an update.

I have had a lot of wonderful people asking me for an update, or inquire what it is that is going on with me during this pregnancy. First off, thank you for your love, support and prayers. It is felt and means more to me than I am able to express. I've avoided posting too much, because I wanted to avoid it coming off as complaining. I have decided to give what explanation I can via blog so I can answer everyone though. This may be a long(ish) post, I'm going to write it quick and my thoughts feel scattered so be patient with any errors.

As you all know, I am pregnant with baby boy #2. Much like when I was pregnant with Liam, I have been sick from the very beginning. I have suffered with hyperemesis gravidarum with both boys now. Hyperemesis (or HG) is like morning sickness times 100. Constant nausea, dizziness, vomiting and severe exhaustion because of those things. Most days I wake up feeling like I have the worst hangover ever and then went on the wild mouse 14 times on the hottest day in July. It has been a struggle. With my first pregnancy I still had good hours, that turned into good days. Unfortunately with this pregnancy, I have had a much harder time thus far. I feel like I am trapped inside a body that seems to be failing me. A body that makes it near impossible to be a mother, a wife and a contributing member of society. A body that has made me wish I were able to be laying in a hospital bed somewhere, sedated. A body that makes me feel isolated from everyone, myself especially.  This is hyperemesis gravidarum. I have been unable to drive since mid December, can't care for Liam, swallow throw up to keep any calories, have had to rely on IV hydration 2-3 times a week for dehydration and can barely bathe myself. I am down a little over 20 pounds and am trying so hard not to lose anymore- I am barely avoiding a feeding tube. My body is so weak and drained (both from this pregnancy and from my pregnancy with Liam not so long ago), that I require 24/7 care. Since finding out I was pregnant I have been taking zofran to help control my nausea even a little bit. This is the same medicine I used while pregnant with Liam (for about 27 weeks). It took me from throwing up 15 times a day to around 4 or 5. I knew that the zofran had some side effects: increased dizziness, horrific migraines, constipation and it put me in even more of a haze. I decided to grin and bear it in order to keep some nutrients down for both me and Baby A. The pros outweighed the cons. Until about two weeks ago...

I woke up from my usual afternoon nap at my Mom's, and was going upstairs to take some Tylenol to help my headache. I felt dizzy, which isn't abnormal, but while going up the stairs blacked out and took a tumble. My sister heard a loud crash and found me unconscious at the bottom of the stairs. Later that night we decided I needed to go to the hospital (AGAIN!), I was even more dizzy than usual, had a headache and I've been told I wasn't making a whole lot of sense. At the hospital we ran all of the same old tests and they determined I had a minor concussion. Last minute, the doctor wanted an EKG done. After waiting for those results they came in and said they found a Long QT and that I needed to go off of my zofran immediately and contact my OBGYN the next day. They stressed that over and over again. I didn't know anything about a long qt, but have since learned that there are two types: the type you are born with, and the type that medicine can cause. Zofran can be a long qt inducing medicine. Basically my heart now takes longer to recharge it's next beat- that is the extremely short explanation. We don't have a lot of information on how severe this long qt of mine is, what the treatment plan is or much of anything. My OBGYN called in a holter monitor request to a cardiologist and I wore that for 24 hours. Results are still pending. From what I've read (which can be scary if you read too much), about 10% of these reverse themselves. I'm trying to stay optimistic that I can be part of that 10%.

The latest struggle is that without my zofran, my nausea and vomiting are back full force. I don't feel 19 weeks pregnant, but more like 9. I am trying so hard to not only stay strong physically in anyway, but emotionally and mentally. Living between my parent's and Spencer's parent's has been taxing- I go from couch to couch, afraid of my next meal. I feel like a fragment of myself. I can't do very normal things like walk down stairs unassisted, shower, hold my son, make my husband lunch. With that said, I am trying not to feel guilty and embarrassed, but remember how grateful and blessed I am that Spencer and I have such amazing families who have changed their day to day routines to help us get through this. Liam is a lucky guy to have the grandparents and aunts and uncles that he does.

