The Power Of The Bump



I was about 7ish months pregnant with my precious first born son. I woke up groggily one Monday morning, wishing I could stay sunken into my cozy bed that had been over taken by several body pillows that formed a nest around me. I knew the only way I would be able to get myself awake and ready for work was to head straight to the kitchen and make myself some breakfast. Eric followed me. I headed straight for the toaster oven. I opened up the toaster oven and slid out the toasting tray. I then opened the fridge, pulled out the package of English muffins, opened the package, pulled out a muffin, cut it in half and placed it on the tray. I picked up the tray, turning to place it in the open toaster oven, when the door to the toaster oven surprisingly shut right before my very eyes and was beginning to heat a slice of cold pizza.

OH. NO. HE. DIDN'T.

I'm sure I had a few choice words for my husband who TOTALLY cut in line for the toaster. I was the pregnant one and HE got to eat first??? I was so upset that I left my untoasted English muffin on the tray and marched straight to the shower. The fumes coming out of my ears made for a very steamy shower that morning. Several minutes into my shower, my oh so sweet husband had decided to toast my English muffin, smear it with butter and jelly and bring it INTO THE BATHROOM to sit on the counter until my shower was finished. I'm not sure I actually finished rinsing myself off before flinging the shower door open, and grabbing the glass plate that held the now cold English muffin, (I think I grabbed a towel... the details are a little fuzzy), and marched right back to the kitchen where my husband was enjoying a hot breakfast in a clean environment where people don't pee and poop. I'm sure I yelled some more... but the part I remember well was the slow motion play of my English muffin - accompanied by the glass plate - soaring through the air, slamming onto the ground and skidding, jelly side down, all the way across the kitchen floor.

We both left the house for work that morning with a messy kitchen that we both refused to clean. In fact, I don't think the muffins or the smeared jelly were touched until Eric finally caved in and cleaned the floors that night after dinner (I know, what a guy). It is amazing that the plate didn't break. The English Muffin Incident was not one of my finer moments. But let me tell ya... that BUMP has some incredible power. That precious little baby bump has made me do things, feel things, and say things I NEVER thought I would do, feel or say. It has stretched me - in more ways than one, and has brought an orchestra of circumstances and possibilities into my life. And most of all, the biggest blessings in my existence have come out of it.

My first pregnancy left me swollen like the giant marshmallow man in The Ghostbusters. My lips were bigger than Angelina Jolie's. In fact, the last month of pregnancy, this Cinderella was only capable of sliding her beautiful princess foot into a fuzzy, stretchy slipper because her flip flops wouldn't even fit. I remember at around 30 weeks along in my pregnancy, a random woman came up to me in passing and made the comment, "Oh, you must be due any day now!" "Uh, no. I have ten weeks to go." A look of shock, closely followed by pity spread across her face and she quickly walked away. Thanks, lady. I needed to hear that I was huge. One more time.

I was a size 2 when I got pregnant with my first bundle of joy. Thirty-nine weeks later, I pushed out a 9lb 4oz boy with an adorably chubby face and a mohawk. My once smooth and fit tummy now had 7 inch tiger claw marks running north and south, starting two inches above my belly button. No one had ever told me that the baby bump would stick around... forever. But every time I held that beautiful miracle in my arms, that baby bump became nothing more than evidence of the greatest gift I had ever received.

The deflated bump began to grow again when my only child was 13 months old. Baby boy #2 was on his way! Of course it took me absolutely no time to show a belly bump during this second pregnancy. I was still sporting the leftovers from the last time around. I remember my first real "shopping" experience in this small town I now call home. I was around 5 months pregnant with baby #2. My sweet 1 year old was with Grandma at the farm and I was getting some "me" time to explore Main Street. I was feeling super cute - with my new J.Crew strapless purple ruffle dress that was NOT maternity but because of the style, I could pull it off quite nicely. I had on wedge sandals and white lacy underwear. The fact that I remember what kind of underwear I was wearing means that this story is heading in a place I wish it wasn't. And why on earth was I wearing white lacy underwear at 5 months pregnant? I have no earthly idea. Still kicking myself for even owning a pair.

I had just stepped out of a store that required a few steps to climb down to be street level again. The moment I hit the pavement, an unnatural swirl of wind came up from out of nowhere. Now, because of my baby bump, it was already a bit drafty underneath that dress because my belly pushed the fabric straight away from me. That wind found a fun place to play very quickly as it literally pushed my ENTIRE dress all the way up to the elastic that wrapped around underneath my chest. In other words - my whole self was exposed from the top of my belly - down. Now, it wouldn't have been embarrassing if no one had been around to witness this catastrophic event. But, because I have awesome luck, a red pick up truck with a bed FULL of construction workers sitting out in the open just so happened to be driving past me at that exact moment. I heard whistles, the clapping of hands, a few "Thank you's!" and someone mentioned my lacy undies. Even I couldn't help but laugh at the perfect timing. I don't believe I wore that dress during that pregnancy again.

