The Oops That Became Our Biggest "Thank You, Jesus!"

Dear Sisters, 

There have been several of you who have asked to hear my story about "the time I found out I was pregnant with our daughter," or as I like to call it, "the time I put an extra emphasis on the F Word and how God used it ALL for His good." I wrote an e-mail back to a mama recently and decided that I would share it here in this space, with all of you. 

Soooooo yes, our son Pierson was seven months old when I discovered I was pregnant AGAIN. Which means he was SIX months when it happened. I blame our anniversary, my hyperthyroid, and my husband. Duh. 

I sat on the toilet, please keep in mind that I am a Christian and love Jesus dearly; peed on the stick while my husband cooked us lunch, and our son was napping. It was Martin Luther Kind JR day and the reason I remember is because well, first off, it was traumatizing, but also because we had the day off as school teachers. 

"What the F***K are we going to DO!?!?!?" I screamed when my husband entered the bathroom. He looked down at the stick, kissed the top of my head, and said, "We're going to have a baby!" 

I then sat there and wept into my hands, refusing to leave the toilet. I called my mom and barely got two words out before she said, "Oh honey..." and then I lost it even more. 

I had some pretty terrible thoughts those early stages, I will be 100% honest (and vulnerable here). I remember at one point thinking that it would be OKAY if I didn't have this baby and it would be OKAY if God decided I couldn't carry it. I'm talking, EARLY EARLY, like before 8 weeks of pregnancy. It is an AWFUL thought to have as a mom, but I'm human. And I was hormonal x 10000. I, of course, did not do anything to try to hurt my belly or baby, but I wondered if somehow it could or would just go away.

I then began to have super irrational worries [aka the most trivial, strangest, random thoughts EVER]:

We lived in a house with a lot of stairs going from the street to the front door. I remember thinking, legit, HOW I was going to go up and down stairs with TWO kids?! 

C'mon, Ashley... women have sextuplets... 

Girl, I wondered how I would grocery shop. 

Oh, wait... my husband primarily does that. Like 99.789% of the time. So it was another really dumb thing to panic over, but I definitely panicked. OH, and again, women have sextuplets, Ashley, CHILL.

I started to crave sweet things: chocolate, LOTS of chocolate, and NO red meat or sour things [which is what I craved w/ my son]. My face started breaking out galore and I just knew it was a girl. Which is what I wanted if I was having another baby, which clearly I was. We had a gender reveal and sure enough, the cupcake inside was PINK. 

I FINALLY started to bond with her... I FINALLY started to feel okay. Once I embraced WHO was growing in my belly, I actually began to LOVE her. And pray for her. And get excited to meet her. 

So this giant novel is written to express to you that I DEFINITELY freaked out. Like, more than the average mom I am suspecting...? Maybe?? And it's okay if you have or do TOO. Because you do have a long time to continue growing him or her. And he or she IS a miracle. You wouldn't be pregnant with him or her IF there wasn't a plan. And I'm positive God has a beautiful one in mind. 

My Reese tests and challenges me like no one EVER has in my life. I have never disliked someone so strongly and yet LOVED them so deeply; the emotions are a whirlwind often, but she literally makes me laugh out loud and is one of THE funniest humans on this planet [and she's FOUR.] I pray deeply for her as a girl who will turn into a woman; she has a STRONG personality, a very strong will to be seen, heard, and loved. She is going to move mountains, FOR REAL, I am just certain. 

If you're wondering how the transition will be, well, you may as well stop worrying about that :) There's NO way you can really plan for it. Pierson was fifteen months old when we brought her home. Barely toddling around himself and here was his mom, pulling out her boob to nurse this brand new BABY. I can remember some difficulty when he wanted me at the same time as I was feeding. But I very quickly learned how to time and gauge those moments. 

-Make sure he has a snack WHILE I am feeding her, and make sure it's an easy one he can feed himself! 
-Turn on the TV or something that he can watch for 20-30 minutes WHILE I nurse
-Praise him and love him and laugh with him, as OFTEN as I can 

Those were just a few. You'll learn. And he or she will just fit. And you won't know it any other way. I often wonder what life would look like if ours were 2+ years apart [my goal was 2.5 because my brothers and I are all 2.5 years apart!] Clearly, God's plan was different. I was on the pill and nursing and still got pregnant. Soooooooo not much more I could have done!! 

I hope while you're reading, you've laughed a little, and you can breathe a little easier. Tonight as I sit here typing I'm actually a little envious of you! Isn't that funny!? My husband got a vasectomy when Reese was six weeks old (for his 30th birthday, lol) no joke; because I just didn't want my body to go through it so quickly again and I feared it would. But I do miss it!! The wonder and excitement, the RATIONAL parts of the fears, the movements and hiccups and the belly growing each month. Sigh. See? It's ALL going to be okay. 