Once again, thank you so much for your love, concern and prayers. I am praying that the next 21 weeks are easier than the first 19 have been. Regardless, come August 4 (at the latest) our sweet Baby A will be here and that is such an enormous blessing- tough pregnancy and all. As we find out anything further, I'll try to give updates.

All of my love,

Caroline

Ps: Yes, we are done having kids after baby A is here. (I get asked that a lot!)

PPS: some good ole googled explanations-

HG: http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyperemesis_gravidarum
http://m.today.com/health/hyperemesis-gravidarum-you-just-feel-youre-dying-1C7397002

Long QT: http://www.bostonscientific.com/lifebeat-online/heart-smart/long-qt.html

on a lighter note...

I really do want to use this blog as a way to document things that have been going on in our lives. I am going to (attempt to) do an update on what has been going on with out little family soon. Until then, here is a picture of the cutest little guy I know.

shame about the weather

 "As each day goes by, it makes way for another,
We discover that we're not alone
And each day we try, the best we can to recover,
All the feelings that we left below"

-"My Eyes" Travis

It's been a long time since I've sat down, wrote a blog and submitted it. I've had a handful, or two, of people ask me to update, but until now I haven't been able to while being honest with not only the people who bother reading or myself. I'm not known to be short winded- you've been warned.

A few weeks after the birth of my son, I already knew that something just wasn't right. A week after having Liam, i went into my OBGYN in severe pain and with a fever. I had a pretty vicious staph infection in my uterus and an infection in my bladder to match. I thought I was dying. With my mom and mother-in-law rotating shifts, we made it through that little piece of hell and everyone seemed so optimistic I could start to become myself again. Even post infection, my days and nights began to blend together and my guilt developed, as I had already pushed a majority of the childcare off on others. The insane connection that I had read about and expected was not there like i thought it should be.  I wasn’t bonding with my son like i saw other mom's doing with so little effort. It wasn’t that I didn’t love him. I genuinely couldn’t love anyone more. I just didn't feel like a mom. I felt like the woman who pushed him out, and therefore who he was sent home with. I have always loved him, always worried about him, but I couldn't help but feel he'd be more fortunate with someone else. Everything I did felt wrong. He deserved better. Always bathed, fed, changed and cared for I felt more like I was meeting minimum requirements than anything else. Even with my best efforts, everything was a haze. I felt blurry, sometimes numb. The guilt I carried because of these feelings only made me feel more detached from not only my son and husband, but myself. Even the fragment of myself I knew during my treacherous pregnancy was disappearing more and more with each passing day. It was the most unnatural and frustrating feeling of loving someone and simultaneously being afraid of them.  I was terrified to care for him, because I knew I wasn't doing it right.  If possible, I didn’t hold him or be the one to take care of him, because I thought anybody, but me, could take care of him the way he deserved.  I remember watching my husband playing happily with our new baby and thinking that they would be so much better off without me. I had become a burden to them. I wanted to leave and not have to return.

In spite of my feeling of extreme exhaustion, I would stay up late at night to almost ritualistically make sure I was doing everything right- reading on babycenter, googling anything and everything concerning him, checking his breathing, trying to foresee developmental changes so I could be prepared for them. My head was buzzing and it started to envelope every aspect of my life. It didn’t take long before i wasn’t doing anything in my life right as far as I could see. I was convinced that not only was I a terrible mother, I was a terrible person. I developed unrealistic expectations across the board- the kind of wife I should be, the body I should have, my ability to adjust to being a mom and full time employee. I was overwhelmed, scared, but mostly ashamed. I was at a point where I was going through the motions and I was determined to fake it ‘til I made it.

On good days (that became fewer and farther between), I convinced myself that what I was experiencing was ending. This usually lasted for a day or maybe two, and then I was back in that dark hole. It seems as though the dark hole got a whole lot darker as time went on. On the bad days, I was irritated, frustrated, had minimal energy, massive anxiety, often did not get to shower or change out of my pajamas the whole day, and found no time to eat. I was short tempered with my husband and resentful that his life was not out of control like mine was. The guilt I carried for feeling that way was just one more thought that added to my extreme spiral. I was extremely overwhelmed with Liam and felt myself growing impatient. Never wanting to harm him, I was very scared that I would do something wrong that would adversely affect his development. I began to have daymares, as I now call them- horrible and disturbing things happening to both myself and my child. I was too repulsed and ashamed that these visions were created from the depths of my own mind to even confide in anyone. I just knew that something was very off with me. I never intended to hurt him, and the thought caused so much distress. Still, it was often there.

