Three Months.

Right about now my life pretty much revolves around Moses. So instead of wasting precious nap time trying to come up with something thought provoking to say about marriage and motherhood when I don’t actually have anything in mind, I’m going to quickly get this post up, have a cup of tea, and heck, maybe even a shower if he’ll let me.

Look at hiiiiiiim! My little blue-eyed lounge baby. Cutest little time sucker on the block. :)



At three months old, little baby Moses…

- has grasping pretty much down.

- likes chewing on his receiving blankets.

- gave his Mama the worst birthday ever. (And that’s saying something if you’ve been with us for a while.)

- scoots himself around on his back like an upside-down inchworm.

- really doesn’t like tummy time.

- already wears size 3 diapers.

- doesn’t need the nipple shield anymore! He weaned himself off it. It was a miraculous gift. Like Jesus just decided, “Nope, she’s had enough. We’re done with this now.”

- still has other nursing issues. It’s a good thing we have such an amazing and supportive lactation consultant.

- really, really wants to stand. Seriously. He tries so hard to make this happen.

- sleeps through the night (HALLELUJAH!!) but only if you go to bed when he does.

- is too strong for being swaddled with a blanket. He just wiggles right out of it. Now only velcro can contain this child.

- LOVES his Daddy and misses him when he’s gone. Almost as much as I do. Almost.

- is totally mesmerized by his exersaucer. Pretty sure it’s his favorite thing ever. Well, until further notice.



Two Months

This is admittedly a little overdue, but I have a two month old. So. There’s that.

I can’t believe how much has happened in the last month. It feels like we have a different kid now. I’m a lot less hormonal and we’re both getting a lot more sleep than we were a month ago. I use “a lot” quite loosely– although 4-6 hours at a time truly is a lot more than 1-2.

I’m still struggling to adjust to this new season of life where it’s my job to meet everyone else’s needs. 24/7. 365. And how my needs are just perpetually marginalized. Welcome to motherhood, right? It’s hard to discern the difference between trying to get my needs taken care of and being selfish. I really don’t know where that line gets drawn. I just know I need to figure it out. And I need grace to extend. This is new for all of us. We’re learning – all of us. And we’re in it together.

Perhaps most importantly, I’ve learned afresh how important it is for me to have daily time in the Word. I bought myself a Christmas present. (Americanca much?) It used to be that if I didn’t get time with Jesus in the morning, by about 10 AM, it became apparent that I wasn’t really a nice Christian girl at all, but an impatient, selfish, raging lunatic with a Latina temper and a mouth like a truck driver. My need for Jesus was clear. But after seven or eight months of staying home sick with baby Moses in utero, it became less clear. Sure, I’d pray. Jesus, please help me feel better. Give me a healthy baby. Help me love my husband. Give me energy and strength to clean this place up. Please make my labor progress. Please make the pain stop. Please fix my problems. But the time I spent actually reading, meditating, and listening grew less and less important. And then comes the hustle and bustle of life with a newborn. How do you find time for the Word when you’re supposed to be sleeping, nursing, eating, hydrating, pumping, snuggling, soaking in the tub, entertaining guests, posting pictures of your baby for out of town friends and family, taking baby to the doctor, taking yourself to the doctor, tracking wet and dirty diapers, trying not to neglect your husband, etc etc etc. All the while– SO EXHAUSTED. Devotions, quiet time– does it really matter? When life is this crazy and all you really want is a nap, is spending your one block of quiet time (where the baby’s actually sleeping) trying to read your Bible and pray actually worth it?

It matters. It’s worth it. And thankfully, when you fail to follow that reading plan, He’s still faithful.

Because of what Christ has done for those who belong to Him, we serve a God who is faithful, loving, and true regardless of how faithful we are to him. In His mercy, He pursues us even when we don’t pursue him.

I said I bought myself a Christmas present. This is an excerpt from it.