Chin up, sister. You've got this! And if I can help whatsoever, know that I am here and willing!!!! 

Cried Out Eyes + Living Loved

It's late. My eyes are swollen and tired from not one, but two evenings spent crying. Not gonna lie, being a female doesn't particularly help this time of the month [I literally will sob over spilled milk], but you know what? I'm just tired. Tired of living unloved. Of not believing the Truth, of not claiming it. Of not living it. 

Have you been there? 

I have the very best women surrounding me in this season. I inherited sisters eight years ago and a sister was never something I had growing up. I have supportive parents. A prayer warrior of a mom. A loving husband. I even have a very large community of women here in this space, within Instagram and this blog, that I absolutely love and adore. So why then is my immediate reaction to conclude, "She doesn't love me." 

This afternoon I took a chance to share something vulnerable and immediately walked away from the computer in tears. I put words in their mouth, that never came from the person I contacted. I was convinced that I had made a mistake, that they thought I was silly or immature, and that surely they wouldn't love me as much after reading what I had to say. And then I was reminded of Lysa TerKeurst's words in Uninvited regarding the woman at the gym, "...obviously I don't know what went through her head, but it has me thinking about all the many times I assign thoughts to others that they never actually think. I hold them accountable to harsh judgements they never make. And I own a rejection from them they never gave me" (29). 

There were a few moments of silence, of no response, and suddenly a, 'Hey let me get back to you later!' and I was ready to hit the ground running. Except not really running. I sat. And cried. And felt panicked and at a loss. I hugged my husband as I choked on words, "I still can't handle some of my friendships losses, I can't believe that we don't hang out anymore. Why doesn't she want to be closer friends?!" And how all THAT baggage related to what I was presently going through--I have NO idea. Except that I do this often. It's a BIG reason I started seeing a counselor months ago, because deep down in my heart I knew that I was loved, and yet, I couldn't stop these negative thoughts. 

These negative thoughts should have zero place in my mind or heart. None. "You are a dearly loved sister, a dearly loved daughter to the mighty and kind KING," my brother's wife texted me recently. Is that hard for any of you to fully grasp, like it is for me? My counselor did some exercises with me and one of the methods we did was visually decorating a giant sign that said STOP. And any time I started to feel myself turn negative, or go down the irrational rabbit trail, I would say, "STOP, Ashley! This is NOT helping!" Sometimes, if I'm like really on it mentally and emotionally, that helps. But 75% of the time, truthfully it doesn't. 

Lysa said, "Live from abundant place that you are LOVED and you won't find yourself begging others for scraps of love." Ouch. (There's a reason I'm hosting a book talk for this book!) With every chapter I've been convicted and reminded of God's saving grace. Of how He loves me, calls me, encourages me to sit quietly at His feet. Or crying at His feet. However I am, He'll take me.

I, like you, live in a day and age where life is just hectic. Either we have kids to care for, rooms to pick up, meals to prep, exercise to be had, pictures to be posted, e-mails to respond to, stories to share, friends to hang out with, families to love on. Which all means, just how easily distracted are we? I want to be better at living more securely. I want to be able to do all of the above, but also when it gets hard and I'm sitting in my daughter's bedroom crying, of silencing myself at His feet. At feeling His love. I want to hear the words coming from the women in my life; from my parents, my husband, my own children, and to walk and LIVE that way:

Cherished.
Appreciated.
Valued. 
Loved.

Do you long for this too? Of dwelling in His trust that life doesn't have to be perfect; there can and will be conflict, moments of pause, friends who need to wait to respond. And that none of that means you are loved ANY less? I'm not sure how to help one another, other than maybe being one giant support group, but heck, maybe that's what we need? Anyone want to create a Facebook group for living loved? Ha. If you do, add me to it! But regardless, let's pray for one another, cheer each other on, and walk through this life together. Sister, you may be hundreds or thousands of miles away but I'm right here holding your hand.. Comment, e-mail, share with someone who needs this reminder today and please know; you are loved. 

ps: I was reminded after a *very* long phone call (aka cry fest) with my mom yesterday: the job will never be done. It will never be over. There will be days that we feel like we're put back together, our pieces picked up, like we're doing GREAT; and then we'll be left feeling unloved all over again and we will HAVE to remind ourself of the Truths from our Creator. Thanks, Mom. For always loving me, counseling me, and sharing a heart with me.