One Week Old

Today is your one-week birthday.

I cannot believe it.

You've already changed so much. You've lost your "newborn" look and are looking like a baby.

A one-week old baby.

We are still learning about you - what you like, what you don't like, and your little personality that is already developing.

You like to eat every 2 hours, and you're eating 2 ounces every time.

You are very impatient once you wake up ready to eat. You turn your head and suck on my cheek and scream while I fix your bottle. I'm going to have a hickey at some point.

You don't like to burp. We all have the hardest time getting you to burp. This usually results in projectile spit up about 30 minutes later.

You hate to be naked. You cry when we change your diaper, you cry when we give you a bath, you cry when we change clothes. Once you're back in your clothes, you immediately stop crying.

You loved to be swaddled in the hospital, but changed your mind once you got home. You like to have your arms free when you're sleeping.

You like to sit in the Nap Nanny on the dining room table while we eat dinner. You're under the light, and you stretch and make great faces because you're so warm.

You don't like silence. We're having a hard time getting you to sleep in your room at night. I've spent a few nights on the couch holding you so we can both sleep. We might start leaving the radio on so you can hear some noise.

You love to be held. I can't blame you.

You get the hiccups about 5 times a day. They don't seem to bother you, but they always come right around bottle time, so we have to wait to feed you if they're before, and you spit up if they're after.

Charlotte doesn't bother you whatsoever. She barks, and you don't even flinch. You must be used to that sound from inside my belly. But when GiGi coughs, it makes you jump.

You're so tiny that even some newborn clothes don't fit. And you like to pull your feet up in your onesies, so it's even funnier looking.

You sleep best laying on my chest. Spoiled much?

You look a lot like me - round Charlie Brown face, looooooong fingers and toes, and our fingernails are the same. You actually look a lot like your granddaddy (he would have made you call him Bubba), but I look a lot like him.

The jury is still out on your hair. Its dark on the back, light on the top, and has a red tint all over. I know you'll probably lose most of it, so we'll see.

We are discovering a lot of your daddy in you. You have the "Parrish cowlick" over your right eye - you will hate that when you're older. You move all around while you sleep, especially with your arms. You raise them up and wave them around. If you're asleep on someone, your hands are in your face, which is what your daddy does when he sleeps on his tummy. When you stretch, you stretch all the way through your body stick straight, down to your tip-toes. And when you sneeze, you sneeze several times in a row.

Daddy thinks all these things are awesome. They make me smile because I think your daddy is awesome and love that little traits of his are popping up in you.

There are times that we just watch you. You are an amazing little thing, constantly reminding me of God's goodness and grace. How gracious is God that He would bless us with your tiny little life, and entrust us with your upbringing?

It leaves me speechless to know that you were made between God, me, and your daddy. You started out the size of a pea, and have grown into this beautiful human being that we get to feed, bathe, and love on every day. You are the perfect image of God's love for us, and I am reminded that as much as I love you, God loves us even more.

I can't wait to share this love with you as you grow older.

Right now, your GiGi is holding you, and you're beginning to stir for your next feeding. I'm going to give you your bottle and lots of kisses, because it's another day I won't ever get back with you.

I love you, my little Bug. You are undeniably the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Your Daddy

Let's talk about your daddy for a minute.

Actually, I could talk about your daddy all day, but I'll try to keep the gushing to a minimum.

There are not enough positive adjectives in the English language to describe your daddy and how he has been since you were born.

Amazing. Thoughtful. Kind. Caring. Loving. Sweet. Helpful. Giving. Reliable. Selfless. Awesome. Proud. Serving. Adoring.

And dare I say...Sexy?

Your daddy and I have always had a wonderful relationship, but seeing him with you brings my love for him to a whole new level. The boy I fell in love with years ago seems to have faded into this somewhat familiar man who accepts his new responsibility as a father willingly and openly.

There's a lot to be said about a man who is so excited to be a father. There are millions of men in the world who abandon their children at your age, or stay in their lives only to be a shell of a man who leaves all responsibility up to their mother.