“Christianity stands completely apart from all other religions because it’s not up to us to work our way into God’s favor. We do worship a holy God who demands loving obedience, but he’s unique because he took all the judgment for our failure onto himself. He’s already done everything for us. This is the scandalous, incredible Christian message of the incarnate God becoming man and dying in our place to bring us to himself. And it’s the message that we need to hear over and over again because we’re never completely convinced of it. That’s not to say that we don’t believe it at all; it’s just that there always seems to be some sort of lurking suspicion that he’s not as good as he says he is. He declares his love for us in the most lavish manner and still we wake up wondering if he’ll like us better today if somehow we can get our act together. Even so, he patiently continues to assure and reassure us of his love. He’s already demonstrated it in the most outrageous way: ‘God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.’ (Rom 5:8) Rather than our failures frustrating him, our sin simply serves to make his mercy more beautiful. We can believe in this love and rest in it, or we can try to figure out what makes him tick and then make a list of rules we need to obey to keep him from punishing us. We can believe in his love and welcome, or we can move back to ancient Rome in our hearts.”
- Elyse Fitzpatrick, “Comforts from Romans” 

Here’s to believing what He says and resting in His love.



At two months old, Moses…

- is too cute for me to even handle. Seriously. Look at that face! I can’t even.

- has the ability to sleep for 7 hours straight. (But generally doesn’t.)

- has an adorable mischievous little grin. Usually shows up when he’s supposed to be nursing and would rather be talking and therefore is spitting milk all over his mama. I call him out on it, he grins, I melt. It’s a vicious cycle.

- doesn’t seem to be quite ready for a regular daily schedule yet. (And I can deal with that for another month while his little internal clock develops. At least, I’m trying.)

- is doing much better with nursing. Most of his latch/seal issues have worked themselves out, but he still doesn’t want to nurse without the nipple shield. It’s looking like weaning him off the shield is going to take time, practice, and an abundance of patience that I don’t really have.

- loves to be social in the morning. Cooing and squawking and smiling, kicking his feet, flailing his arms and clicking his tongue are his favorite activities. It’s my favorite part of the day.

- despite our attempts to make him comfortable with background noise while he’s sleeping, he doesn’t really tolerate it. I’m thinking we need to invest in a louder white noise machine– he likes it and he freaks out if he doesn’t have it, but it isn’t loud enough to drown out the sound of the toilet flushing or the door closing or Aaron and I talking or the TV in the living room.

- really likes the activity gym he got for Christmas. Will lay and play with it for quite some time.

- has a pretty intense fussy time in the late afternoon/early evening. (aka “The Witching Hour”)

- gives me huge gummy smiles when I come and get him up from his naps. Melt my heart.

- has his Daddy’s sense of humor. Specifically, it’s really hard to get a laugh out of him! Oh sure, he’ll give a chuckle if you work for it, but to make him really laugh? I’ve only heard it once and I still don’t know what was so funny. He was hanging out in his swing and just started cracking up. It was adorable. Can’t get him to do it again for the life of me.

- *still* has hairy hobbit ears. The rest of the lanugo is long gone though. This might be a forever thing. LOVE IT.

- is in the 89th percentile for his weight, but has very little visible baby chub. My kid is all muscle. Like his Daddy.

- thinks his Grandpa Dennis is magic. After much observation, I’m pretty sure he’s right.

- has little froggy feet.



Couldn’t resist. I’m not really into the whole “stamp something on the butt of all baby clothes” trend or the “stamp anything on all the baby clothes” trend for that matter. In fact I much prefer good ole’ plain ole’ stripes, solids, and plaids. But these are freeeeeeeeaking adorable.

A P365 update… whaaaat?

It’s true. Pretty sure I haven’t posted a P365 update just for the sake of a P365 update in like a year.

And I don’t have anything particularly deep or thought provoking to share with the blogosphere. So you get photos and I get the comfort of knowing I’m making an effort to revive this blog.

But seriously– is he the cutest or what?



