a letter to jude

Drooly McDroolerson. Most of your shirts get soaked by noon.

Checking out the fountain at Kernel Kustards with Daddy

Sweet Judeabug,

Today, my son, you are ten whole entire months old, and you're getting cuter and cuter by the day. I'm pretty sure that by the time you're a year old you'll be so cute that Daddy and I won't even be able to stand it. We're watching you change before our eyes and grow in independence and personality. Do you know what you did just this morning? Probably not - you're gonna be like, nine years old when you read this and will have no idea what I'm talking about.

So let me tell you. I needed to put some socks on your pudgy little feet before we left the house, so I sat down on the floor, a few feet away from you. I said, "Come here, bug," and you came a-crawling on over. You pulled up into my lap, turned yourself around, and then sat right smack in my lap and let me put your socks on your feet. I know, I know...it doesn't SEEM like a big deal (hopefully you've got the socks thing down by the time you're reading this), but it is. Right there...before my eyes...you grew up.



So let's talk about some of my favorite memories of the past month, okay? Well first of all, you started saying, "deh deh," this month, which thrilled your Daddy's heart. And don't think I haven't noticed that you say, "Mmmmaaa," with a distinct whine in your voice, whereas you whisper, "deh deh," with a quiet reverence. Hmph.


One of my other favorite memories was going to a Pool Party with you in late August. You looked pretty sweet in your board shorts and swim diaper, and baby - you LOVED the water. You loved splashing and kicking (and splashing...and splashing...and splashing some more) and would've done it all day had I let you. You even did great when you got splashed! You're quite the water bug, and if you continue to be for years to come, I think we'll have some swim meets in our future.



MommyDaddy love watching you push your lion around right now, too. You can really motor with that thing, and sometimes you'll be all the way down the hall before we realize you took off! Sometimes you take one hand and put it on the back of the lion, and then the other and put it on the front, and you kind of side step your way through the house. It's super cute to watch you do that and try to get your lion into tight spaces. It looks like you're parallel parking, and you take it very seriously. Daddy says all that side stepping is good practice for being a short stop...but we'll see what you end up loving.



You're getting better and better at getting to where you want to go, and there's not much that you're not able to reach. You've certainly figured out how to open the drawer on the end table and reach straight for our outlets and cords. You have a special fondness for "helping" me sew by pushing on the foot pedal of my sewing machine.


You're also ever-so-close to popping through two of your top teeth. I can actually see them pushing on the gums, so I'm excited that they're going to come through any day now. Goodness - you'll look so old when you get them! I've really just been hit this month with how quickly you're growing. It's wonderful to see you conquering milestones like they're nothin', and I love watching you grow into the little man God's created for you to be, but sometimes I like to just hold you tightly, take a deep whiff of your baby smelling hair, and kiss those sweet baby cheeks until you insist on being released. I love to see your chubby baby hands holding on tightly to my finger, because I know that one day that hand will be bigger than mine, and that feeling is a little bittersweet.



Happy ten month birthday, Jude. Daddy and I are proud of you, and we can't wait to see what God does in you, through you, around you, and in spite of you. We love you, sweet boy.

i never wanted to be a minister's wife

Shawn and I both attended and graduated from a small Christian college in Kentucky. So many things about the world of Christian college are absurd, not the least of which is that many young women go to these colleges to get their "MRS" degree.

See? There's even a clever little name for the absurdities.

But me? I was different. I was going to get my Counseling/Psychology degree, and plow straight through to my Master's in counseling. Then I'd work in a private counseling firm for a few years. In my plan, I'd meet the love of my life in my late 20s...we'd date for a bit, get married, and then have kids. Once we had children (when I was in my very late 20s or early 30s), I'd start a private practice out of my finished basement (that was a part of my very expensive home) - a la Jason Seaver.

This was my plan, and I pursued it with tenacity and stubbornness. This plan very purposefully excluded getting my "mrs." degree and most especially excluded marriage to a minister. See, most of the guys at my small, Christian college were planning on going into ministry and to me, marriage to a minister meant this:

...having to keep my hair up in a bun, learning to play the piano, being required to be at the church every time the doors were opened, and having to learn to bake at least thirty different kinds of casseroles.

In college, my hair wasn't long enough to put in a bun, I played guitar (but only in the solitude of my room or during section devos), and I struggled to boil water correctly. Minister's wife-ery? Not for me.

Even worse was the thought of youth minister's wife-ery. Most of the guys I knew who were majoring in youth ministry were basically big kids who wanted a job that meant they never had to grow up. They were the guys always breaking curfew, trying to sneak beer into their dorm room, and throwing water balloons from the top of the dorm. The thought of having to answer to elders or submitting to church leadership was nary a thought in their little self-obsessed brains. To them, youth ministry meant lots of pizza, a cool haircut, and finding a vague coorelation between the game "knock-out" and Jesus.

Just listening to those guys complain about the no earrings for guys and hair length rules got under my skin...much less marry and do ministry with any of 'em.

I can count on one hand the times that I saw Shawn my sophomore year of college (his freshman year). He was working in the cafeteria one Saturday morning. My thoughts? "Wow. That's a lot of hair underneath that bandanna." We had a class together second semester. My thoughts? "Hey, that guy knows Audra." During RA training week, we had to do these ridiculous team building exercises. One of them included getting several people to jump through a long jump rope at the same time. My thoughts? "No way is that guy fitting under that jump rope. He's like eight feet tall."

