Involuntary Miracles

The biggest change from my first pregnancy to my second is this: I worry less. Maybe I worry less this pregnancy because I am more educated than last time. Maybe I worry less this pregnancy because I know the experience and what can be expected. Maybe I worry less because I already have enough to worry about! Maybe I worry less because I'm tired of taking care of my 1 year old and just more vulnerable to hand over the "control" I think I have in the first place. Nevertheless, I embrace the peace.

I realized this the other night, praying over my baby girl and my growing tummy, praying for my children and their health, growth, wellness, and mostly just free-flowing continual thanks to God for the ridiculous amount of blessings that pass by me unnoticed every minute of my life. This cell triggers this nerve, sending a message to the brain, making it so my child can now climb onto the couch all by herself. Voila! Another miracle. And I'm not sitting there thinking about "Thank you God for those little cells and nerves and brain"...I'm sitting there thinking "Oh my goodness, now my kid can climb on the couch!? Just another way she can damage herself and/or our furniture!" And yet these little physical and tangible miracles involuntarily occur whether I recognize them or not.

But it's not the "not recognizing them" that causes my lack of worry over this pregnancy...just the opposite. It is the very acute recognition that I absolutely have no control over it! I am the vessel - God is the weaver inside the womb. I can feel a gurgle and take a wild guess whether it is a new reflex of little baby fingers, or whether it was that burrito I ate last night...but God knows every tiny little follicle that He is forming on that tiny head that has yet to have ears set in their proper place yet. Unreal.

And while these involuntary miracles are occurring around and within me all day long, I imagine the only thing I can do is to focus my energy on being more tuned in to being thankful for them. So that, one day, maybe a new habit will be formed: an involuntary constant recognition of all the things I have to be thankful for. Then, and only then, can I imagine actually putting aside all of my illusions of control and fully laying down my worries once and for all.

As a mother, we wear "worry" as a badge of honor. "It's our burden. It's our blessing. It's what mothers do." we tell ourselves constantly (and anyone willing to sympathize with us). But, maybe we can change this. I'm finding gratitude is the weapon against many of my foes. When teamed with Christ's love and peace, then fear and worry had better start running - they don't stand a chance. I'm not saying I'll never worry. I can't imagine that day will come until I'm staring Jesus in the face. But until my involuntary gratitude kicks in, I'm trading my worry in for thankfulness...for gratitude...for appreciation of all the little things I never considered before. That is a miracle all in itself.

Thank you, God, for those tiny little cells building that tiny little baby in there. I'm so glad You're in charge.

Big Girls Don't Cry (They Buy Bigger Pants)

What is the statute of limitations on wishing everyone a Happy New Year? Well, I'll admit I haven't blogged in a while - I was on somewhat of a "headache hiatus". This pregnancy struck me with a three-week-plus headache that simply did not allow my brain to function at a capacity I felt willing to subject you to via blogging. Things seem to be looking up, however, as we enter into the second trimester, ready to embrace the promises of "less aches, more energy" that all the books and websites suggest for the next few months.

Another thing I am fully embracing: big girl pants. I am exclusively in maternity outfits now, or at least greatly-modified-regular-wear...and loving it. There are really several advantages to wearing maternity pants, even apart from the comfort. You don't have to worry about "muffin top". You don't have to worry about accidentally leaving your fly down. You don't have to wish you could change into pajama pants all day since that lovely elasti-band is basically just as comfortable anyway. Yup, I'm all for it. I wish normal pants could take a page out of the maternity fashion book and incorporate a spanx-like-smoothing top to all the pants I already own. Am I crazy here? Who's with me?

The other funny thing that I'm noticing "this time around" is people's lack of surprise when it comes to me and my ever-growing-abdomen. That is, when I was pregnant with Matilda I constantly and immediately got the "Oh wow, you are huge" looks, glances, questions, comments, etc. With this one...well, that is just not news. In fact, the most common comment I get these days are "Oh, look at you popped out already - that's right, you do get huge don't you?" or "You got your belly already! You just pop right out, don't you?" It's humorous to say the least. I walk by and people glance at my belly and then nod with a reaffirming "Ah yes, I remember her" with a few "I guess she is pregnant again" looks along the way. I haven't quite figured out the right response other than "Yup, I'm just glad I really am pregnant, otherwise this would be awkward." (Facetious, I know.)

Here we go, second trimester. The belly is out. The pants are on. The countdown continues.

A Very Merry Porky Christmas

tra·di·tion

noun \trə-ˈdi-shən\

Definition of TRADITION

2

: the handing down of information, beliefs, and customs by word of mouth or by example from one generation to another without written instruction

I'm big on tradition. You don't grow up on a farm that's been in your family for over 100 years and not learn a little something about heritage. But my appreciation for tradition is greatly attributed to my mother. She did not grow up on the farm, so I suppose her East Coast, Bostonian heritage is what helped shape her view of valuing the intangibles in life.