Not your daddy. He is excited to raise you. He wants to change your poopy diapers. He wants to feed you. He wants to hold you and kiss you and love you.

He also desperately wants to help me. He was able to take the first week of your life off from work. One night, I noticed he had not come back to bed after getting up to feed you when you cried. I walked into the living room, and he was giving you a bottle and his pillow was on the couch. I said, "Babe, how long have you been out here?" He said, "A few hours. I wanted you to get some rest."

He always finds ways to make me swoon.

And last night, I was feeling awful. I had not been getting the rest I needed, and I came down with an awful migraine and some stomach issues. You were extremely fussy and I could not figure out what the problem was. You were not sleeping and we were both crying. I finally put you in bed with me (which I am NOT a fan of and it was a last resort), turned on the sound machine on my phone, and we drifted asleep together for a few minutes before your daddy came home.

When he finally got home, he took you from me, grabbed his pillow, and stayed on the couch all night with you so I could sleep.

When I woke up this morning, you were asleep on his chest and you were both snoring. I kissed you both and asked if I could take over. He gladly handed you to me and rolled over. He was exhausted. I would have taken a picture of just how exhausted he was, but he was in just his boxer shorts, and he would have killed me for publishing that for everyone to see.

You and I are extremely lucky to have this man in our lives. He wants nothing more than to provide for and protect us both. You are going to grow up and be his little princess, and he is going to show you off to the world. He is going to torture your first date when he shows up at our front door, and he is going to be at every dance recital and every basketball game he can attend. He is always going to be your first love, and I already pray every night that you'll find a man just like him to marry one day.

I know about this daddy thing. I had a wonderful daddy, who, not surprisingly, was just like your daddy.

Daddies and daughters have a special relationship. A bond that is completely different than ours. I love watching that bond begin to form.

While we were in the hospital, we were settling down after a long day of visitors coming in and out. He was holding you in the rocking chair and I was just watching. He kissed your head, and said to me, "You know, they told me my whole world would change, but I didn't understand until now. They were right. Everything has changed."

Yes, sweet husband, it has.

I've known this for 10 months. He didn't realize it until he was able to actually hold you.

And that is love. A new, refreshing, rejuvenating, sexy love.

You will understand this one day when your husband is holding your firstborn for the very first time. You'll see your heart away from your body like you've never seen before.

It is an awesome and overwhelming emotion that I will not soon forget.

God Gave Me You - Your Birth Story

Tuesday morning when I woke up, I knew it was your birthday. We had scheduled it.

I turned on some music on CMT while we got ready to go to the hospital.

Blake Shelton's version of "God Gave Me You" was playing.

I stood in the bedroom staring at the tv for a minute, and then forced myself to walk away.

I was already a little emotional.

I knew Tuesday, March 20, was going to be a special day.

I hugged your daddy right before we walked out the door and we looked around the house, knowing that when we came back, it wasn't going to be the same. You, who was still my belly at the time, were going to be in your car seat when we walked back through the door and we were going to be bringing you home. For good.

We arrived at the hospital right at 5am, and they immediately began strapping me into the bed with IVs, monitors, and fluids. Dr. Heaton came in and checked on me, and gave the go ahead to begin the Pitocin at 6am.

Contractions really got going not long after that.

All of your grandparents arrived, and then I got my epidural around 10am at 3 1/2 centimeters. I was scared of that epidural, but it quite awesome to feel contractions, but not hurt - and to have some relief from my lower back pain for the first time in 6 months.

Your daddy and grandparents left me alone to go get some lunch after the medicine kicked in. I was able to rest a little, watch my soap opera, and listen to your heartbeat on the monitor.

I knew it would be the last time I would hear your heartbeat like that.

All throughout the day, we progressed really quickly. Your GiGi predicted you would be here by 3pm. Around 2pm, Nurse Teri told your grandparents to leave the room and she began rolling in all the equipment.

It all became very real that you would be with us soon.

Nurse Teri told me to push on the next contraction. Your daddy took his place next to my head, holding on to the side rail of the bed. I pushed through the first contraction, then the next, and then the next.

We watched Peyton Manning's acceptance speech to the Denver Broncos in between contractions.

