Tag Archive for: baby

Of Midwives, Doctors, Babies and Such

I’m trying not to make this blog about me and baby. There are plenty of those out there and women have been birthing since the dawn of creation. The fact that I’m pregnant is new to me, but run of the mill for everyone else. But, from time to time, I may drop a baby nugget or two. (Is that gross to say?)

Here we are sliding past week 15 and I’m finally starting to feel the pinch if I button up my jeans each day. The key word being “if” I choose jeans instead of opting for my cozy “house pants”.


Oranges & Bananas
At any rate, the baby is the size of a large orange and is already taking my breath away during Crossfit, climbing stairs or scaling fences to retrieve my naughty cat.

The baby is also causing me to rethink my 32 oz blender bottle full of water before bed (I peed 6 times last night), the necessity of makeup or matching my clothes.



And being pregnant has spurred me to read, research and question things I truly never cared about before. How do I want to give birth? On all fours? At home? In a tub? In a hospital bed? Knocked out, blindfolded and with ear plugs?


Cocaine Medicine
I like the idea of a midwife-but I like the idea of a capable doctor, too. Advances in modern medicine have saved countless lives-I won’t deny that. However, I don’t buy all of “modern medicine” hook, line and sinker.


After all, a lobotomy was considered a helpful procedure on mentally ill patients less than 50 years ago.

That looks fun.


Vintage Mother
If you are a mommy or daddy, I would love to hear your experience-if you’d like to share. Tell me what went right, what went wrong, and what would you wish you knew then that you know now?

PS-Just try not to scare the crap out of me. Thank you and goodnight. But, first I have to pee.


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A Revelation

I’ve never been one to want to smell a baby’s head, cuddle it while it’s crying or envision myself as a mom. I don’t get gooey over anything baby related other than tiny shoes. Seriously-tiny shoes are cute.

I know that the mothering side to me is there-my heart is not completely black. And I’ll admit to being a little jealous of women that had these motherly attributes that were seemingly and utterly “all that is female”. But for some reason, whether I was scared of admitting it or worried it may never happen, I wouldn’t allow myself to feel this way about a child. I love children, and I love them more when you’re taking care of their poopy diaper.


Mother Talk

I was completely ok with life being only Biceps and I (and maybe a cat or two). Or so I thought. And then I hit 35 and the thought of having a little stubborn mini-Biceps running around shooting at squirrels with a stick, throwing rocks into ponds and generally being a boy overwhelmed me. Or maybe even a little mini-Rebekah with sassy pigtails organizing her stuffed animals.

But nothing happened. For awhile. Like a long while. Women all around me seemed to get pregnant with ease. I was happy for them, but there was that twinge. It’s like that feeling after a break-up when all you see are happy couples and you’re sitting alone in the corner with your single served ice cream glaring at them like a freak.

I’ve been that freak on more than one occasion. And here I was again. Well-meaning women would ask why we didn’t have children or why I didn’t like kids. My heart was ripped open one day, and I wrote this–A Letter from a Childless Wife.

It was cathartic but also extremely revealing to write something so raw for the world to read, to pass on to others or to judge me by. But, I did it with the hope that even if we couldn’t conceive, others might know the pain I, or any other childless wife, might feel each time their “motherly duties” were questioned.

And then, this happened.



I am blessed beyond words to share this revelation with all of you. I am honored that God chose this time for us to conceive. And, I covet your prayers as we move forward to our due date of April 22nd.

Biceps and I are finally going to be parents. Amen and amen.

(If you are in the midst of or have been through this same story, I would love to lift you up as you did for me when I wrote my letter. Privately email me or comment below.) 

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A letter from a childless wife.

We weren’t waiting to have children because of an insatiable desire to pursue our careers or because we don’t like kids–as we’ve been accused of. I’ve heard the conversations behind our backs (and sometimes to our faces) surmising that we must be selfish and too rigid. I’ve heard the philosophy that we should have children in order to become “better people”.

I’ve also been given the insightful information that childbearing is not only what makes me a “real woman”, but more importantly, that it’s my Godly duty. And, my favorite is the “concerned” person who warned me that having children after 35 greatly increases the chances of the child being mentally or physically handicapped. As if this would be a horrible consequence to us waiting.

The simple fact is–we wanted to wait until we couldn’t wait any more. This was how we approached our marriage. And since this would be another life long decision–not just something cute to hold for a moment–we waited. We thought we might be ready by our fourth or fifth year into marriage. But soon, our sixth, seventh and then tenth anniversary passed us by and we were still childless. And we were fine with it.

However, about the eleventh year, I observed that we started noticing kids. It began in small ways. One of us would comment on how tiny baby shoes were-something that never mattered before. Or, my husband would point out the cute fuzzy hair on our nephew. The emotions began to creep in and the desire was planted.