So you can see that Shawn didn't make too much of an impression on me early on. And truth be told, I didn't make too much of an impression on him, either. I can say with confidence that Shawn actually noticed me even less than I noticed him that year.

So how did we get from barely noticing one another to this?

Well, Jude needs to put down for a nap, and I have a million things to do around the house today, so the answer to that question will just have to wait for another post.

Until then, please enjoy this video of Jude wearing a band-aid for the first time:

accountability

I let it out there, I admitted that I wasn't happy with how I looked and that I was perfectly capable of doing something about it. I COULD just let it slide, not really post any other thoughts about it, and pretend like it never happened - but I'm determined, and so I know I need to follow up. Maybe even on a weekly basis.

So good news, medium news, and bad news. Let's get the bad news over with. I haven't walked or run this week. At all. I did some crunches one day while Jude was playing (which he thought were hilarious), and haven't exercised one iota beyond that. The first morning, I genuinely didn't hear the alarm go off and slept right through it. The morning after that, I was having a super stressful week and decided I needed to spend time with God. The mornings after...well...I just didn't want to get out of bed.

The medium news is that I've done better about what foods I'm putting into my body. Not perfect - but better. I'm also very seriously considering signing up for the Mistletoe 5K. It was the last race I ran before we found out we were pregnant with Jude, and it's super fun. People wear jingle bells on their shoelaces, run with reindeer antlers, and even dress up as Saint Nick himself. Anyone wanna run it with me? (And by "run it with me," I mean...most likely run way ahead of me).

I'm thinking that not embarrassing myself at a race will help with some of that "I don't want to get out of my cozy bed, put my shoes on, and run," feeling.

Okay, and the good news? I lost two pounds. Yes, my friends. Two down. Just twenty-eight to go.

So moving on a little bit - Shawn and I have been so blessed to have gotten some time alone together lately. My parents were down a couple of weekends ago and one night, Shawn and I put Jude down, and then headed out on a date. Jude slept just fine that night and didn't make a peep, and it was so nice to see there really IS life after 9:00pm. I suppose I forgot that stores were open, restaurants were open, and people were still OUT at that ridiculous time of night. We got some pizza and ice cream and just talked. And only a very small bit about Jude. We talked and held hands and cuddled and kissed and laughed and ate and just remembered why we fell in love with one another.

A few weeks ago, Shawn asked if I'd be interested in going to a Lincoln Brewster concert with him. My response was, "Um...I don't know. It'd mean someone else has to put Jude down for the night, and we've never had anyone do that, so I'm not sure." Shawn took that as, "Sure! Sounds great!" and got us both tickets. I wasn't thrilled at first, but Shawn's really good at kind of forcing me to do things to stretch myself, and ultimately - to take care of myself. So we enlisted the help of Terri Christie, her daughter Kayla (one of my amazing small group girls), and son Brandon. I left very detailed instructions and stayed entirely too long at the house, trying to make sure I remembered to tell them everything, but they were amazing and Jude did just fine. They said Jude didn't cry one tear and only got a little fussy when they were putting on his pjs. Even if they WERE lying just to make me feel better...we really appreciate that we were able to trust them with our Judeabug.

Shawn and I (and several friends) left at 4:00 to drive to Charlotte, and got back around midnight. Do you know how much time we had together? Eight hours. Eight hours! Do you know the last time we had that much baby-free time? I don't think we've had that much time together since Jude's been born. It was wonderful. I enjoyed the concert, but truthfully - I enjoyed that Shawn was standing right next to me and that I felt like his bride again...instead of just his partner.

Are you ready for some more Jude cuteness? We have apparently raised a very environmentally considerate little boy, because he's very concerned with making sure all of our doors are shut. I can just hear him saying, "Hey! We're not air conditioning the outside, are we?" So please enjoy Jude's fascination with our bathroom door. AND...know that ridiculous noises I'm making are because we were playing a game. He'd hide behind the door, and then peek out...I'd make the ridiculous noise you hear, he'd laugh...then hide again. You do it, too - you just don't put your ridiculousness on display for the world the see. Me, on the other hand? I have no shame.

...and stuff

I had intended to post a couple of the one million videos I have of Jude doing super adorable stuff, but alas, I'm being foiled by Blogger once again. Instead, allow me to share a couple of random pictures of Jude just being super adorable.

Also, I wanted to let you (and by "you," I really mean my Mom) know that I'll be on a radio show this Saturday from 2:00-3:00! The episode is called Labor Day, and Rhonda (my amazing doula) and I will be talking about labors of love. It's called The Encouragement Cafe. Here's the link if you want to find out how to tune in: Encouragement Cafe.

I think Jude has confused himself with Cole lately. He loves to take his transitional sippy cup, put it in his mouth, and crawl around the house.

...crazy kid.

Jude discovered grass at our Annual Pinedale in the Park. He appears to especially love eating it...

Oh wait! One of the videos worked! This is pants-less Jude vs. the red crate. Who won? You be the judge.

micah 6:5

One year ago today, I wrote this post...