Dr. Hudson had not made it into the room yet. Nurse Teri said, "Will you press the nurse button?" When the intercom came on, she said, "Can you get stabilization and Dr. Hudson in here...NOW?" And then she told me not to push.

Not pushing is a very hard thing to do when you have a baby crowning.

Three more nurses and Dr. Hudson came in. Dr. Hudson quickly put on his gloves and he and Nurse Teri said some medical stuff back and forth. He sat down and said, "Are you ready?"

Was I ready?

Then he said, "Push until you can't push any more."

On that push, your head was out.

"One more push."

And then you were all out.

"It's a girl! 2:59 pm!"

And then the earth stopped.

You hadn't cried yet.

Dr. Hudson grabbed his suction and pulled some stuff out of your throat and there it was.

The first cry.

The most glorious sound in the whole world.

I burst into tears and Dr. Hudson cut the cord. They laid you on my chest and I saw you up close for the first time.

I had planned all these things I was going to say to you, but none of them came out. All I could do was stare and cry and praise the Lord silently.

You were here and you were perfect.

The nurses took you from me to run your tests and clean you up. Your daddy left me to go be with you and take pictures. They kept yelling things to me about you.

"6 pounds, 2 ounces!"

"20.5 inches long!"

"She keeps sticking her tongue out!"

"She's beautiful!"

I couldn't wait to get my hands back on you.

They wrapped you up tight and gave you to your daddy to bring back to me. I almost melted right off the bed when I saw him kiss your forehead for the first time.

He brought you to me and laid you right on my chest. Again, the tears were flowing. Your beautiful blue eyes were wide open and you were taking in every thing around you.

Once we were ready, your grandparents all came back in. Your GiGi later admitted she had almost made herself sick in the waiting room, wondering how we were doing in there. She was so relieved to hear that everything went so smoothly.

The iPhones were all whipped out and pictures were being snapped left and right. Each grandparent held you for a minute to introduce themselves to you. You were alert for a long time, and quickly snuck your way into everyone's heart in the room. We sang you Happy Birthday around your birthday cake, and then your Paw Paw, BeBe, and Dolly left.

GiGi stayed for a while to make sure that your daddy and I both ate. Soon, I was up out of bed and was able to change into my pajamas to get some rest. I wasn't in a lot of pain, but we were all starting to get tired. Then your GiGi left.

And it was just us three.

We held you and kissed you and loved on you, just like we'd wanted to do for so long. You were finally here - and you were ours.

You spent your nights in the nursery so your daddy and I could sleep before we took you home. You had lots of visitors, and nurses and doctors were in and out of our room to check on you and me. Everyone who came in raved about how beautiful you are. I already knew that, but it makes your mommy feel good when other people say it.

Thursday morning, Dr. Hudson cleared me to go home, and we waited on your final check ups before they cleared you. You were taken for hearing screenings and a few final blood sugar work ups. You scored As on all your tests, and they brought in your discharge papers. When I signed the last one, the nurse cut off your ankle bracelet and said, "OK, she's officially yours!"

Wow. Officially ours. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

We put you in your pretty little gown, which both your Uncle Wes and I wore home from the hospital when we were born. Then I tied on your bonnet, which I wore, and then used as a hanky on our wedding day. If your daddy ever gives a boy permission to marry you, you can use it on your wedding day.

But we won't think about that just yet.

We got you in the truck, waved goodbye to the nurses, and started out towards home.

On the way home, "God Gave Me You" came on the radio. Your tiny little fingers gripped mine, and I watched you in silence and wept tears of joy.

God gave me you for the ups and downs

God gave me you for the days of doubt

For when I think I've lost my way

There are no words here left to say, it's true

God gave me you.

The Last Letter Before Your Birthday

Well, Brooke Allen. Tomorrow is the day.

Tomorrow I will finally meet you.

I will count your fingers and toes about 100 times to make sure you have 10 of each.

I will hold you close to my chest because I know you will miss the sound of hearing my heart beat from the inside.

I will memorize every inch of your little face, learn all the curves, and store them in my little box in my mind so I can remember what you looked like before you start to age.

