hope

That phrase, “when it rains, it pours” is one of my least favorite phrases. I think because it’s true. At least in my world.

This week started with unwarranted confrontation, then releasing someone who was so beloved and someone who was… less beloved, then an emergency call from an 11-year old who’s dad is in jail and who battles depression. All in one terrible perfect storm of a week.

At 32 weeks, I’m exhausted physically from all the set-up of a normal week and emotionally from the cautious choosing of words and balance of mental toughness and outward tenderness. I keep praying that what I’ve said gets heard for what I mean and not necessarily the exact things I said because I’m never sure if what I said is exactly good enough.

And then I think about this new little life that will change and interrupt all of this. Another person who will need us – present emotionally and physically in all the ways it seems like so many other people do.

**note: I was working on this post and never finished it with life’s craziness and the unexpected time that Everly was born. I chose not to finish it later because the emotion and truth of what I was feeling then has changed dramatically now that Everly is here. I can’t imagine a more perfect little girl.

just dessert

Pinterest is not for me. I don’t have a board and if I did, I know in my heart that I’d never live up to the recipes and creative things I saw on the internet. That didn’t keep us (read: me) from feeling like there was some pressure to make sure we told our friends and family that we were pregnant in a creative way.

Etsy saved us. We purchased a plate that said, “grandparents est. 2017” for Tucker’s parents and mugs for my family upgrading everyone to aunt or uncle or grandparents again.

Under the weak guise of a late birthday dinner, Tucker’s parents and grandmother came over for the last meal at our old house. We carefully arranged cookies on the plate so it covered the “grandparents” with just enough dessert so if everyone took one, the plate would be empty and declare our news. Dinner was served. A glass of wine was filled for me and I fake drank throughout the meal to throw off any early suspicion. Dessert was served, the plate was emptied and…

nothing.

Turns out people don’t really read the plate that their food is served on very often. Oops. Tucker finally pointed out to his mother that we had gotten them one final gift.

“WHAT. Are you serious?”

It would have been a pretty cruel joke. The fake drinking wine totally paid off.
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We walked up from the basement at my sister’s house on Thanksgiving morning bearing gifts and news for my family. My mom and sister dug into their gifts.

“Oh! I needed a new cup!”

We had not learned that people don’t actually read things that they are given to eat or drink out of. *sigh*

“Sista, does this mean what I think it means?”

Mario caught on and hastily opened his gift. Hugging, tears, and smiles ensued. Well, with one exception. After all the questions and the “are you serious”‘s were out of the way, I looked at my dad who was still waiting to be told he could open his present. He was just as excited… just 5 minutes after everyone else.
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Just a week prior, Meg and Dave had announced their own pregnancy in our pre-meal prayer. Sam and Tim had already taken the “let’s all toast and I’ll share something awesome with you while I do it.” So we went with what we know, dessert.

I tried a new pumpkin muffin recipe with cream cheese frosting and added baby bottles. Tucker handed them out to our friends. One for Baby Claire (who was already present with us), one for Baby Thomson (who had been announced the previous week), and one for Baby Huey.

Two weeks in a row of big announcements and now THREE babies would invade our small group. Lindsey said it well, “We aren’t just a couples group anymore. Now we’re a family group.”

And just like that, Baby Huey already has life-long friends and guaranteed “my parents’ crazy friends” who will show up at birthday parties and weddings for the rest of Baby’s life.

you’ll be dad

October 7th. It was all but marked on my calendar. I couldn’t, of course, mark it on the calendar because it was sort of a secret. I could have put it on the calendar with like a nonsense title or something, but I would inevitably forget what “elephant day” meant and wouldn’t be quick enough to come up with something coherent if someone asked. So I didn’t put it on my calendar. Didn’t matter. I still worked up the courage to go to the store to buy a pregnancy test.

I obviously couldn’t by the cheapest one and there was no need for the most expensive one, but didn’t really have any idea which one was the right one. I opted for the one I saw one time on a commercial and a TV show. If I saw that test in the same week in both places, it must be reliable, right?

After several paces around the house, I went for it and after not being sure if there was (ahem) enough on the stick, the little bars ticked away and there was only one word.

pregnant

And that was it. I sat on the staircase and stared at the word. I’m not sure I expected fanfare or some magical feeling, but it was just me, this stick I peed on, and the cat napping on the couch. And pregnant staring at me in the face.

I needed to make cookies.

I googled for awhile about ways to tell your husband and landed on cookies because… cookies. I baked pumpkin butterscotch chocolate cookies and carefully pressed D.. A.. D into 3 of them and set about finding a way to make a complete sentence written in chocolate. That was too hard. Chocolate writing is hard. No thanks to you, Food Network. I settled on “you’ll be DAD.”

Tucker came home and it took everything in me to not give him his chocolate plate and cookies. We went to dinner first at Blue Pan Pizza for the Brooklyn Bridge – king of all the pizzas. I got sick in the car on the way down and made a lame excuse about not feeling very well for about the 7th time in a month (probably could have seen the signs earlier). I didn’t have a drink, thinking about having a little person growing inside of me for the first time.

Dessert. Finally. The plate still said, “you’ll be dad” in my best attempt at plating the most important dessert of my life to this point. I handed it to Tucker. “You’ll be… what?” Ugh. Why is it so dim in our house!?

Exasperated. “It says, ‘You’ll be DAD!'”

I cried as I spoke the last word. We both cried. And hugged. And I pulled out the pee stick even though I thought it was gross (the fancy one I saw on TV did come with a cover for the business end).

We are going to be parents.