We had lots of traditions growing up, many of which I hope to carry on into the Pardy family. And some traditions morph with the times and convenience of our culture today. For instance, I believe it would be greatly frowned upon today if Josh and I just went out hunting for the perfect Christmas tree and then just chopped it down wherever we found it - like my dad and I used to do in the middle of Kansas!

I remember trudging through the ditches of snow, inevitably choosing the one tree that would most certainly not fit into our living room. Nevertheless, my daddy would chop that tree down and we would end up chopping and chopping until it was at least able to fit through the doorway. One year in particular I remember having to put the tree in our foyer, as it was simply too tall for anywhere else in the house (a-la-"Christmas Vacation"-Chevy-Chase-style). Grand.

And other traditions have been customized to fit my liking. For example, my family always made "Porkies" on special occasions. That's right, Porkies. The recipe is top secret, so don't bother asking, but I can tell you that they are a sweet meat mixture molded into giant meat balls and then baked. (Or, as my brother so politely would refer to them growing up "They look like a tray of broiled gophers, belly up".)

Anyhow, they are delicious, and we always looked forward to going to my Grammy's to partake of the Porkies. Now, in the Pardy home, we have adopted the Porky as the official Christmas meat. So, we will once again be having a very Merry Porky Christmas.

And yet, some traditions are just perfect they way they are. Watching the George C. Scott version of "A Christmas Carol" together as a family. Opening Christmas jammies on Christmas Eve. Listening to the Nativity Story and saying what we are thankful for. Baking, baking, and more baking followed by eating, eating, and more eating! The list goes on.

I love tradition because it helps give me a sense of belonging. "I know what this family is about"..."this is what we do"..."you are part of something special", year after year after year. It isn't about having a "right way" of doing things, not at all. It's about appreciating the people and places and the times that have helped established you exactly where you are today. When I hang an ornament on the Christmas tree that was Matilda's great-grandmother's, it amazes me to think about the journey that little ornament has taken - how my Grandmother celebrated Christmas when she was a little girl, and how that history still trickles down and shapes me even today.

It's easy to get lost in the hustle and bustle, the commercialism and Santa Clausism of Christmas. But, when I unwrap the pieces of the Nativity Scene and remember back how that was my very favorite tradition as a little girl, setting up the Nativity in our living room, I instantly am taken back to a nostalgic time where Christmas was filled with awe.

I hope that I can instill in Matilda an appreciation for the little things that our family does year after year, just as my mother did for me. I hope she will take pride in taking them on and making them her own. Until then, I'm so privileged to get to be the mommy that can hand down little pieces of our family history...one porky at a time. :)

Merry Christmas everyone!

Awkward

Welp, I've set a new personal best. At only 9 weeks pregnant a stranger has asked me when I am due! I was totally taken off guard, honestly. I thought I was just slightly easing into the "Has she eaten too many Doritos today?" phase, and apparently I have skipped straight ahead to the fully "There goes another pregnant lady" status. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Hello elastic waistband.

Still, I've been wearing my regular clothes fine (albeit, the clock is ticking) and I wasn't even having a "fat day" as we all do now and again. In fact, I was even wearing a scarf that hung down in front, so it wasn't even like my tummy was just sticking out there for the world to question. Anyway - it was strange.

We were in the American Girl store at the Grove in LA and I was carrying Matilda around. This nice lady and her teenage daughter noticed Matilda and mentioned how cute she was. Naturally, I turned toward them and smiled and said thank you. Then, the mother goes "How OLD is she?" in a very serious tone. And I was like "Thirteen months," expecting her to say something like "aw, how sweet" or some sort. Instead, she glares at me with huge eyes and says "And HOW far along are YOU?"

Obviously she was more interested in doing the math (of how far apart the kids would be) than actually wondering how I was.

I stammered out a "9 weeks" after I got over the initial shock of someone asking. Don't get me wrong - I wasn't offended - I mean, thank goodness I actually AM pregnant! (Cause I have totally been there, not pregnant, and been asked before as well - obviously that is...well...worse.) But, I thought I had at least a few more weeks in me before the questions from strangers started pouring in.

Nope.

With Matilda I was only about 12 weeks when the first person asked. It was a boy behind the concessions counter at the movie theater. He just stared at my waist and abruptly asked, "Are you pregnant?" and I very firmly answered "Yes - and you are lucky I am! Never ever ask a woman that!" I hope he learned his lesson - one he would be wise to learn while still in his youth.

So - the doors have been opened. My apparent belly is now up for public speculation.

I embrace the awkwardness. Bring it on, strangers. Let the games begin.