We wanted and we were ready to have our family.

But, along with our desire came our hesitation. We loved our spontaneous weekend get-aways without worrying about a sitter. We loved biking through the city with no real plan or a diaper bag. As a compromise to a specific plan, we went without charting or taking temperatures, and decided to try–without trying. Every month that rolled around was a game of roulette. And we lost every time.

I took solace as I watched frazzled mothers yelling at their children at church, in the mall, and at the gas station. I skipped on by, coffee in hand, with no spit-up on my shirt and no poop smell in my car. The war stories from parents were abundant and gladly told over and over. They wore them on their sleeves like badges of honor. The same parents–chastising me for being childless–were the ones with marriages in a state of arrested development, the ones where the children were controlling everything and with absolute, total chaos in their lives.

Even so, I wanted a baby with my husband. I wanted to see a boy that looked like him, that acted like him, that admired his father. I wanted a little girl that would paint her nails, that would bake cookies with me, that would become my best friend–like I am with my mother.

And when this realization hit that I sincerely wanted a baby, the scarring in my life began. The awkward questions that I used to let roll off my back, no longer rolled. They stuck. And they hurt.

“Well, what’s wrong? Don’t you want to have kids?”. Without knowing what is wrong–if there is anything really wrong–my answer is simply, “God hasn’t blessed us with a baby–yet.”

I watch as they shift their child from one hip to the other, looking me over, trying to figure out if it’s my lack of faith, lack of body fat or something somewhere in between that’s causing me to not become pregnant, and I beg my tears to recede to their proper holding cell. Because, after all–I’m broken and I need to be fixed. By them.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have waited so long,” they say. This stings more than all the others, because it’s the one that percolates in the back of my mind. “You can always adopt,” is their next statement.

I thank them for their helpful comments and walk away, knowing I’m going home to a house that’s empty and void of onesies, toys and stuffed animals. My house is clean and everything is just where I left it. And, if I want to have a cup of coffee on the back porch while it’s raining, I can. But the rain only amplifies what I already know.

I feel broken and the questions continue to pound away at my resolve to be positive and to be at peace. Those questions mutilate me. My tears are at the ready, my emotions are at the breaking point. And this is where I am today.

I am writing this to all women that have felt this pain. And for the ones that seem to get pregnant “if their husband’s just look at them”, please, understand why I can only offer you my half smile. I am so thrilled for you, truthfully. But, it’s so hard to muster up joy for your new season when the joy seems to be gone in my season–and when I’m left in this holding pattern.

I know that God has a plan for me–I am not distraught–I have hope. I am just wounded and hurting. The questions, the helpful suggestions and opinions you have of me bruise me more than you know.

A Childless Wife

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A Baby’s World

Yes, Biceps and I have been married 11+ years. Yes, we live in midwest Oklahoma. No, we don’t have five ankle biters-yet.

And, to oppose the rumors swirling around these hard to deny facts of sans babydom-yes, I do like a clean house and fresh clothes without spit-up, poop or Lord-knows-what on them. And, I like to be on time, all the time.


But, that in no way, shape or form would ever overrun the decision to have a baby, or two. Or three. I’m ready for the mess. I will embrace the chaos and try to remain sane.


When this little guy comes to visit for a few hours and we both go through the emotions of elation, hunger, gas and then finally, a total breakdown, I’ve realized-this too shall pass.

(No pun intended on the gas portion of the sentence. Ok, maybe a little pun intended.)


I’ve seen my friend’s kids grow up all too quickly–to the point that I don’t recognize them immediately. “When did she start wearing a bra?”
“Who’s that boy smooching on her-I’ll kill him!”
“Is it really legal for her to be driving?”
“What’s with the dang Justin Bieber hairdo? I can’t see his beautiful, blue eyes.”
(All real thoughts from my weirdo brain.)


This little nephew of mine came into this world as a tiny newborn protected behind a shield of glass, but has transitioned into a smiling, crawling, fuzzy headed little dude that loves to sit in front of a fan or enjoy his Uncle Bicep’s crazy, fast pony rides.
(In my opinion they are crazy, fast pony rides. This does not reflect the opinions of others-namely, Biceps.)


Before too long, this little guy will hopefully be calling me Aunt Tabetta, throwing temper tantrums about taking naps and getting potty trained.


And hopefully, I can be there for most of those moments. And maybe throw one of my own little guys into the mix, just to keep things lively during our weekly Family nights. Or maybe two. Or three.

Who knows? I do live in Oklahoma-the land of encouraged repeated reproductivity. I’d better get busy.
No pun intended.

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