I will hear your first cries and begin to learn what makes you tick - how you like to be held, how you like to sleep, and how you react to the world around you.

I will see your daddy hold his little princess for the first time and watch him melt with the first look of your blue eyes into his.

I will know if you look more like a Parrish, a Bankston, a Thornton, or a Benson.

I will watch your grandparents all fall in love with you as they each hold you one by one.

I will take a million pictures with my phone and make sure Facebook and especially your Uncle Wesley and Aunt Dervon know just how beautiful you are.

And most importantly...I will know if your hair is red.

I can't wait to meet you, Brooke Allen. You are going to be so loved.

I can't imagine loving you any more than I already do. I have a feeling my heart may burst tomorrow when I am at last holding your tiny body.

This last day is bittersweet for me and I'm finding myself a little emotional about the end of the experience. Up until Friday at our doctor's appointment, I had woken up every day wondering if it would be the day that would be your birthday. Now, there is a finality to it all. After tomorrow, I will no longer be pregnant. I will be a mommy to an infant.

I will miss your kicks and tugs and pushes. I will miss trying to guess what body part is poking out of my belly. I will miss our silent conversations because I will no longer be able to assume you can hear what I'm thinking. I will miss being able to use being pregnant as an excuse to lounge around the house and eat multiple bowls of cereal.

At the current moment, I have been banned to the chair in the living room watching your daddy and your GiGi scurry about the house cleaning it to have it ready for visitors after your arrival. GiGi just had a fit about all the dog hair left around the house by your big sister, who is spending a few days at the doggie hotel. She is cleaning our house top to bottom. Oh, how we appreciate this. Your daddy is outside in the yard, giving it the first mow of spring. I did spend a good amount of time cleaning our bathroom this morning, until I was told I wasn't allowed to work anymore and I needed to rest and relax for our big day tomorrow.

So now I'm just sitting. Thinking. Praying.

Praying that all will go as planned tomorrow, beginning bright and early at 5am.

Praying that all of our family who will be traveling to see us tomorrow will be safe and sound.

Praying that labor and delivery will be relatively easy, and I will not have to undergo a c-section. Of course, if that is best for you and me, I will not hesitate to sign the papers.

Praying that you will have that first big gasp of air and that first big shock cry of the outside world.

Praying that you are healthy and well-developed and we do not have to understand the harsh reality of intensive care, where you and I would be separated until you are healthy enough for me to hold you.

Praying that we will be able to take you home on Thursday or Friday, place you in your crib, and begin the hard work of being your parents.

You are going to be ours tomorrow.

I cannot wait.

Just Wait

People like to say really stupid things to pregnant women.

They also like to give unrequested advice.

By far, the most popular, and my least favorite, is "just wait."

"You think you don't sleep now? Just wait until that baby is born."

"You think you're uncomfortable and fat now? Just wait until you're 39 weeks pregnant."

"You think you have a lot of laundry now? Just wait until you add baby clothes to the piles."

"You think there's not enough hours in the day now? Just wait until the baby monopolizes most of your time."

Just wait.

Just wait.

Just wait.

And always coupled with a negative statement.

Like I didn't know before I set out on this baby adventure that babies don't sleep more than two to three hours at a time.

Like I didn't know I was going to get fat. So fat that not even maternity clothes fit at the end.

Like I didn't know babies wear three or four outfits a day because they will all eventually end up with spit up or projectile poop on them.

Like I didn't know when the baby is awake, she needs to be constantly watched and attended.

Really. I'm not stupid.

I know, "just wait." I have no idea what it will actually be like until she gets here.

Until she's up for the fourth time at night and I've done everything I know to do and she's still screaming her head off.

Until I've changed the 15th poopy diaper and wiped the never ending spit up off my shoulder.

Just wait.

Just wait until you see that positive pregnancy test and your mind literally blows. I don't think I've ever experienced more raw emotion than that Tuesday morning. It was excitement, terror, happiness, and fear, all wrapped up in a little piece of plastic that just told you your world was about to change in every way possible.