Doctor, Doctor, Gimmie the News

Shawn and I had another eventful night on Saturday night. I'm not even sure where it started, it's a little bit of a blur right now. During the day on Saturday, I did my best to "take it easy," as I've been told. I did some laundry, did the dishes, and just slowly worked on getting some things done around the house. I felt a couple of small contractions early in the day, so I cancelled the coffee date I had and put my feet up until I couldn't feel anymore. Around 9:00 or so, I started to feel more contractions, so I parked myself on the couch for the evening and started timing them. I think they were coming about every 20 minutes or so, but I was really having a difficult time knowing what would be considered a contraction. I was starting to be concerned, but didn't want to stress myself into having even MORE contractions, so we did our best to stay calm.We decided we'd make it an early night and went to bed around 10:45, hoping that some sleep and further rest might stop them.

I woke up to contractions a few times during the night, but again, tried not to worry. Around...I guess 2:00 or 2:30, I could tell they were coming more frequently. I fell back asleep, and around 2:45, I woke up again and started timing them. From my best (and very sleepy) guess, they were coming at about every 10 minutes...or 6 per hour...the threshold for when our Doctor told us to head into the hospital. I wanted to stall as long as possible and give Shawn a chance to rest (and maybe give the contractions a chance to miraculously stop), so I tried everything I could think of to stop or slow them - deep breathing, emptying my bladder, drinking some water, etc. I realized around 3:15 or 3:30 that they were only getting stronger, so I woke Shawn up and told him that I thought we probably needed to head in. Rather than being grumpy or upset (like I probably would've been!) Shawn kind of paused for a moment, sleepily said, "okay," and gave me a reassuring sleepy smile. So off we went.

We got to the hospital around 3:45-ish. When we checked in, we saw Rhonda Smith, who is the mother of one of our high school boys (who is very dear to Shawn's heart) who was also on Worth the Wait for two years. I can't tell you how comforting it was to see a familiar face. She checked us in, and told the nurse to take good care of us. :) Throughout the night, she popped in to make sure we were okay, got Shawn coffee, asked me if I wanted ice chips, and just gave us a chance to get our minds off of what was going on. I was hooked up to the monitors and had my blood pressure, temperature, etc. taken (all normal). Baby Maurer is NOT a fan of the monitors, by the way! The nurse would no sooner get his heartbeat when he'd move to the other side, and she'd have to pick it up again. Then he'd move back, and she'd have to move the monitor again. They played this game several times before he finally accepted his fate and stayed somewhat still. :) Once they strapped the contractions monitor on, he proceeded to directly kick at it a few times every hour...just to make sure we remembered that he didn't like it, I guess. :)

The monitor was showing that my contractions were about 2-3 minutes apart. They checked my cervix, took a urine sample, and gave me a shot of Tributelene. The shot once again made me shaky, but it lessened the contractions. While they continued to monitor, Shawn read a magazine (we were smart this time and brought things for us both to read), and I dozed on and off. Awhile later, the contractions came back. They weren't showing up as very strong on the monitor, but they were more painful than they'd been. The nurse moved the monitor a couple of times to see if they could get a better read, but as strongly as I felt them, they never did show up quite as strong on the monitor. Regardless, it meant that the contractions were coming back. So...I got another shot of Tributelene and an IV (I guess in case the latest contractions were because of being dehydrated). We then waited awhile longer while they monitored us and waited for the Doctor to see me. This time, the shot made me super shaky, but it seemed to be working. Then we had to wait for the doctor...and wait...and wait...and wait...or at least that's what it seemed like to us. Hence the blog title, because all that waiting made me sing out of sheer boredom. :)

She did eventually come, checked my cervix (thinning slightly, but not enough to concern her), and discharged us. So we waited awhile longer for a nurse to come around and take the IV out/take off the monitors. I think we left the hospital around 10:00am-ish. Apparently having contractions makes me super hungry, so we again grabbed some breakfast (Bojangles, in case you're wondering) and headed home. Poor Shawn had to grab a shower and head to church, but I was able to head straight to bed and sleep until the afternoon.

So a quick word about my husband. He is the most amazing man ever. He's taken AMAZE-ing care of me and has been nothing short of selfless and giving. I felt awful, really terrible, about dragging us to the hospital on a Saturday night (he gets up super early on Sundays and works from 6am to late), and he's never made me feel guilty or badly. He has been so calm and reassuring for me, even though I'm sure he's worried inside, and he's been a safe place for me to cry and vent my fears. Since we've been home, Shawn's been taking care of everything so that I can be on semi-bed rest. He's seriously done everything...from the dishes, to taking the dog out, to getting stuff ready for the baby, to fixing the carpet threshold (which is what he's working on right now). He makes sure I have enough water, have enough rest, have enough food, am comfortable, and am safe. He prays over me and our baby when I start to feel contractions and is constantly reminding me that God knows things we don't and has everything under control. Even beyond that, when it's the middle of the night and I'm on a hospital bed, looking rough and scared, he tells me that he thinks I'm beautiful and am doing an amazing job of taking care of our baby. And even though I know he doesn't understand why that makes me cry like crazy, he holds me while I do so. I know that's a little more personal than I usually write in these blogs, but I just wanted those of you who are Shawn's family to know that you've raised an amazing man...one whom I pray that our son looks and acts like. And to my family, I want you guys to know that I'm very well taken care of.