Aaaaand I normally wouldn’t show two shots that are so similar, but I absolutely could not pick just one.



Seriously. These two kill me.



Ohhhhh, my heart.

Six weeks

We did it! We made it to six weeks. Isn’t that a milestone? I feel like people have been telling me the first six weeks are pretty rough, and they have been, but things are steadily getting better. Moses is starting to sleep a little better (albeit still pretty inconsistently) and we’re starting to develop more of a routine which is a tremendous blessing to me. I am so much better able to function when I have an idea of what to expect of my day.

For example, I know Moses generally wants to go to sleep in his bed around 7:00 PM. No guarantees how long he’ll stay asleep before he wants to eat or how many times he’ll wake up wanting something from me in the night, but I cannot possibly begin to explain what a huge difference that 7:00 estimation makes to me. I also know he’s at his happiest right after he wakes up for the day (usually sometime around 7:00 AM) – particularly after he’s nursed. So happy that he’s usually content to squawk and swat at the little owl mobile that stretches over his bassinet. And he’ll usually take a short nap in his swing sometime in the course of the morning– giving me a chance to attempt a shower (he doesn’t always sleep through that) or have some coffee or blog or tidy up our home a bit.

Every day it gets better. Every day I’m feeling a little better, every day it gets a little easier, and every day Moses gets a little bigger– I swear. And there are those days where he can’t stop __________ (eating, crying, pooping, staying awake, freaking out for no apparent reason– take your pick and fill in the blank) and I can’t handle it. But there’s grace for those days. And I’m learning all over again how I just need to ask. And ask and ask and ask and ask and fall on your face in tears and beg… some days.

“But He gives more grace. Therefore it says, ‘God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.’ Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you.” – James 4:6-8

I sure do love this boy. He’s worth it all.


Photos: Debra Ackmann

One month.

Moses is one month old today. I can’t believe it. Everything still feels so new, and yet on my more exhausted days– only a month? Can’t we speed this up a little? You know, fast forward to the point where he sleeps through the night and I understand him better. I know, I know. It goes so fast and I should cherish it. And I do. But I’m also really, really tired. And if you’re one of the ones telling me how fast they grow (and believe me, I’ve noticed already!), I know you understand.



It’s funny, I really thought that after seven years of nannying and countless years of babysitting, I was prepared for this. You know, ready. No rose colored glasses here. I know exactly what I’m getting myself into and I know how to deal. Or at least that’s what everyone’s been telling me for the last thirteen years or so. And in some ways they’re right.

But seriously? I. had. no. idea. Yeah, I could probably win a diaper changing race, know how to spot a rash from a mile away, and I have tons of troubleshooting ideas floating around in my head at any given moment that Moses is crying. Sometimes they even work.

But there’s a really drastic difference between having a full time job taking care of your own kid and someone else’s. Namely– you don’t get to clock out. Ever. Your shift doesn’t end. Ever. Well, until you die that is.

Does that sound macabre? I don’t mean it to. It’s just that I’m feeling the weight of this gift I’ve been given. And it is a gift– a wonderful gift. Precious. Priceless. One I’ve watched and prayed and waited for. And I am so thankful. But it’s also a huge responsibility and I’m feeling the weight of it, at least in part.

I guess it’s just the Lord humbling me even further. Because once again, I’m at the end of myself and in desperate need of Him. And He gives more grace. It’s enough. He’s enough. Rest in the promises. Count it all joy.

Because it is.

At one month old, baby Moses…

- LOVES music. Especially hymns, Iron & Wine, and most things on The Current.

- can’t manage to go a night without one very long crying jag where it seems like he won’t stay asleep unless being held, rocked, and sung to all at once.

-  can hold his head up surprisingly well! (I’m told this is a Maurer thing. “All the babies have strong necks.” So they say.)

- is already trying to roll over.

- likes tummy time… for a little while.

- is mildly dependent on Gripe Water.

