Week 31: the countdown hasn't begun

Announcements in church yesterday morning, Peter and I hadn't seen each other since he left for work somewhere between "Goodnight, baby. I love you" and 5:30 am. We met at church, and there seemed to be a million-and-one things we had to tell each other. He was staring at the 8-week old baby a couple rows ahead of us, I was sure of it. And he confirmed it with a gentle rub across my hard belly and "I cannot wait to have a little baby around again." Fatherhood looks so good on him.


In Peter's mind, this little girl's named. He even talks to her by name. But I'll have to see her little face before deciding for certain. (And no, we aren't sharing names this time either!). What we do know is that she's healthy and seems happy and feels to be more active than her brother and sister were, combined. I'm praying praying praying she's busy growing locks, because I have a secret little obsession with babies with heads full of hair.

Heartburn last pregnancy-- excruciating. Heartburn this pregnancy-- nonexistent.

Is that a myth like heart rate and a swinging pendant over the belly determine gender?

I'm up 20 pounds, things in my middle are quite rounded out, only I haven't seemed to grasp that this baby is due in 9 weeks. I keep saying that. 9 weeks.


I keep asking myself when I will realize the calendar has been ticking. So, it doesn't really tick, but it seems like week 31 might be the point when one would begin nesting, washing the little pink things and hanging them to dry. Planning day trips, night trips, weekend-getaways, holidays-- anything to pass the time. Reminding her husband the third crib needs assembled, the names list needs finalized, and I want a pedicure.

But sometimes it slips my mind I'm pregnant. Did you ever think that was possible? 31 weeks with child number 3, and you occasionally forget you're pregnant? But I only said I occasionally forget. Because there are the frequent punches that are so strong I've sometimes wondered if she can kick her way out. And then it's time to buckle my sandals. Hold your breath. If I could fasten them with my toes, I would.

Forgetting doesn't mean we're not excited. We're beyond excited, and I'm drinking this in.

I love being pregnant.



Pregnancy with one child-- something I've never experienced. 3 pregnancies and this is my first time carrying just one. Isn't that something? All the kicks and punches, the hands and feet pressed so hard against me you can almost make out the tiny fingers and toes. With every breath, sustaining the life of this little child. Pregnancy encourages me to sit taller and sleep straighter and eat better. I strive to grow in holiness, it's an incentive to stretch my patience.

Little bit of life.

I once read that a successful blogger posts a minimum of 3 times a week. Three times a week. 

I also read that black is a slimming color on women in their third trimester.

We're off to Ohio today, spending the weekend with dear friends and family. It's out last trip down, and bittersweet, to be sure. We haven't been able to see everyone we wanted to see, and have really made a small dent in the long list. Life can be difficult like that sometimes.

Sebastian and Katharina are quite good at keeping us on our toes. They are 10 months now. Don't blink.

10 months. . . that sounds so much

 older than 9 did.

Sebastian loves stealing food from his sister, eating tiny things, and chewing forks and knives. (See the trend?) He loves to dance. He can climb stairs, stand in his high chair, and feed himself two fistfuls of peas at once. He gives delicious kisses, will snuggle any time of day, and finds nap-time an important part of his routine. 

Grocery shopping suddenly got a whole lot better.

Katharina's mobility level went from 4 to 10 in a matter of weeks. She's a stair-climbing pro, and rolling-off-the-bed master. She's taken several steps in the front yard, unaided, then promptly falls to the grass. She's a girl of many gifts, quite the performer, and Grammy recently taught her to say "uh-oh", and in the proper context! She has different hand motions for different songs and will repeat letter sounds back to Mama. Perhaps her most-loved trick is her "scary face" (will try to post a video later). She dances to anything that sounds the slightest bit like a beat, and likes to read stories, eat, and eat.

They are part Willeke, after all.

Peter recently started work at a golf course, which, on top of his cabinet work, gives him 13-15+ hour work days, which we are thankful for. His skin has turned a handsome red-brown, and his hands are rough and blistered. He rises before the sun, and goes down long after it's set. He's a hard-working man. 

I am so much better than I deserve. This pregnancy has been great, and we can't even believe we have just 11 weeks left. I'm savoring this time with family, and surprisingly, keeping just busy enough.

Life is good, God is great. We have much to be thankful for.

Project cafe racer: complete

It's a 1978 Honda CB550. And it was driven here in one piece. Barely.

And then stripped down to this:

. . .and then this:

Engine cleaned and re-built, entirely new frame. Peter wet-sanded and primed, wet-sanded and primed, every little part.

We talked and planned just exactly how it should look. The goal was to keep as many original parts as possible while still making it everything he wanted it to be. Without breaking the bank. 

New lights, re-vamped fenders. New tires, transformed rims. New speedo, polished tachometer. 

Before

After

With filler and more filler, he completely restored the tank. Not a ding, dent, or air bubble. My guy's that good.