So...that's what we've been through lately. I had a handful of contractions on Sunday night, but they slowed with rest and eventually stopped with sleep. I'm trying to use the holiday weekend to force myself to keep my feet up as much as possible. Our next appointment is Thursday at 11:30. I'm eager to be seen again, to make sure that everything is okay, and that nothing is dilated or effaced. I'm also a little worried that I'll officially be put on bed rest, as I'm not sure what that would mean for my job.Please continue praying for us as you think of us. Please pray specifically that Baby Maurer would be in there as long as his healthy for him and will be born in God's perfect timing. Pray that God would be growing and developing him so that he'll have as little time as possible (or maybe no time at all!) in the NICU. Thank you so much for loving and supporting our family.

My people, remember what Balak king of Moab counseled and what Balaam son of Beor answered.Remember your journey from Shittim to Gilgal,that you may know the righteous acts of the LORD."

weighty matters

See this girl? The was pre-Jude Jen...taken about five months before I found out I was pregnant with Jude. True - her life was much less full without a sweet Judeabug, but she could run for ten miles and could actually get the jeans in her closet to zip.



Would you like to see a picture of what I look like now? Oh wait - that's right - there ARE no pictures. Why, you ask? Because I very conveniently dodge, duck, dive, and all but pull a hamstring in my avid attempts to NOT have documentation of what I look like at the moment.

Bleck. That's how I feel when I look in the mirror right now. Bleck.

I know. I should think, "Oh, what a lovely daughter of God you are. Oh, how blessed you are to have a body that is capable of nurturing and birthing a child. Oh, how perfectly made your body was for your husband."

Bleck. Bleck. BLECK.

I'm about thirty pounds heavier than I was before I got pregnant, and it's irking at me. I discovered early on that to lose weight meant also losing my milk supply, so it's just something I've tried to move past until I finished breastfeeding. Well, I'm finished. And so are these thirty pounds. I'm tired of not fitting into my clothes, and I'm tired of complaining about feeling fat and not doing a dang thing about it.

I fully expect this to be a much slower journey than I'd like because my life right now just doesn't permit the hours it takes to work out, shower, and plan healthy meals...but I'm at least going to start. I'm going to get up and try to get in a run and/or walk three or four days a week, and spend time reading and praying the other three or four days. I'm going to start tracking the calories that I'm eating at sparkpeople.com, and I'm going to try and eat fill up on more fruits and vegetables. I'm also going to have smaller portions and will re-consider seconds.

So why am I posting this - a very personal struggle - on my public blog?

I need accountability. I'm a person who thrives on accountability. I'm very, very good at justifying my laziness if left to my own devices, but admitting here that I'm not happy with being overweight and that I'm perfectly capable of doing something about just makes me all the more committed.

I hate that I have an entire closet full of clothes that I love and am dying to wear. I hate that I have very few pictures of myself with my son and my sweet family. I hate that I'm embarrassed to not have lost this pregnancy weight. I hate that I've not made time to run, which is something that I love passionately and helps keep me sane.

So feel free to comment with any ideas for "staying on the bandwagon," so to speak. How do I balance being a Mom/being a wife/working/owning a business/being a minister's wife AND losing weight? How do I keep myself motivated?

And if you're a person with whom I regularly eat meals or see, feel free to give me the evil eye if I order some fatty pants meal. Feel free to ask me how the exercising is going. Feel free to bring on the weight loss advice, and feel especially free to notice when I lose even half a pound.

So here I go...on my way to figuring out how to be a Mom who is confident in herself (which I realize doesn't necessarily go hand in hand with weight loss), carves out time to take care of herself, and can rock a little black dress like nobody's business. :)

lovin' for the daddy

So Jude said, "Da Da Da Da," yesterday morning (and at lunchtime...and dinnertime...and today...pretty much all day)! It's actually more of a "Deh Deh Deh Deh," but whatever. He's been saying, "Mmaa Mmmaaa" for awhile now, and I've been working with him to say "Da," so I was thrilled when I heard him say it! Our next goal will be "Puppy," which I don't think will be far away.

I need to go...Jude is tummy surfing on our coffee table and is eating our potpourri. Crazy kid.

micah 6:5 (pt.2)

One year ago today, I wrote this post:

An Update

...Well, we just got back from our Doctor's appointment this morning. I feel like we got a lot of information, so bare with me while I try to relay all of it. Probably the biggest thing I took from the appointment is that our test did show that I have a 50% chance of going into labor in the next two weeks. Shawn and I are both kind of reeling from that statistic. I could see on our Doctor's face that they were taking all of this very seriously, and she was not messing around. My cervix was checked again, and everything is still as it should be there - a good sign. They also checked my urine again and found some white blood cells, which could mean a possible infection, so they put me on a pregnancy safe antibiotic, just in case I do have an infection and that is what is causing contractions.

Shawn and I had lots of questions about what we're facing, and found out that the real causes of pre-term labor are basically unknown. They don't know why some women go into pre-term labor, and some don't. While that, in and of itself, isn't very comforting...it WAS comforting to hear someone say outright, "we're not quite sure why this is happening." She didn't put me on bedrest, but told me that I needed to work half days at work, stop working out completely, and basically to cut out all unncessary activities. We have an appointment in a week (September 4th), with strict instructions to call right away if I feel more than 6 contractions in an hour. At this point, the goal is to keep him in there until he's 32 weeks along.