- still has latch & seal issues with breastfeeding. Needs the nipple shield at every feeding. (Obnoxious, but still– grace.)

- loves his swing.

- still has hairy hobbit ears.

- is obsessed with his hands.

- is very strong!

- sounds more like he’s yelling when he’s crying.

- generally spends less time crying and more time vocally protesting, which sounds a lot like the sounds his Daddy makes when he’s displeased with something.



The longest week of my life.

This is the story of the birth of Moses Jacob Maurer. It’s not for the fainthearted or for anyone who doesn’t really want to hear about labor and delivery. It is for those who’ve asked and for me to remember. You’ve been warned.



Five days. Five days of on-again-off-again prodromal labor. It started on Sunday, the 20th– my due date. Around 3:00 AM. Regular contractions growing increasingly more painful, lasting longer, and more frequent. I get to juuuuuuuust before what my midwives deem time-to-go-to-the-hospital…. and then they just start tapering off. 4 mins apart moves to 5, then 6, then 7, and then they’re totally sporadic, but insanely painful. After five days of this, my body is utterly exhausted, my spirit is pretty much crushed, and my poor uterus is crying for it all to just stop. My mind is stuck in a perpetual cycle of “Come on, Moses, just come out already” and “Oh God, no, please no more pain!” I fight the latter because they tell me it puts the brakes on labor. I’m trying.

As the sun set on day four, I found myself looking at my birth plan and convinced that it was written by a psychopath. Natural, unmedicated childbirth. What the hell was I thinking. Drugs? Sign me up. Scheduling a C-section? Why didn’t I think of that sooner? Even the episiotomy doesn’t sound so bad if it’ll just get this kid out of me. Just. get. him. out. of. me. Get him out NOW.

And my faith? Oh, where is my faith? So weak. So tired. Is He still good? Is He still faithful? Does He still know best? Do I still trust Him? I have to preach it because I know it’s true, although right now my heart doesn’t really want to hear it.

Yes, He’s still good. This baby is a precious gift. I know that none of this will matter once I get to hold my son.
Yes, He’s still faithful. He hasn’t abandoned me. He’s with me, sustaining me. He must be, I’m surely not holding myself together.
Yes, He knows best. This one is the hardest. I expect He knew I couldn’t handle it, that after four days of intensive labor that wouldn’t progress beyond 5 cm, I needed to rest and finally push on day five.

And He gave me Aaron. Oh God, what a precious gift. My wonderful, wonderful husband who has never been known for being a terribly empathetic person has been the most precious gift of all in those five super intense days. He gave up a week of his paternity leave to support me while we waited for my labor to progress. Part of my heart is jealous to have that week back– I so wanted us to have those two weeks all to ourselves. Just the three of us, resting, recuperating, bonding, adjusting. God had other plans. He’s no less good or trustworthy. He knew I couldn’t do it without him.


Processed with VSCOcam with x1 preset

At 1:00 AM on Thursday the 24th, for some reason, I started to panic. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t stand the pain any more, none of the labor positions I’d been using were working any more, there wasn’t anything I could do to cope with the pain of the contractions except cry and pray it would be over soon. I called the midwife and explained and although my contractions still weren’t progressing beyond 5 mins apart, she told us to come to the hospital. (We weren’t allowed to deliver at the birth center because of my low iron levels.)

Five centimeters. It was three on Monday. They explained that since it had taken me this long to get to just five, it could take another four or five days to finally progress to ten–  I knew I couldn’t handle that. They suggested that I consider pain management so I could rest and have energy to push. I refused the epidural, but agreed to a mild narcotic that only lasts a short time and still allows me to feel contractions, but takes the edge off so I could sleep. At 6:00 AM, against everything I thought I wanted or believed in, we started the pitocin. Slowly at first, then increasing every 45 mins, to try to help me finally progress. The contractions began slowly increasing in frequency and intensity and after a while, it was all kind of a blur. Our amazing doula was there, Aaron was there, some nurses… all offering me water or food or juice or hospital clothes, wanting me in different positions. The baby was head down, but facing slightly in the wrong direction. I don’t remember much beyond that until the pain got so bad that I completely lost control of my body. They kept telling me not to push, but I couldn’t help it. My body was pushing whether I wanted it to or not and no amount of “blowing it away” was going to help. So they called the midwife and we tried pushing… for an hour. No dice. No more cervix but no more progression either. I was exhausted.