Just wait until you bust out of the bathroom door and scream at the top of your lungs to your unsuspecting sleeping husband - "WE'RE PREGNANT!" - and see that totally unawake face break into the biggest smile and see that first daddy tear.

Just wait until you feel her move for the first time, even though you're driving on the interstate and you're husband is in mid sentence. All you can think about is how that rolling feeling is your BABY, and how gracious and awesome God is that He blesses us like this.

Just wait until your entire family is present for the ultrasound and it takes almost an hour for your modest tiny baby to show her stuff. Then the hot tears of happiness as your husband wraps his arms around you as you rejoice together that the beautiful life you've created together IS someone - your little girl. And she has a name - Brooke Allen.

Just wait until all you want in the middle of the night is to get up to pee, and then go raid the pantry. Eating for two is a marvelous excuse to eat chips at 12am.

Just wait until you're so hugely pregnant that all you can think about is getting this baby OUT, but you recognize at the same time how scared you are to bring a baby into your home for you to take care of - and how scared you are to feel empty inside after she's born.

Just wait until it finally hits your husband that there's a baby coming, and his daddy switch turns on. He'll frantically pack a suitcase, install car seats, put together nursery furniture, and talk to your belly every day telling her to come out because he's ready to meet her.

Just wait until you love someone with your whole being, and you've never even seen her face. You know that her little body is going to fill that missing place in your heart that you didn't even know was there until almost 40 weeks ago.

Just wait. It's more than you can ever imagine.

Not Yet (and Nursery Reveal)

Dear Brooke Allen,

Yet again, we thought you were coming the other day.

Thursday morning, I woke up with contractions.

And then I realized they were fairly regular.

So, I grabbed my phone and started up the app that times contractions.

7 1/2 minutes apart, lasting at least 1 1/2 minutes every contraction.

For an hour.

They were so regular, I figured out the sensation I would have right before one would start so I could get the phone ready.

We decided we'd better get things together just in case we needed to go to the hospital.

Your daddy hopped in the shower while I rocked my way through contractions in the bed.

And by rocked, I mean literally rocked. Not in an rock=awesome kinda way, but a rock=swaying back and forth because it was the best way to cope.

While I got in the shower, which was quite difficult having contractions every 7 1/2 minutes, your daddy packed the suitcase. I would yell "OK!" when I needed him to press the button on the phone to time the contraction, and then "OK!" when he needed to stop it.

I know, I know. We should have had the suitcase packed waaaaaaay beforehand, but we didn't.

I called the doctor after I took a shower. Since the contractions were so regular and we were going on two hours, they told us to come on in.

So I put on a little make up, double checked the suitcase (your daddy did pack it, you know), and grabbed a few necessary baby items and threw them in the diaper bag - onesies, nail files, sleepers. I just don't feel right about you staying in the hospital t-shirt the whole time we're there. I'm afraid you'll get cold.

Your daddy moved the car seat from my car to his truck and we threw everything in.

We knew if I actually was in labor, it would be a while before we would eat, so we went through the Burger King drive through on the way.

We finally got to the doctor's office, and they took us to a room. Your heart rate was good, my blood pressure was good, and contractions were still happening.

Then, Dr. Lassiter came in and checked my cervix.

NOTHING.

After almost four hours of what we thought was labor, my cervix was high and closed.

You were not coming at all on that Thursday.

We left the doctor's office stunned. We could not believe that all the pain, pressure, and strength I was feeling from these contractions were just Braxton Hicks.

When we got home, I cried and cried in your daddy's arms in the closet trying to change back into my pajamas.

I cried because I was still having contractions and my stomach was so sore from the constant tightening and releasing.

I cried because I knew these contractions meant nothing.

I cried that I was not going to meet my little girl that day.

I was so excited, thinking we were going to meet you on Thursday. I was finally going to hold you and kiss you and pray on you and tell you how long I've waited for you.

But I didn't get to do that on Thursday.

Friday morning, we had our regular appointment, which Dr. Lassiter told us to keep. We went to the office, still feeling a little defeated from the day before. We saw the other Dr. Hudson, who talked to us about what had happened on Thursday, and then he checked my cervix.