Shawn's always getting on me for reporting the facts to him instead of emotions, and I realized that my last blog posting was very fact-oriented. We're both...shaken, I guess is the best word. Our minds are running a million miles a minute in trying to think of the things that we need to get done if we're looking at having a baby in the next two weeks. I'm feeling a little bit guilty and analyzing everything I've done in the past week or so, wondering if there's something that I have done that has caused this. I think we're both overwhelmed at the possibility of spending a month or so with our son in the NICU, and are not even letting our minds think about other possibilities.So for the most part, I'm just trying to take this one step at a time and not worry, though occasionally it does catch up with me. I'm grateful to know that we're almost 30 weeks along and our Doctor is keeping a very, very close eye on us. Shawn's turning into quite the bossy husband, so that even if I wanted to go against the Doctor's instructions on anything, he'd have a cow. :) I don't doubt that it'll get frustrating, but I appreciate him taking care of his family. Please continue to pray for us.

"My people, remember what Balak king of Moab counseled and what Balaam son of Beor answered. Remember your journey from Shittim to Gilgal, that you may know the righteous acts of the LORD."


"What? Me? Cause you guys trouble? Never!"

micah 6:5

One year ago today, I wrote this post:

Sheetz at 4:30am

...You might be thinking that Shawn and I ended up at Sheetz at 4:30 in the morning on Monday night because of some weirdo craving I was having...I'm sure that's what the other people thought, anyway. (And yes, believe it or not, there ARE people at Sheetz at that time of day!). After work on Monday, Shawn and I ran some errands, went home, and cooked dinner. Shawn had a meeting, so he left, while I got some light cleaning done. Around 7:00, I took Cole outside and noticed that the Braxton Hicks contractions I'd been having were getting a little bit stronger, a little bit more uncomfortable. I still didn't think too much about it, though, and continued puttering (actually, waddling is more accurate) around the house, working on stuff. I noticed that they were coming a little more frequently than normal, so around 8:45, I decided it was probably time for me to lay down on the couch for a bit and put my feet up. I watched "Jon and Kate plus 8" - a guilty pleasure of mine -and just waited for Shawn to get home. He got home fairly soon after that and soon settled in to hang out with me for a bit. I started noticing that the contractions were coming about every 10 minutes or so. I think I mentioned that to Shawn, but they weren't anything more than uncomfortable, so I just decided to keep an eye on things. Around 10:15-ish, I called my good friend Jill - who was a nurse, has had a baby, and who I knew would be awake - to ask her if this was normal. I think the contractions were anywhere between 5 minutes apart and 10 minutes apart. Jill did a great job of not panicking me and told me that I should probably call my OB's number and speak to the on duty nurse. I didn't even know that our OB had an on duty nurse for after hours, so I'm glad I called Jill, or our next step probably would've been to just go to the ER. So I called WomanCare.

The nurse told me that they didn't like to have pre-term women contracting for more than an hour straight (and by this time, I'd been having regular contractions for about an hour and a half), so to lay down on my left hand side, drink a quart of water, and go to Labor and Delivery if they didn't significantly slow down in an hour. Shawn got me the water, I laid down, and we watched some coverage of the Democratic National Convention. Now, I'm not blaming anyone for the contractions, but they did start getting worse about the time Michelle Obama was giving her speech. I'm not blaming...just sayin'. :) I was actually really impressed with her speech and poise, but while the contractions weren't necessarily getting any closer together (staying between 5 and 10 minutes apart), they were getting stronger. Around 11:15pm, we decided that we probably needed to go ahead and check into Labor and Delivery. Shawn packed an overnight bag for me (just in case), and we headed out around 11:30.

Winston-Salem was fairly deserted, and while we were both concerned and I was certainly worried, I think Shawn and I both felt a bit of a sense of adventure. Maybe it was being out that late (we're old and are usually in bed by 11:00), maybe it was packing the bag and realizing that there was a slight chance that our baby might be born soon, who knows! We prayed together, and I kept telling myself that while it's not ideal, babies who are born at 29 weeks have a terrific chance of survival and health. We checked in, took the elevator up to the Labor and Delivery floor, and checked in there. Unfortunately, all the beds were taken at the moment, so we hung out in the waiting room with all the awaiting grandparents/aunts/uncles/etc. Thankfully, I had grabbed a magazine before we left, so I kept myself busy reading "Runner's World." Shawn read some over my shoulder, but primarily amused himself with our Patient Privacy Notice - he's now well informed of our rights. :) I think we waited for about an hour...we chatted, read, and talked each other down from freaking out.

Scratch that, Shawn talked me down from freaking out! I don't know that I can accurately express how much of a rock he was. We were finally admitted, I put on one of those fun green gowns, laid down, and they strapped a fetal heart monitor and contractions monitor to me, and we waited for about an hour and fifteen minutes. It was wonderful and so comforting to hear the baby's heartbeat and to feel him moving. It was also a little strange to see the contractions on the monitor, to see the line elevate when I was in pain, and descend when I made it through. They were definitely stronger than when we were at home, so we were both grateful that we'd made the decision to go to the hospital...we would've ended up there anyway. The monitor was showing that I was having contractions every 5-7 minutes...not normal! Our Doctor checked my cervix (high and closed, which is good), and took a swab to be tested for liklihood of pre-term labor. We were told that the test did produce a lot of false positives. However, if the test was negative, that was a good thing as it meant I probably wouldn't be likely to go into pre-term labor. While we waited for those results, they took a urine sample to make sure a UTI wasn't the cause of the contractions. I was given a shot in the arm for the purposes of slowing down/stopping the contractions, which made me a little jittery (which is typical). The UTI test came back negative, which is great.