Finally, they offered the epidural again. I didn’t want it, but I did. They explained that I needed energy to push and I’d been laboring for days and pushing for an hour and I just didn’t have any energy. It was the last possible hope of having a vaginal birth (which I cared about less and less every moment). So, I agreed. Take the epidural, get some sleep, resume pushing.

The relief was almost instant. I hated being tied to the bed– I knew that in labor gravity was my friend, but I so needed rest. I remember feeling only three things after getting the epidural: 1) Freezing cold. Aaron had about 14 blankets on me and I still couldn’t stop shivering. 2) The weirdo position they had me in hurt way less. 3) Moses digging into my rib cage. Thanks a lot, kid.

After a few hours, it was time to push. I pushed for four more hours. I could feel the epidural wearing off with each contraction, but I knew I needed to be able to feel the pain to be able to push and I didn’t want any more interventions. The mirror helped at first, but then only discouraged me with each contraction I couldn’t manage to push his head out. Then came the ring of fire. Lord have mercy, no one had to explain that term to me, I instantly knew what it meant. For a while, I kept waiting for the pain to subside– like maybe with each contraction and attempt to push that I didn’t manage to actually push him out, I might at least stretch a little. When it became clear that wasn’t going to happen, I just accepted that like everything else in labor, nothing was going to happen on my terms.

Finally, at 6:42 pm, he came. My sweet, 7 lb 15 oz and very long baby finally made it out. They took him immediately– apparently there was a small amount of meconium fluid and while that meant I didn’t get to have immediate skin-to-skin contact, breastfeed, or delayed cord clamping, I was just thankful it was over and that I could hear my son yelling (not crying, yelling) on the warming table as the nurses tended to him.

At last. No more pregnancy, no more prodromal labor, no more pushing, no more heartburn or nausea or sleeping on one side or the other. Just a snuggly little boy with an oddly wise look in his stormy grey eyes.



Almost two weeks later, with my little baby Moses lying beside me, happily listening to Iron & Wine and gazing up at me– I can’t say I’ve forgotten the pain. Or that I want to do it again any time in the foreseeable future. And I never felt like an amazon warrior woman. I never even felt strong. They say you’ll feel all those things in labor, but I didn’t. And not one single thing about my experience in labor and delivery went according to my birth plan. Not. one.

What I did feel most keenly was my desperate need for Jesus. I needed His strength, I had none of my own. I needed His sustaining grace, I was so weary. I needed His presence, I was in such deep despair. I remember people telling me “You can do this!” and me thinking “No, I can’t. I really, really can’t.” I needed Him to deliver me… quite literally. And He did.

Despite all these unmet expectations, I must say I had one thing right. This little guy? SO worth it.



Week 40

I am still pregnant. He is still faithful.

I think perhaps the hardest part of this whole experience is to accept the fact that there is absolutely no aspect of this pregnancy, especially the upcoming labor and delivery, that is within my ability to control. I can’t make myself not be sick, I can’t make myself not be tired, I can’t make all the aches, pains, discomfort, and supercharged hormonal emotions go away. I can’t choose when I go into labor, who will be with me when it happens, or even where it will happen. I’m in control of absolutely nothing and all my planning is completely subjective and frequently useless.

It shouldn’t surprise me. This isn’t exactly news. But I guess I’ve walked myself right into the curse of the fall– this desire, this need for control. I mean, why not? Don’t I live in the twenty-first century? Don’t I live in a country that promises me certain freedoms, including the “unalienable right” to pursue my own happiness? Haven’t I been reading and listening to all these voices calling me to make all these decisions about my pregnancy, my labor, my birth, my recovery, my life?