I had dilated 1/2 a centimeter.

Apparently, you were quite busy on Thursday.

I never thought I would be SO EXCITED about 1/2 a centimeter. It meant progress. It meant we only have to go 9 1/2 more centimeters before we will meet you. It meant that Thursday was not all in vain.

Your daddy and I went for a celebratory breakfast at The Pancake House, and then went to Talladega to the International Motorsports Hall of Fame to walk you out and progress some more.

So, here we are, on Monday. We're still waiting. The suitcase we had so frantically packed on Thursday is by the back door, and your diaper bag, wreath, Boppy, and car seat are all still in your daddy's truck.

We are READY for when you actually decide to be born.

Dear Brooke Allen

After our little pep talk yesterday, you got a little antsy.

Luckily, your daddy was home last night to help me get through it. He's doing a Spanish class for work yesterday and today, so he's not on regular shift.

You scared him real bad.

We met at Taco Bell for dinner, and then headed to Publix for grocery shopping.

We were in the frozen foods when I felt the first few contractions. By the time we got to the cheese aisle, I was having to stop walking and breathe through them.

I told your daddy, "Get the ground beef - 93/7 - I'm going to the bathroom."

Once we got all the food in the car, we went home and he unloaded everything for me. I honestly don't know how I would have done this without him.

I laid on the couch and opened the app on my phone that times contractions. They weren't very consistent - 3 minutes apart, then 10 minutes apart, then 6 minutes, then 18.

But they HURT. They were so intense that I couldn't talk. I could only breathe.

Your daddy came over and rubbed my back for about 20 minutes and watched the contraction timer like a hawk. Then he said, "Do we need to call the doctor?"

"No, they're not close enough yet."

"How close do they need to be?"

"The doctor says 5 minutes apart, lasting at least one minute for one hour."

"Well, do I need to put the car seat in?"

"It wouldn't hurt."

So off he goes.

"I think I'm going to go ahead and install the extra base in my truck, too."

"That sounds good, baby."

Off he goes again.

"Do we need this yet?" holding the car seat for when you're bigger, still in the box.

"No, not until she outgrows the pumpkin seat."

"Ok then I'm going to put this in the garage."

"Ok. That's great."

"I'm going to put the stroller in the garage, too. We won't need that for a while"

"Ok, baby."

Then, he disappears into the nursery and doesn't come out for some time.

I pick myself up off the couch - no easy feat, mind you, because every big movement causes another contraction - and mosey into the nursery.

I find your daddy folding your receiving blankets that I had washed over the weekend.

"Hey babe, what are you doing?"

"I don't think you're going to make it to this weekend. We need to get things ready."

So I showed him all the things I had done in the nursery on Sunday while he was at work. He put together the monitors that I couldn't figure out while I folded all your little clothes that I had washed. He had lots of questions about what certain things were and how they worked - the Boppy pillow, swaddling blankets, scratch mittens, Nap Nanny.

His deer in the headlights look that he'd been sporting for a few hours began to wane as I sat down in your rocker and explained these things to him.

"Are you scared, Ben?"

"A little."

"There's no need to be scared. I don't know what I'm doing either."

Last night is possibly one of my favorite nights with your daddy of all time.

He cannot wait to be your daddy. He loves you so much already.

Dear Brooke Allen

Your mommy is miserable.

In fact, your mommy thinks she may die before you are born.

You dropped on Sunday, which adds to a list of new problems I'm experiencing.

My hips hurt. My back aches in new places. I'm waddling like a penguin. My feet look like beach balls.

Your daddy thinks it's funny to poke my feet and my ankles because his fingerprint stays indented.

I don't find it so funny.

Dr. Heaton said on Friday that if you don't make any progress by my appointment this Friday, that we're going to set a date to evict you.

I know you're extremely comfortable in there. Who wouldn't be? It's dark and warm and you exert little to no effort for food. I think you know as soon as you are born, it's going to be cold and sterile and you won't be attached to your mommy anymore.

I don't want to force you out, but it's looking like that might be a possibility.