When I used the restroom, I caught glance at myself in the mirror and just about lost it. I suppose I thought I was handling this all very bravely, and that even though I was a wreck inside, that my face showed courage. What I saw was a very young looking, very scared girl looking back at me, and I realized that I wasn't fooling anyone. My fears were written all over my face.

After that, I was strapped to the fetal and contraction monitors again. Our little one was going crazy. I feel asleep for a few minutes, and Shawn said he could see him kicking so hard that he was moving the monitor and the sheet I had over me! He also kept tripping up the monitor because he kept moving, and it'd take a few seconds to pick the heartbeat up again. Like I said, we were incredibly comforted to know that he was still active in there! While we waited another hour, I slept on and off, read "Runner's World," and chatted with Shawn. Shawn listened to a podcast, read a couple of articles in the magazine, and kept me sane. :)

Our nurse came back in and told us that the pre-term labor test came back positive, which means that I could be likely to go into pre-term labor. I *think* she mentioned something about within the next two weeks, but it was late, and I was pretty tired, so I'm not quite sure about that. I was told to take it easy, stop running, slow down in general, and make a follow up appointment with our Dr. as soon as possible...and we were discharged. I was starving by this point, I'd last eaten when we had dinner together around 5:30, so Shawn and I scoured town for a place to find food. We had talked about getting pizza, but no self respecting pizza place was open at 4:30 in the morning. Our choices were Burger King and Sheetz...and a breakfast sandwich at Sheetz won out. :) We ate our food and crashed about 5:00am.

Since then, we've scheduled a follow up appointment for tomorrow (Thursday) at 11:50am, and I've talked to my boss about working on Tuesdays and Thursdays from home. After work on Tuesday, I was having some regular contractions again (about every 20 minutes or so), but after laying down for a couple of hours, they stopped. With where I'm at in my job right now and having so much baby stuff to get done, it's not easy to slow down, but I now have a very, very important reason to do just that. I'm eager to see our Dr. tomorrow and find out more about what's going on and what I need to do to keep this little one cooking inside there for awhile longer.

"My people, remember what Balak king of Moab counseled and what Balaam son of Beor answered. Remember your journey from Shittim to Gilgal, that you may know the righteous acts of the LORD."

tales of the nursery

Oh, the fun that ensues in the church nursery! Since Jude isn't in daycare, I feel strongly that it's important for him to be in the nursery on Sunday mornings, and during the school year, on Wednesday evenings. Beyond the obvious benefits of learning about God, it's great socialization and a chance for Jude to learn to take instructions and discipline from someone other than Mom and Dad. Shawn and I consider ourselves intentional parents who are also laid back...which is why we thought it was pretty funny when we picked Jude up on Sunday and saw this:

Judeabug got his first bite! The nursery workers said he didn't cry at all - in fact, they didn't even know he'd been bitten until they saw the mark on his arm. I have full confidence that in a few months, he'll be the one doling out the bites. But seriously - this is pretty impressive marking here, this kid must've had some chompers!

We like to tell Jude about the time he got kicked out of a nursery. After his second night in the hospital nursery, one of the nurses barrelled into our room at two o'clock in the morning, shoved 2-day old screaming Jude in my arms, and said, "We've tried everything and can't get him to stop screaming," and promptly left. He continued screaming for a couple of hours until he passed out from sheer exhaustion. Turns out that the poor kid was most likely screaming because his throat was on fire from acid reflux...but we didn't know that until about four months later.

I love it when I would tell people that Jude spit up a lot and was very, very difficult to put down for a nap, and they say, "oh, mine spit up a lot, too - it's not a problem!" ...and then a couple of hours later, they're calling us because the kid WON'T stop screaming and has ruined their clothes with his ridiculous amount of vomiting. In the first six months of Jude's life, I had a hard time letting other people watch him - not because I was overly protective or because I didn't trust others - but because no matter how much I warned, he always proved himself to be a particularly difficult baby. I think I can safely say that he's coming out of that, and I honestly attribute it to him growing out of acid reflux. Instead of screaming for two hours before taking a nap, he might fuss for a minute or two (if at all) before settling down.

BUT...before he did start growing out of acid reflux, we were handed a post-it note by our Children's Minister with the words, "thought you guys might get a kick out of this," scrawled at the top:

*****(name of the Children's Minister) - Jude M. threw up about 12 times (or more) over the course of 2 hrs. The carpet probably needs to be addressed. *****(name of nursery worker) claimed that he was "marking his territory."

And get a kick out of it, we did! Welcome to our world, my friends. Welcome to our world.

serwa chic giveaway

Just wanted to let you guys know that if you head over to the Serwa Chic blog, I'm giving away a diaper cover!

good parenting vs. bad parenting

Good Parenting:

I was seventeen years old and it was 1999. Remember good ole '99? Thank you, Prince, for getting the world's most obnoxious song stuck in my head every SINGLE day that year. I was a senior in high school, and suddenly body piercings became the newest trend. Everyone was getting their navels, eyebrows, cartilage, and tongues...yes, tongues...pierced.