I was barely functioning, but out in public I was able to fake it really well. Deep down I felt that I knew the truth- the truth was I was a horrible person. I knew that I was suffering from some form of postpartum depression and should reach out, but i couldn’t. I just couldn't.  The social worker talked to me about warning signs before leaving the hospital, but deep inside, I assumed it was me... that I was slowly losing my mind. I was convinced what I was experiencing was far worse and more shameful than what had been explained to me. I was just a selfish, bad person and for that I felt guilty. My self-esteem plummeted. I was going mad.

I was ashamed to tell anyone how I truly felt, and although I had many people around me who loved me unconditionally, I couldn’t have felt more alone. I truly had everything I had always wished for to feel complete. There was no way I was going to admit to anyone that I was having the worst time of my life. There was no way I was going to admit that I thought I was failing motherhood. It was definitely out of the question for me to talk to a therapist, I was afraid I was too far off for even them to understand. I was going to conquer this one alone, as I thought I should.

I continued playing the role. I would literally talk out loud to myself, pep talking myself to fake it. I continued posting pictures of our new life with the baby. When I look at these even now, I am amazed how perfectly I was hiding my inner turmoil. At that point, I honestly thought that I just needed to be tougher and own my new role.

Pretending became exhausting. My depression had become paralyzing, and additionally, my anxiety level silently rose to the point that I would call Spencer hyperventilating, in tears and making very little sense.  Spencer did his best to support me, but no one knew the extent of what I was going through.  I felt alone and it was no one’s fault.

It was not until I started hating my existence and had the desire to inflict pain on myself, with night terrors to match, that I really opened up to Spencer and let him know what was going on. I begged him to leave me and take Liam. When he refused, I begged him to at least not reveal my debilitating secret to anyone. My husband not wanting to upset me even more complied, but he wouldn't have to for long.

Days alone with Liam were a struggle I would find myself bawling on his bedroom floor while he so innocently babbled at his mobile in his crib. I would apologize to him like he understood, explaining that I was trying. He never failed to just smile at me- resulting in more guilt on my part. How could this little person love and adore me so much, when I wasn’t even sure I really liked him anymore?

Things really started to unload when Liam and I had to stay at my mom's because Spencer was ill with influenza b and I couldn't risk Liam getting sick. My mother, being around me more than anyone outside of Spence, had picked up on weird behaviors before, but having me staying at her house was able to see it day in and out. I overheard a conversation of hers and found myself hysterical. Similar to the heavy and relentless sobs I'd experienced many times when it was just Liam and me, I opened up to my mom. "What is wrong with me?"... "I am so broken"... "He deserves so much better"... "I am so detached"... "I can’t handle this guilt anymore"... "I don't want to be a Mom"..."Why can't I pull myself together." I simply could not hold it in any longer. I was so tired of pretending that everything was okay. I was a fraud. 

My mother felt for me. Never experiencing it herself, she tried to understand. She asked me to talk to someone, asked how i felt about anti-depressants, researched like crazy on the internet, found people for me to talk to and a support group to match. I was afraid that if I reached out for help further the shame would completely break me. I was terrified that I would find out I had lost myself for good in the process. My logic was twisted and warped. Spencer and my mom would say "you deserve to feel good." (My thoughts: ‘No, I don't. I'm a terrible person.’) "We will get you back to your old self" (my thoughts: ‘who is that!?’ It had been so long since I knew me that I was afraid that this was just who I was now and that old me was long gone. I was afraid they'd realize this too and see me for what I had become.)