We decided the tank and fender were missing something. Peter thought an oval, my dad suggested numbers. 

Middle-ground was found, the perfect touch. 

He couldn't order stencils off-line, no way. Peter created his own template with a pencil and razor blade.

You'd never, ever guess:

What did I tell you? The man's efficient.

He was into up-cycling (no pun intended) for this project. With a vintage leather jacket and high-density foam, he made the seat all on his own. The guy had a better sense of direction in JoAnn Fabrics than I did.

What did I say? He's way efficient.

And his diligence has paid off. Big time. 

My spinning head.

A lot of things are up in the air right now. It's a sobering place to be. Times like this, it's hard to fight stress, to not fall into faithlessness.

We've got a lot of decisions to make-- a lot of big things to do-- in the next couple weeks, which means we don't do a whole lot besides feed babies and pray. It brings me that much closer to my husband, and I'm thankful for these trials we face. Endless as they seem.

And times like these my mind tends to wander every which direction. It usually doesn't make sense. But my husband holds me and listens, my head tight against his chest.

I've just spent 7 nights away from him. 7 nights, no husband to snuggle. No husband to laugh at my pregnant-lady dreams. We're together again at last, and his face fits just perfectly, right between my hands.

I think of the souls of these three. Entrusted to us, such a heavy responsibility. And 3 John 1:4 comes to mind over and over again, as I wake each morning, throughout my day, as they eat, wake, sleep. We're devoted, every single bedtime since birth, to praying with them. Our prayer has consistently, fervently, been that He make our children a godly man and woman. All throughout the day, I ask them over and over, "What does Mama want you to be?" Their little faces light up and I know they know they answer. A godly man. A godly woman.


"I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth." No greater joy.

And perhaps once a day, in the middle of each bustling 24-hour period, my spinning mind comes back to these heavy words, and I slow myself down to refocus.

"It is very grievous to see how some professedly Christian parents are satisfied so long as their children display cleverness in learning, or sharpness in business, although they show no signs of a renewed nature. If they pass their examinations with credit and promise to be well fitted for the world's battle, their parents forget that there is a superior conflict, involving a higher crown, for which the child will need to be fitted by divine grace and armed with the whole armor of God. Alas, if our children lose the crown of life, it will be but a small consolation that they have won the laurels of literature or art." 

-C.H. Spurgeon

I've been pondering how different our life would be without these little ones. How our twins' first birthday is nearing, and how if things had gone our way, September 28 would be nothing to us.

How if things had gone according to our plan, Sebastian and Katharina would not be. How these three are such gifts, surprises, but bring total joy, meaning, to our life.

Not my will, but Yours.

How the only children we "planned" for are the twins we don't have here with us.

That humbles me, takes me to my knees, and my heart is grateful. Grateful for all He's given, even all He's taken away. Grateful that the God we serve is a sovereign One, caring for the sparrows, adorning the lilies of the field, numbering the hairs of my very head. That He's infinity, eternity. Unchangeable.

His glorious, glorious plans.

Little No. 3

On Peter's birthday, we also learned the gender of our sweet baby at our 20  23 week ultrasound.

After Sebastian and Katharina, Peter was set on finding out this baby's gender, too. And I really couldn't refuse. I like my bag packed properly-- pink or blue. None of the yellow-and-green funny business for me. A surprise now, or later? I'll take now, please.

Though I didn't really think we needed to go at all, other than to see that all was healthy-- 4 heart chambers, kidneys and liver, stomach, bladder, brain. Normal lips, 10 fingers and toes. I was certain we'd be having a boy. 110% sure.

I'm really tickled to say how very wrong I was. Plain and clear to see, the doctor actually asked me to determine.

 I'm no doctor, but it wasn't hard. Not at all.

"What do you have?" 

"Well, it doesn't look at all like my son did. . .but it's supposed to be a boy, I was sure. . ."

Doctor, with a smile, "I'm thinking pink, guys!"

And we're really, really excited.

 See?

Peter even did a little happy dance in the room, right there for the doctor to see. He'd been praying for another daughter.  And I'm happily wrong.

When we told Katharina the news:

she can't wait to share her dolls and dresses with a little sister.

And Sebastian, he's even more thankful for his Papa.

but he's really excited too.

Petey Baby turns 25!

25 candles, family breakfast tradition, his favorites-- picnic with stinky cheese, crusty bread, roast beef. A rest under trees, canoeing. Birthday cake by request, mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Loving him is just so easy.

picnicking is something we used to do over and over and
over again when we were dating, engaged, and newlyweds
(aren't we still?). It was fun to repeat that date.

really, seriously, madly in love.

this cake: 17 eggs, 1.5 pounds of butter, 28 ounces of

chocolate. I am picky about cakes, and this made

the cut, for sure.

Together again at last!