Baby boy #2 was born at 39 weeks as well. My stretch marks had grown another inch above my belly button by the time this 9lb 10oz baby entered the world. Two beautiful boys - Jack and Gabriel - had completely changed me from the inside out. When Gabe was old enough to speak, he would make fun of my belly, telling me that I had an "old lady tummy." He would laugh and poke at it like it was there to simply amuse him. The little stinker.

Then... a little over four years later... a big SURPRISE! and baby boy #3 is on his way! I think enough time has passed between this pregnancy and my last, enough for me to be shocked at my emotional state, hormonal swings and responses to life circumstances. I had to stop watching The Voice because I was crying every single time a judge turned their chair around. Every. Single. Time. And forget Wheel of Fortune - if the final contestant wins the last round and gets a whole bunch of money, I just can't even handle it. The finale of Parenthood left me in such an emotional mess of tears and snot that my husband brought me a box of tissues and refused to watch it with me. My mom told me recently that with the birth of every child, a woman loses 20% of her brain. This makes perfect sense to me. I have already forgotten to bring Gabriel to school. I've called Jack by our FEMALE dog's name - Zoya. And I've already sobbed angrily at my husband for drinking a beer in front of me because I really just want a glass of wine. It's the third pregnancy for me and I am feeling like that English muffin... all over the place.

It really is amazing what this bump can do, however. At 9pm, when my husband is all maxed and relaxed in his sweat pants and favorite after-shower T-shirt, he will very happily drive to Culver's to get the bump a hot fudge, peanut butter and Reese's Pieces sundae. When I was very pregnant with my other two, I even managed to repel grown men from entering an elevator with me. The bump is special enough to get dibs on sleeping in on Saturday mornings, and the cheesiest burger off the grill. The bump always gets to ride shotgun, and always gets the comfiest seat in the house.

However, after the baby comes, the perception of the bump changes. In fact, the leftover baby bump isn't celebrated enough. There are so many helpful "cures" out there to assist women in flattening out that tummy again. I'll be the first to admit that my Spanx and I have an awesome relationship. I have wished many times for a smooth, toned belly again. I know I will never get it. I think it is quite common for women to feel self conscious about this. But my precious 4 year old put things into perspective for me the other day. He walked into the bathroom after I had just gotten out of the shower. I was in my pants and a bra. He reached over and gently touched my stretch-marked belly. "Mommy, your belly is beautiful because you have a baby inside of it."

I looked down at my sweet little boy with tears in my eyes. Yes, my belly is beautiful. It's growing a tiny human, after all. One of the greatest miracles of our time - something we get to witness time and time again as our friends, sisters, and daughters walk through the journey of pregnancy - the growth of a little human being inside of another. Later that day I witnessed my six year old tend to a friend who had fallen down and gotten hurt. He comforted and consoled her as she cried, never leaving her side until she stood up and they ran away playing together. I witnessed the joy on my four year old's face at his first soccer game as he ran the ball down the field, continuing to look up at me to make sure I was watching. Where did these beautiful little people come from?? Did these perfect creatures really come from this mangled body that I often wish I could change?

As I feel this new little boy kick and push his way around inside of me, I celebrate the blessing and miracle of this bump. That I was chosen - hand picked by my Creator - to be the momma of the two sweetest little men on the planet (I'm guessing the third will be just as darling, but I've learned my lesson with speaking too quickly and I'd rather not jinx myself) is the greatest honor I have been given in my 34 years of life. If the leftover bump is evidence of this honor, than I gladly accept it like a blue ribbon and wear it proudly.

I'm a grower of tiny humans. I now have the ferocity of a lioness when it comes to my little cubs.
The bump may have turned me into an emotional heap, but it also gave me unparalleled courage when it comes to defending my littles. I am my children's biggest advocate, their most enthusiastic fan, their most dedicated prayer warrior, and the one who kisses their sweet soft cheeks the most. Today I celebrate the beautiful and powerful baby bump - whether it is growing a baby or already has... my bump links me to my most cherished blessings. Here's to you, dear sweet baby bump - and all of your miraculous glory.

When He's Gone

I woke up this morning to the tiny whispers of my precious 4 and 6 year old boys who were standing outside my bedroom.

"You go in first and distract her!"
"OK!" (The door squeaks open.) "Good morning, Mom!" Gabe exclaims, standing next to my bed. He hoists himself up onto the covers and crawls into the sinking abyss of pillows next to me. I lean over to give him a kiss, then notice Jack standing in the doorway.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Mommy!!" Jack yells, stepping aside, so I can see the Valentine heart he hung on my door knob. Then he proceeds to explain how he had Gabe come in the room first so I wouldn't notice him hanging the heart on my door. This covert op took a lot of careful planning. We all snuggled for a bit as we planned our special day out. We would surely miss Daddy, as he is serving the beautiful people of Haiti this week, but we were going to celebrate Valentine's Day with a heartfelt bang anyway.

The boys decided that they wanted chocolate chip pancakes from IHOP, so we piled into the car and set out on this ridiculously blustery cold day. I turned on the radio as we were rolling down the drive way. The first song that played was John Legend's All Of Me. I really hope no one saw this blubbering mess as I drove down Main Street. I really wasn't prepared for the onslaught of emotions that forced their way out of me as I listened to the words of this song. I like the song, sure. But for the next 25 minutes as I drove us to the restaurant, I thought about what the song was really triggering in me...