Now I'm not usually one to succumb to peer pressure. In fact, I'm just stubborn enough to do the opposite of what everyone is doing just so I can say I don't give a flying flip about peer pressure. I wish I could say I've grown out of this, but you really should send my husband letters of sympathy, because I'm truthfully the same stubborn, block headed girl I was back then. Nonetheless, even the most independent of us fall to peer pressure occasionally, and this was apparently my downfall. Don't judge me - let's not talk about your teased bangs/blue eyeshadow/pegged pants/oversized flannel shirts with holey jeans, alright?

Where was I? Oh yeah...piercings. So I decided - in my infinite 17 year old wisdom - that I needed a tongue ring. Why, you ask? Well...um...it looked...no...it felt...hmmm...not really...I thought it was....yeah, not so much...

Okay. I didn't really have a good reason. I'm still not sure why exactly I wanted a tongue ring, I just set my sights on it and wanted it with all of my 17 year old heart. The hurdle? My mom. And this was no ordinary hurdle. This was the same woman who endured one solid semester of nagging every SINGLE night as we washed the dishes together about not being allowed to go to the 6th grade dance. The same Mom who didn't allow me to wear makeup until I was in 8th grade, despite my protests that everrrrryoneee eeeeelseeee was wearing it. The same Mom who told me in 7th grade that I wasn't allowed to call Chad Wilson because girls didn't call boys.

Today, I'm grateful for my Mom's protection, but I just knew that my request for a tongue ring would be met with laughter. But I finally did it. I got up every last bit of nerve that I had, walked into the living room where my Mom was reading a book, and asked if I could get a tongue ring. I expected laughter. I thought maybe she'd scream, "WHAT?!" I braced myself for angry questioning. Instead...I got...silence.

Just silence. No laughing, screaming, or anger. After I checked to make sure she hadn't entered into a shocked catatonic state, I asked, "so...what do you think?"

"well....why do you want a tongue ring?" she asked. "um...i don't know, i just think it looks cool," was my brilliant response.

She answered, "Okay."

Okay? Okay??? Okay??!! Who abducted my mother?!


And do you know what my Mom went on to say? Probably some of the wisest words I've ever heard. She said, "Well, Jen - you're a good kid. I don't have to worry about you drinking or having sex, and you spend most of your weekends here at the house or hanging out at Kolby's house debating Scripture (nerd alert!). I guess if this is the way you want to rebel, then I'm okay with that. It could be a lot worse."

Once I picked my jaw up off the floor, she went on to give me two conditions - 1)She would research and find a safe, clean place and 2) She would go with me.

So I went to get my tongue pierced with my Mom and my sister. My poor sister (12 years old at the time) about passed out when they drove that needle through my tongue. She actually doesn't have any piercings beside her ears even now....hmmmm...something tells me my Mom is even smarter than I thought.

The best part of this story is that I applied to and was accepted to Kentucky Christian University just a few months later. A small Christian college where...surprise, surprise...no piercings were allowed. Yep, I had like three glorious months of rebellion.

Good Parenting:

I wish I knew the details of this story a little better, but Shawn has become very suspicious when I start asking details about stories of his childhood. Something about me posting me the tack story on the blog or something...but here goes...

When Shawn was either a junior or senior in high school, he had a band called Detour that was actually a pretty big deal in their area (and yes, if he's reading this, he's rolling his eyes and probably wondering where the heck I'm going with it). He was also in his school's marching band. Shawn's high school was a pretty small school and most of the kids had grown up from kindergarten together. As I've mentioned before, Shawn's Dad is a minister, and Shawn grew up with a reputation of being a pretty good kid. He got great grades and pretty much stayed out of trouble. By the time he was in his late high school years, this combination led to him being able to pretty much do whatever he wanted. I'm amazed at the stuff he got away with.

Apparently one day Shawn and his bandmates decided they wanted to have some fun with their football game's halftime show. Instead of dressing up in those cute little marching band uniforms with those hats with the feathers sticking out, they decided to - get this....

do a KISS show.

I'm not kidding. Yep..that KISS. Yep, full costume and makeup, and I think even fireworks at the end. Seriously. And now, if I know Shawn, he's sticking up his pointer and pinky fingers, nodding his head back and forth, and rocking out to some KISS song in his head.

Did I mention his Dad is a preacher? I don't entirely know the full details of the story, but I know that when Shawn asked his parents for permission, their reaction was very similar to my Mom's. And not at all what Shawn expected. I think they realized that they had a basically good kid on their hands who - while sweetly mischeveous - never worried his parents with any real trouble.

I wish I had pictures of this show, I really do. I've seen them, and it's awesome. We're talking platform boots and everything.

So what do these stories have in common - besides illustrating to you that two complete nerds can find true love? Our parents knew when to reign in our tendencies and when to trust our independence.

Bad parenting:

In stark contrast to our parents, who knew when to allow us to test our boundaries and when to reign us in, I decided that it'd be a good idea to give my nine month old a pen with which to play. While he's fine and no harm's been done...I wouldn't recommend, as a practice, giving your babies sharp objects to distract and amuse them once they're able to turn those objects around in their hands and point the sharp side straight towards their eye. Don't get me wrong - my instincts are usually pretty good about this kind of thing...just not this particular day apparently. So for future reference: baby + sharp objects + momentary Mommy brain loss = DANGER.