After much resistance and reaching my darkest time, I reached out in a couple of ways. My anxiety lessened significantly, I am sleeping better, the intrusive images of seeing my baby hurt stopped, my irritability has became more manageable, and my negative thought patterns are less intense. That terrifying feeling of “losing it” occurred less frequently. My husband receives less of my frantic phone calls at work, and I feel like we enjoy each other's company more. It wasn’t until speaking with someone who has been through postpartum depression, as well as a therapist, that I started to really feel like myself. 

Spencer and I greatly appreciated the help my mother and his mother provided during this difficult period. At times, he needed a respite from the emotional turmoil at home. Our moms were always positive and did not try to take over. Rather, they all supported me and encouraged me to do what I could

Without my husband’s loving support, my recovery would no doubt have been much slower. Spencer listened patiently as I unburdened myself of my fears. I have found it very important not to bottle up my feelings. At times, I know it has even come across as anger, but Spencer has always reassured me that he loved me and that we were in this together. I’ve had to apologize many times for things I’ve said in anger, but my husband was always reassuring me that it was the illness speaking and not me. In retrospect, and still today, I realize how much his support means to me. He really is my lobster.(love a good "Friends" reference!)

I wish I had started seeing a therapist during those early weeks like my OBGYN and the social worker had recommended. Had I done all this, I would have spared myself from the agony that this depression brought on. But, much like many other moms, I kept thinking that I should be stronger, I should be better, I should make myself snap out of it, that I should ...I should ...I should.

I still have “bad” days. What I have realized is postpartum depression or not, EVERYONE has bad days. My good days are now out numbering my bad days by far, however. I am able to enjoy my son. I wasn’t sure I would ever share this in an open forum. I'm still not sure I am brave enough to feel this "emotionally naked." A part of me, while still going through this every day, is still slightly embarrassed by it. I have a friend who is struggling though. She is embarrassed and scared, and it makes me sad. I want her to know that she isn't alone. Talking to her has given me the feeling that it may be beneficial to talk about it... to not beat around the bush and to say that YES, this is a very real thing that I, like many other women, have gone through.

My hope is that women are more aware of how serious and real postpartum depression is. Sitting around waiting for it to go away doesn’t work. Never be ashamed to ask for help. As someone who has lived it, I am always available- we could be a support for one another.

Liam's Birth Story (long post)

 

 

 

 

 

I wanted to take time to write Liam's birth story before I could no longer remember it. I'm sure this will be long, but not near as long as labor!! I'll try to make sure it isn't graphic, but it will recap labor...never glamorous. Consider yourself warned from here on out- I'm not sure how this one will go....

Anyone who knows me and keeps in pretty close contact with me knows pregnancy was rough. Not 'I feel really tired, moody and threw up a couple times’ sick, but in and out of the hospital, throwing up multiple times a day, drained in every way possible sick. Needless to say, when I was 37 weeks and considered full term I was ready to have him. In that last month of pregnancy, I began getting checked at my weekly appointments, and remained consistently dilated at two centimeters, never progressing more than that, despite the contractions that I was having. We tried all sorts of things with no luck. Week 38 passed… week 39 passed… and then came week 40. No one expected me to make it that far and it looked like an induction was in my very near future.

We woke up November 25^th, 40 weeks and 1 day in, and I was miserable. I could not have been in a worse mood. I was in pain. My skin was starting to tear. I was exhausted. By this time I had resorted to wearing leggings, Toms and oversized men's shirts. I was too sick to go to service that day, but Spence and I tried to continue our Sunday how we normally would. I threw up my lunch and we headed to my parents. I'd been having "contractions" all day, but it wasn't until about 6:00 I decided I should start timing them. They weren't unbearable by any means, just uncomfortable and since it was so late in the game, I was supposed to track everything. By 8:30 it was obvious they were consistent at 4 minutes apart, lasting a minute each. I didn't want to be so sure, so I called to see what I should do. Dr. Wilson, the doctor on call, advised I head to the hospital ASAP, even if they weren't unbearable.

 

Spence and I got in the neon and my Mom and sister were going to follow (these three were my "labor team"). I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. I started crying in the car telling Spencer I was "really scared" repeatedly. It felt really anti-climatic pulling into the hospital- not at all what I had geared myself up for. I imagined mass amounts of pain and screaming.