Eric and I were close friends for a long time before we started dating. In fact, I often assumed the role of matchmaker, setting him up on dates with my friends. When he first introduced the idea of us dating, I actually shot him down flat. Poor guy. He confessed that he knew I was the one he was going to marry and that he would wait for me. He never stopped pursuing me. Love letters, home cooked dinners (for a college guy, they were really impressive), sweet gestures, and poetic invitations to the spring fling boat dance... Eric was good. Real good. We had been dating for only a month when summer vacation rolled around and we had to say good bye for a while. He was taking a class in Michigan for the summer, and I was headed home to Memphis. One day I received a beautiful love letter, written on a piece of birch wood that he had peeled off of a tree near his campus. Dried Michigan wild flowers were glued around his words, words that blended in with the grain of the wood. The letter is currently displayed in my living room. It's one of my most favorite gifts he's ever given to me.

Our dating relationship was primarily long-distance based. He had graduated college a year ahead of me. That brought obstacles and hardships of their own kind. But Eric knew how to woo. I will never forget our date at Harry's Velvet Room in downtown Chicago, where we needed to purchase a $100 bottle of champagne just to sit down at a table. A huge bowl of the most luscious strawberries and sweet chocolate indulgences to dip them in accompanied the bubbly. That night I felt expensive, like I was really WORTH something of high value to this guy sitting next to me. I also thought he was a bit crazy for spending that much, but I didn't tell him that.

After a beautiful proposal, our roller coaster engagement followed. I had actually returned my ring to him at one point and called off the wedding. Somehow we survived, had a beautiful wedding, and entered into our covenant of marriage. Our first year and a half of marriage was spent living in the beautiful city of Denver. One of my favorite dates that we had living in Colorado, was when we ate at the Red Lion, in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. We sat outside next to a creek running with cool mountain water, indulging in filet and fine wine. We loved camping and would often drive to Vail for a few nights of sleeping in a tent and hiking. We would make some shrimp skewers and filet kabobs for our campfire. Even our sweet puppy, Zoya, would get to partake in the feast. So many nights, Eric and I would fall asleep to the sight of stars overhead, and the sounds of crickets and babbling brooks, laying in each other's arms.

Then there were the days I threatened to leave him. You see, I was a flighter. I hated fighting. Some of our worst fights happened when we lived in Huntsville. Eric was unhappy in his job, and desperately longed to join his family in the farming business in Illinois. I had no desire to leave my family. By the time our family of two grew into a family of four, our relationship was tense. A year of intense marriage counseling helped bring us together on some key issues, though some problems clung to us like leeches and followed us to Illinois.

Our family has thrived in Illinois. Here we have friends who are like family. Our boys are in their element. But our marriage has continued to be hard work. Just over a year ago Eric and I decided - we would either fight for our marriage or end it. There were so many good things in the life we had built together... but there were so many hard things that we were enduring too. In that moment, when we faced a choice, I recalled an old friend's wise words which had shaped the way I viewed love a long, long time ago. The words had prompted me to end a very destructive relationship I had been wrestling with in college. In the moment when Eric and I faced a similar decision, those words came back to me, and saved our marriage.

Love is a choice.

I look back and marvel at the memories I share with Eric. Swimming in sparkling, cascading waterfalls in Fiji, camping on the beach in Key West, dancing with beautiful African children on the dusty streets of Ghana, holding our first and second child just minutes after they were born, sitting on the 95th floor of the John Hancock building as we clanked our martini glasses to the city below us - the city where we fell in love, and walking through the gates of Disney World with two excited little boys who believed in magic and dreams coming true. All of these memories... just proof that mine and Eric's dreams HAD come true. And all of these moments had been based on a single choice - to love.

It's so hard when Eric is gone. When he's gone, I long for the snoring next to me - because it means that I am safe, and I can sleep peacefully. When he's gone, I long for my help to come home at 6 pm every night to help me deal with unruly boys that I just don't have the energy to yell at anymore. When he's gone, I long to be held, kissed, and told that I'm doing just fine. When he's gone, I realize more than ever that no matter how hard it gets sometimes, I never want to choose life without him. When he's gone, I remember all the things I love about him, and why I have been choosing to love him for the past 13 years.

God commands us to love one another. God doesn't tell us that we will feel all warm and fuzzy towards our spouse all the days of our lives. He COMMANDS us to love each other - as in, its a choice. We can follow the command or not. As I heard that song on the radio this morning, I thought about the journey Eric and I have been on... a journey filled with ups and downs, blessings and hardships, challenges that have helped us grow, and an immeasurable amount of love. When we choose to love our spouse, we choose to love ALL of them - all their curves and all their edges, all their perfect imperfections. And through it all, we continue to make that same choice, even when the risk is high, when we have no control, when we are broken and hurt. We choose to love.

I get a glimpse of what life is like when he's gone... and it's a life I never want to choose.