But it’s not my life. It never was. My life is not my own. I am not the master of my fate, I am not the captain of my soul.

I was bought with a price. My life was ransomed by Christ for His own purpose, for His own glory. I know this.

And why do I suddenly have a problem with this? When has He ever left me? When were His plans for me not better than my own? When have I ever stood on the other side of a trial and wished some other king had been on the throne?  When was He ever unfaithful? When was He ever anything but good?

Someone do me a favor and just tattoo this on my face.

“The LORD is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. He will not always chide, nor will he keep his anger forever. He does not deal with us according to our sins, nor repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far does he remove our transgressions from us. As a father show compassion to his children, so the LORD shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame, he remembers that we are dust.” – Ps 103:8-14

Ok. Maybe not my face, but somewhere just as visible.

Insert belly photo… complete with lint and weird shapes. Hey, it is what it is. Also, Baby Moses has definitely dropped.



Week: 40

Baby is the size of: a pumpkin. That’s cute. Seasonally appropriate.

Loves: hot caramel apple cider from Keen Eye, GF blackstrap molasses cookies, lemon zest sorbet, changing leaves, my temporary wedding ring (2.5 sizes bigger than normal, since apparently I now have sausage fingers), Aaron (I just want him here all the time), having all the baby prep done, and snuggling with my cat who has seemingly remembered she likes that.

Hates: hearing the word “haemoglobin”, feeling enormous, dealing with anxiety or fear about birth or postpartum recovery– especially when brought on by professionals who are supposed to be helping, aches and pains, how hard it is to convince myself to get out of bed and do something productive, and Sriracha hot sauce.

Full Term!

We did it! We made it to 37 weeks! Good job, baby Moses! Thank you, Jesus.

I am so. stinking. thankful. that the end is near. So thankful for this little boy and the gift of a healthy (albeit miserable) pregnancy, but seriously. CAN’T WAIT to not be pregnant anymore.

I’m nesting. I’m also very sick most of the time, which means I don’t really have the energy to nest, although the urge is there and pretty much driving me crazy to not really be able to follow through on it. Apparently, it’s contagious, since my husband has been in super-productive mode of late.

Case in point. He built this BEAUTIFUL coffee table out of completely recycled materials. Recycled pallets, recycled stain (custom mixed with the help of my Father-in-law, the king of free or cheap DIY projects), and recycled wax sealant. I’m completely in love with it.


He also finally got around to hanging the gallery wall I’ve been designing and assembling. Confession: I have been mildly psychotic about the importance of getting these things on the walls before the baby gets here. And while I may yet switch some things around, I’m over the moon about it. It just makes our little apartment feel so much more homey to me. (Note: home-y, not homie.)


Please don’t judge my cluttered living room. We take it one step at a time ’round here these days.

Aaaaand here’s my big ole’ belly.


Week: 37.5 (wooot!!)

Baby is the size of: a winter melon. Whatever that is.

Loves: popsicles, ICE cold water, tea, lemon curd with GF cranberry orange scones from Whole Foods (I splurged), cool fall weather, cooking with cast iron (kind of a pain, kind of amazing at the same time), M&M McFlurries, epsom salt baths (miraculous gift of God), sitting in my pretty living room (despite the fact that it’s currently overloaded with boxes of stuff to give away, throw away, or find a place to put away), and watching the Big Bang Theory with Aaron– especially when it makes him laugh out loud.

Hates: heartburn, any article of clothing that is restrictive, nausea, having a gluten allergy (all I want right now is a big crusty loaf of Panera bread), worrying about my iron levels and prenatal appointments. Really one midwife in particular. She’s a jerk and I kind of want to punch her in the face… in Christ… I can do that, right Zeek? ;)


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