We walked through patient tower 1, up to level 3 and checked in. A nurse took me to delivery 2, had me undress and gown up and said they'd be with me shortly. 30 minutes later, they hadnt forgotten about me. The nurse came in and checked me and said I was dilated to a 2 (still) and 80% effaced. The nurse hooked me up to the machine to measure my contractions and our little man's heart rate and said she would be back in an hour to see if I had progressed. I knew I was gonna be sent home and I was NOT happy. Spencer kept close watch on the contraction monitor. I'm not kidding when I say they weren't painful. I would joke through them and there were times where Spence would say "did you feel that one?!" An hour later and we were sent home being told my contractions were close enough together, long enough, but not strong enough to make me dilate further. "Come back when they are worse. If you can't talk or walk through them you need to come in." Sigh. Another weekend gone and no baby.

Spencer and I got home, packed our hospital bags back into the apartment ( again! ) and went to bed. I, of course, was not really able to fall asleep because as painless as the contractions were, they were uncomfortable. Then, it happened. At 2:10 AM I felt like I was being stabbed repeatedly in my lower back. My whole body was shaking in pain. I begged Spencer to help me to the bathroom and he kept saying "lets go to the hospital" while I was trying to convince him I could walk and talk. Notsomuch. We called my Mom, but fearful I would be sent home AGAIN, I wanted to try and time them. Three minutes later, I was being stabbed to death again and bawling. No more timing... LET'S GO!!

I am so happy we live so close to Riverton Hospital. I screamed in pain, legs shaking, the entire way. "WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?!"... "please Jesus, help me!"... "Spencer, I am scared!" ... "please Jesus, help me!" This was way more than I'd anticipated and not the anti-climactic drive to the hospital hours earlier.

After FINALLY making it up to the flippin 3rd floor (why do they not have wheelchairs?!) the woman at the desk wanted to send me to the triage room. Luckily two nurses were standing there and wanted to take me right back to a L&D room. They had Spencer hang back to admit me, and walked me to room 6. "Are you going to have an epidural?" "Yes! Can I have one now??!" My nurse, Amber, helped me undress while I begged for my Momma. Spencer had made it to Room 6, but where was my Mom and why were they keeping her from me? Still dilated and hooked up to the same machines as earlier, it turns out you have to have your IV for 20 minutes before the anesthesiologist can give the epidural. "Has it been 20 minutes yet?" "No, it's been 3." A few minutes later they allowed my Mom and sister in.

After thrashing and crying through contractions, almost biting off Spencer's finger and having Amber talk me through the pain, it was epidural time. They only allowed for my husband to be in the room while i got the good drugs. Feet together, knees down, back arched- the epidural was nothin!! " This is gonna feel like a bee sting" bring it. "You are gonna feel and hear a pop" meh... No thang- for me, anyway. The color drained out of Spencer's face when the "pop" happened and he made some strange comment about a vein in my foot being big. And then... Relief. I am officially an advocate of epidurals.

Following my epidural, our nurse's shift ended, and a new nurse named Amber was assigned to us. I was sad to see our first nurse go, but quickly warmed up to the second nurse. She was EXACTLY what I’d told my “labor team” I’d hoped for when we had discussed how I hoped my labor would go. She talked sweet and soft, calling me “sweetheart” and explaining everything to me as it happened. With the pitocin pumping through me I was able to spend the next 8 hours feeling comfortable. Amber continued to come in and check me and things were progressing quickly. Two centimeters NO MORE!!
Having been in labor since the night before, no one had been able to get any sleep. My exhausted "labor team" kept telling me “go to sleep. Get some sleep!” but I was wayyy too amped to sleep. I was trying to chat and each one of them would dose off. Spencer set up his nook so I could watch Netflix. He admitted it was to shut me up… I laughed. (thank you epidural for making it possible for me to laugh during active labor!) Once it was a decent hour, my Dad brought the crew McD's breakfast. I was starving, but had to stick to the orange slushee from the Nutrition Station. Luckily, my dear husband did take pity on me and smuggled in a pudding for me that I DEVOURED. Visits from Dad, Annette, my Grandma and Aunt Jodi helped pass time.