So come on, Brooke Allen.

Let's move it along.

People ask me every stinking day when you're coming.

My response is "whenever she's good and ready."

Your room is finished. You have a nice crib to rest in, a rocking chair to fuss in, and lots and lots of diapers. You've got a stroller, a pack n play, and tons of clean clothes as of Sunday. I worked hard to make everything perfect for you.

Your GiGi has her bag packed and she takes it with her to work every day, just in case you show up during the day time.

All your grandparents have email instructions on what to do when we call them to say you're on your way.

Your daddy now checks his phone constantly while he's at work to see if I've called to tell him to rush home. He's also given me his training officer's and the precinct's phone numbers in case I can't get in touch with him.

See Brooke Allen?

Everyone is ready to meet you.

But you're like you're mommy, and you'd just assume to keep everyone waiting so you can make your grand appearance at just the right time.

We're waiting. Come on when you're ready.

New Beginnings

New blog look!

I changed things up a little.

I get the most feedback when I write letters to Brooke Allen.

I have to admit, they're my favorite too.

So, no more Keeping Up With The Parrishes.

Now we are "Dear Brooke Allen: Letters to A Baby Girl."

I hope you enjoy it!

BTW, all the new images are from our maternity session with T2 Photography! They did AMAZING work and I can't wait to see all the rest!

Moving On

I'm having a hard time distinguishing hormones from reality lately.

Probably because there's an extremely large baby in my belly who moves every time I do.

Hormones are a funny thing.

I had a *very small* emotional moment on Saturday.

We have been lucky with this training semester for Ben to be off on Saturdays. I love being able to spend that time with him.

We were out on Saturday running some errands - dropped my car off for a much needed oil change, had breakfast with his mother, picked up dry cleaning, and spent our gift cards at Babies R Us for the last few things we needed for the nursery. Then we treated ourselves to a nice dinner out.

It hit me that afternoon as we were driving to pick up my car.

Ben was singing along with the radio, and I was just sitting. We didn't really have anything to talk about, and that suited me just fine.

But, if we're not talking, then I'm thinking...

And I realized that this particular Saturday could be the last Saturday that Ben and I will ever get to spend together without kids.

I know that we'll have date nights and trips without kids because there are such things as grandmothers and baby sitters, but from the moment Brooke Allen is born sometime in the next few weeks, we will ALWAYS have kids. We will be parents. Forever.

It will never be just me and him again.

There is always going to be a carseat in the back seat. Our conversations will be filled with stories about the baby. We will never be able to take off for the day without loads of stuff and making sure we have enough diapers in the diaper bag. When we go out to eat, it will be 2 and a high chair.

I know I am going to long for the days when it was just us two. We've had three and a half amazing years of marriage.

There was the fun of signing the lease on our first apartment, and spending a year trying to figure out how to live together in 700 square feet. The arguments about the clothes on the floor and how to share chores and who took up more bathroom counter space.

There was the excitement of buying our first house and finding all the right furniture to make it "ours." How he humored me when I picked out the paint colors. Our terrible attempts at yard work and the supposedly "easy" plants that we managed to kill.

There was the fun of finding our first pet together and trying to raise her to be a good dog. We failed at that for the most part, but she's still one of the greatest things that's ever happened to us.

There were car purchases. Saturday morning donut adventures. Late night Wal-Mart runs. New recipes that he managed to eat half of before telling me it "wasn't his favorite." Fun nights with friends. Trips. Weddings. Joy riding. Thinking the bills wouldn't get paid. Times that they didn't. Times that they still don't. Job transitions. Broken police dreams. Arguments with words regretted. Lots and lots of laughter.

And that one Tuesday morning when I burst out of the bathroom door with the positive pregnancy test.

I know our life is only changing for the better, but I will miss these times when it's just me and him.

Because me and him is all we've ever known.

We've learned so much as we walked through the fire of newlywed bliss together. We're coming out the other side stronger and much better people. Because we did it together.

I know when we've got screaming babies, an unkempt house, and a stack of bills, I'm going to wish for the time when things were easier.

But I don't think I'll trade it.