See? Not only do you get sound parenting advice by reading this blog, but I like to throw a little Algebra at ya - just to keep you on your toes.

As I mentioned, no pens went in anyone's eyes, but he did try:

My foot was also likewise decorated. And just so we're clear:


baby + sharp object + momentary Mommy brain loss = DANGER!

"take THAT, mommy!"

No sooner had I posted these words:

You're also not the hugest fan of the sweet potato puffs yet, but you do enjoy practicing picking them up (although really, you just hit it several times until it sticks to your hand).

...when Jude woke up and it was time to eat. I sat him in his cool orangey dottey highchair and proceeded to feed him the goodness that his homemade baby food. Which means it was probably one cube of avocados, one cube of papaya, one cube of potatoes, and one cube of kiwi...or some other ridiculously random combination of fruits and vegetables that depends entirely on my mood earlier that morning when I pull the cubes out of the freezer to thaw.

Phew. Run on sentence, much?

And my stubborn little kiddo just would NOT eat his food from the spoon. He would seriously clamp his lips shut and turn his head like, "are you kidding me?! papaya?? do you see any OTHER nine month olds eating papaya?

...hippie."

So I gave up and in a last ditch effort, sprinkled some of those sweet potato puffs across his tray. And do you know what that kid did?

He took his chubby little thumb and pointer finger and carefully, very carefully, he moved it toward a puff. He clamped that little thumb and pointer finger together on the puff. Then ever so slowly, he moved the clamped puff toward his face. Then he used his other chubby little hand to help guide the puff to his mouth. Very slowly, he put the puff in his mouth.

I watched in amazement as he started to chew the puff and dove in for another. One after the other, he at at least ten or twelve puffs this way - always using both hands to guide the puff to his mouth, and leaving his hands over his mouth as he chewed as if to say, "I have a super secret ninja puff eating skill that we can't let ANYone else know about."

After four or five puffs, I realized that this is a huge deal and quite a milestone, so like any other self-respecting first time Mom, I whipped out the video camera and quickly texted Shawn of this amazing feat. I wish I could upload the video, but Blogger's being kind of a butt, so it'll have to wait for another day.

So wow, huh? I have a self feeder on my hands. Good thing, too. One time at Matt and Patrice's house, I put a bit of tomato sauce on my finger to let Jude have a taste, and it apparently gave him the shimmies. We all thought it was too cute, so I kept doing it, and after every taste - he'd shimmie. Since then, smartypants has decided that he'll trust NOTHING coming at him from my hands. Most of the time, he'll take food on a spoon from me, but if I try to finger feed him anything, I get the "over my dead body" look.

Why hello there, world of self-feeding thank you for inviting us to join you - you look quite pleasant!

a letter to jude

Dear Jude,

Today, sweet son, you are nine months old. Nine months ago today, I gave birth to this:

the sweetest, cutest, grossest thing I'd seen in my entire life. And now, sweet Jude...two teeth, blonder hair, and adorable giggles later, we have this:

This past month with you has been awesome, kiddo. Do you remember the time Mommy and Daddy took you to the park and swung (swang?swinged?) with you? Do you remember the time you giggled at Cole floppin' around on the floor? Do you remember the time Mommy chased you saying, "I'm a getch you!" when you crawled froggy flopped across the floor? Do you remember the time you stuck your hand up in the air and waved "hello" to Katie? Do you remember the time you reached out to me and wanted me to hold you? Do you remember the time I was chopping up some food to put in the processor for you in the kitchen and you pulled up on my shorts and zerberted my knee?

We've had some great times together, haven't we? You're a joy to be around, and you make mine and Daddy's hearts burst with love. Do you even know what we do? Sometimes, after you go to bed at night, Daddy and I talk all about you. We like to share the funny stuff you did that day, and sometimes we even spend our time watching videos of you doing cute stuff. I know you think we probably party it up out in the living room while you're sleeping, but the truth is...we spend our time away from you...well, loving you.

You're starting to walk by pushing your little roaring lion around, and you're a pulling up machine. You've discovered a passionate interest in electrical cords, and an intense dislike for being left in a room by yourself. You've had all kinds of crazy food- papaya, avocados, cauliflower, potatoes, peas, kiwi, strawberries, and the list goes on - and you've decided that you're not a big fan of green beans, but you love you some bananas. You're also not the hugest fan of the sweet potato puffs yet, but you do enjoy practicing picking them up (although really, you just hit it several times until it sticks to your hand). And you ARE a big fan of the organic biter biscuits. I'm loving whoever invented those, 'cause it'll keep you occupied for a good fifteen minutes.

Sweet Judeabug, you're saying, "Mama" with proficiency, and you're working on the "puh...puh...puh" of Puppy. Even though we say it a million times a day, you've not shown any interest in saying, "Daddy" yet, but you sure do know who I'm talking about when I say it, and your excitement at his arrival is pretty stinkin' adorable.

It's crazy to see you growing and learning so much, sweetie. Daddy and I want you to know that we love you so much more than you know, and we're so very proud of who you're becoming. We're so thankful that God gave you to us, and we're so very excited to be a part of what He's doing in your life.

We love you, Jude. Forever. :)

go ahead and admit it...

We have the cutest kid in the world.



It's okay. I won't tell your niece/nephew/child/grandchild/bestfriend'schild.