At 10:00 I was dilated to a 6 and had been for a while. Dr. Twelves came in to break my water to really get things rolling. By 11:30 I had made it to 10 centimeters. Go time. Enter panic. I made sure to hit the" juice button" on my epidural, as I call it, and the nurse said we would start pushing at 12.

 

Amber, my nurse, lowered the big light from the ceiling, the CNA set up 42 pairs of scissors (give or take) and the rest of the labor accessories (most of which scared the crap out of me. Why will they need THAT?!) and it was go time. With directions from Amber on how to breathe and push, Spence with my right leg, Sarah with my left leg, my Mom behind me with her camera and my Grandma in the corner, the time had finally come.

The pushing started out feeling like I wasn't doing much. With my second contraction I started to get the hang of it though. The goal was to get three good pushes with each contraction, and I was determined to do so. The baby moved up under my pelvis after 15 minutes of pushing. Unfortunately, since I had pushed that fast, Dr. Twelves hadn't made it yet and the nurse said I couldnt continue to push until she said. I could feel him stuck under my pelvis and all I wanted to do was push. I. Was. In. Pain. I had been advised that epidurals help with contraction pain, but not pressure pain. Never have I felt a pain like that. This was nothing like my contractions, but I was pretty sure my tail bone was breaking and other things were on fire. My sister helped me keep the panic to a minimum- "you are doing great, Sunny. Deep breath through your nose, out through your mouth." I wanted NO part of the oxygen at that point. I spent the next 10 minutes asking where Dr. Twelves was, begging the nurse to "get him out of me" and then the doctor arrived. Four minutes of pushing and what Sarah calls the "Warrior cry" (the huge scream I let out as Dr. Twelves pulled him out) and there he was. I think I kind of went into shock at that moment. I started sobbing and they put him on my chest. "Look at your baby!! Love on your baby!!" I think my Mom could tell I was completely overwhelmed at that moment. He was perfect and he was here. At 12:29 PM, after 19 official minutes of pushing, William Shawn Morley made his entrance with a full head of hair. Everything from there kind of became a blur. I got him here and then was no longer feeling coherent.

Then, more pain set in. This is the part no one had ever told me about. I know I delivered the placenta. Rather, she pushed it out of me. I’ve heard from so many people that they don’t remember delivering the placenta. I’m not sure that is a pain I will ever forget. Immediate cramps/contractions immediately followed. No, thank you… I had the baby and thought the pain should be over. My epidural had pretty much wore off and they administered a different pain killer into my IV. This is when it all really became kind of a blur. I guess I asked for my Dad, I know I was stitched up and I definitely know I was in a lot of pain. After being cleaned up, my Dad and Annette were able to come in. While giving my pain killers time to kick in, the nurses deemed Liam perfectly healthy and Spencer was able to give him his first bottle.

After a few minutes they brought my 7 lbs 12 oz, 20.5 inch baby boy over to me for some skin to skin. He was absolute perfection, and I was a Mom. I was his Mom. Every second of hell during my pregnancy and labor was more than worth it when I felt my little baby boy curl up on my chest and I was able to kiss his head. We did it, Liam. We did it, Spence. We did it, fam. I did it.

letter to my son.

My little Liam,

It is me... your Momma. Within the next month you will be joining your Dad and me, changing our lives forever. I could not be more excited to meet you, but I could also not be more terrified. I think you and I will be terrified together the first few days. I can't say exactly how, but I already know you are going to make me a better person. I can say confidently that, at times, I will fall short. Please know I will never give up and will always do my very best to be humble and forgiving. I hope you will do the same for me. I'm not sure if you will ever have any siblings joining you, but I can assure you that we will have a lot of fun regardless. You are going to have a lifetime of experiences to learn from, but there are a few simple truths I hope you take my word on up front. 

God knows you and He loves you. He knows every hair on your head. We live in a fallen world that urges you to question everything about yourself, your faith, and so on. God created you in my womb and He intends for you to fulfill a purpose during your days on earth.  I promise my never ending support in helping you to find that purpose. Always strive to be who God made you to be. As scared as it makes your Momma, I know there will be many times when you may feel pressured to behave a certain way in order to fit into what our world accepts as cool or right. Know your purpose and hold on to it relentlessly, even if doing so may make you feel like an outcast. Please remember any time you are made to feel inadequate that God hears and desires to know everything that is on your heart or mind. Give it to the Lord, son.

I want you to love and experience everything beautiful that this life allows. I hope you aren't afraid to try new things, and to even take some chances. Little secret: that is something your Mom struggles with. I want to see you live it to the fullest. Sometimes you may fail... hopefully gloriously and not in a way that requires more than a few stitches, for my sanity. (Side note: You have your Dad in you so chances are there will be a few rolled ankles and decisions that could have been thought out a little bit further. Drives me crazy, but I absolutely adore him.)

I like to believe that people will treat you with the same love and respect that you give to them, as a general rule. This can't always be expected and if someone decides to spit on you with their hatred, continue to kill them with kindness. Just because someone else behaves in a way that is wrong or unfair does NOT warrant you to do the same. Most importantly be quick to forgive them whether they admit their own wrong doing or not. It is not for you to ensure they face the wrath you think they deserve. Forgive completely, as you will be. There will be many times that you too will miss the mark and will be forgiven.

You already have so so so so many people who love you and always will. Family, true friends and good people are so important and I hope you surround yourself with those who respect and love you. Love and respect them back.

We were created for one reason and that is to glorify God. Jobs will come and they will go. People will do the same. Accomplishments and awards are all too soon forgotten. Live your life to the fullest and enjoy all that goes with it, but never let these things get in the way of your purpose.

Even though you have yet to take your first breath, I am already amazed at how in love with you I am. I pray that with every breath you take you know with absolute surety how much I love you, William Shawn Morley.

I can't wait to meet you,

Mom

PS: I should mention, we appreciated you making it so obvious that we had a little boy joining our family at that 16 week ultrasound, but be warned that there is a certain level of modesty we will expect you to maintain when you are here and more aware. Oh... and I totally posted that picture online. Don't be embarrassed.

35.

 

 (pic stolen from Mom's instagram. I've been bad about taking any myself) 

How far along? 35 Weeks

Total weight gain: Almost back to my pre-pregnancy weight
Maternity clothes? oh yes
Stretch marks? still going strong- none yet!!
Sleep: About every third day when my mind and body can't take any further exhaustion.
Best moment this week: We got our hospital bags packed AND it was confirmed Little moved head down!! Way to go, my little buddy!!
Miss Anything? sitting and it not hurting. laying and it not hurting. walking and it not hurting.
Movement: you betcha
Food cravings: not so much
Anything making you queasy or sick: meat is still bad.
Gender: little baby boy
Labor Signs: lots of pretending with the braxton hicks.
Belly Button in or out? in
Wedding rings on or off? no change here either
Happy or Moody most of the time: I'm a grump this week, I'll be honest.
Looking forward to: meeting this baby boy next month!!

Not so weekly...

How far along? 34 weeks (picture to follow.... possibly later today, probably tomorrow)

Total weight gain: I don't even know anymore. I feel like it has been 10 lbs in the last week.
Maternity clothes? Maternity pants rock, a few shirts... most days I rock one of Spencer's shirts and some pajama shorts. I don't leave the apartment much.
Stretch marks? Nope. My skin is sure itching today though.
Sleep: I have no idea what that is, but would like some.
Best moment this week: I took a pretty amazing nap at my parent's... does that count??
Something to be grateful for this week: Little's health. (: Everything always checks out so well with him.
Miss Anything? Feeling like myself, sleep, feeling functional.
Movement: Always!! (:
Food cravings: None. I hate food.
Anything making you queasy or sick: Most things.
Gender: male.
Symptoms: Think first trimester... but larger.
Belly Button in or out? It is still in.
Wedding rings on or off? Still rocking the bling with the snuggie.
Happy or Moody most of the time: Just kind of blah.
Looking forward to: Getting Liam's nursery set up and finished. The countdown is on!!!