A Little...

Elijah is going to be a big brother!
Oh wait, you already knew that (cheeky, aren't I?)

Elijah's little sibling seems to be super healthy. Growth seems to be right on track and everything looks as they would expect it to look (sigh of relief).

How much longer can I delay the information you are waiting for?

Elijah is going to have a little si.....
sibling! (you thought I was going to say sister didn't you?)


Okay, okay.

Elijah is going to have a little brother!

Yes, I'm going to be outnumbered with boys.

As the ultrasound technician announced the gender, I started to cry.

"Are those tears of joy?" she asked.

"Yes, they are," I replied with a smile and a nod. "I think Elijah is going to love having a little brother. I can't wait."

Images of our sons playing together danced through my head and the joy engulfed me.
Another son. A son. A boy. Our boys.

I couldn't be happier.

I am so, so blessed. I know it now more than I ever have.

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Finding Out

Yesterday marked the halfway point of my pregnancy. Today we have our 20-week ultrasound.

I'd be lying if I said that the only feeling I'm having is excitement. I'm also anxious and a little scared.

I know too much now.

I know that an ultrasound is sometimes more than finding out whether your baby will be wearing pink or blue. Sometimes an ultrasound means discovering a life-altering diagnosis.

I knew this, of course, when I was pregnant with Elijah. But, I didn't really know it. I was one of those annoying pregnant women who thought nothing bad could happen to me. And then bad things did happen to me and now I know. I know that things happen, they can happen to anyone, and that anyone could be me.

Last time Andy and I decided we didn't want to know the gender of our baby ahead of time. We'd heard way too many stories about the ultrasound tech getting it wrong, of couples bringing a boy home to a pink room - or vice versa. We liked the idea of the ultimate surprise. And, really, we didn't care either way if it was a boy or a girl.  We just wanted the baby to be healthy we'd say. Words that somehow sting now, even though they still wring true. Health is such a blessing.

We were met with two reactions when we'd tell people we weren't finding out whether Elijah-to-be was a boy or a girl. I'd hear either, "That's so great that you're not finding out. That's how it should be." Or, "Why in the world would you wait? I want to know what you're having!" Apparently peeking at the gender is a topic with many opinions.

The moment they announced, "It's a boy" will forever remain my favorite moment of Elijah's birth, a birth that was nothing like it should have been. That moment was literally the only moment of joy in a scary situation.

But this time? This time I want to know ahead of time. There is an inherent need in me for things to be drastically different. I don't want the announcement of my child's gender to be the most exciting moment of his or her birth. I'd like it to be the moment I hold him or her or the moment my eyes first see this child. I just want things to be different. Happy different.

I have no reason to believe that my ultrasound today will be anything other than a joyful experience of seeing our child and finding out a tidbit about who they will be. My pregnancy with Elijah was textbook and this one seems to be following suit.

I am a little nervous, but mostly excited to get a glimpse of this little one who has been making popcorn in my belly in the mornings and evenings. I'm already madly in love - boy or girl, diagnosis or no diagnosis.

Baby of mine, I love you.

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Just Me and My Dad

I love to watch Elijah with his dad.

Watching them take an impromptu snooze on the couch on a Sunday afternoon...

or seeing Elijah help Andy as he tried to fix the squeaks in our floor.

Elijah is helpful like most kids are (which is not very helpful at all, right?).

 He is one of the cutest little helpers I've ever seen, though. It's great to see him take an interest in what Andy is doing.

And best of all, he loves spending time with his daddy.

Blessed? Yes. Yes, we are.

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Singing His Heart Out

Elijah doesn't quite grasp the concept of a microphone just yet...

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Mischief

    The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind
    and another
    his mother called him "WILD THING!"...

 -Quote from the children's book Where the Wild Things Are

Trying to figure out how to reach the cord for his stereo

I find myself muttering the word, "mischief" a lot these days. Elijah climbing or teetering on the edge of the couch, pulling his stereo off of the shelf, or kicking toys around the house to use them as stepping stools are common occurrences these days.

It reminds me so much of the book, Where the Wild Things Are.

Pure mischief.

The thing is, mischief is a good thing. I keep reminding myself of this. Elijah is in another exploration mode, trying to figure out how things work, how his body moves, and even how we will react when we find him in mischief.

The other night, Elijah climbed into bed, stood up and starting jumping - all while looking in our direction to see what we would do.

Mischief!

Sitting with Andy on the couch after Elijah was in bed, I had an epiphany. "I feel like we're going through the terrible twos with Elijah," I said. The terrible twos at four, that is.

"I just hope we don't get stuck in this phase for a really long time," Andy said. We sat in silence, both realizing that this parenting journey hasn't always been easy. We experience the same things a lot of parents do, it's just that the phases often come later and often last longer. And, yes, that can be hard sometimes.

With that said, it is a blessing too. We rejoice, momentarily, in the mischief ("Wow, Elijah was able to see the cord to the stereo, wonder what would happen when he pulled it, and bring his boombox crashing to the ground!"), before we move forward with stopping the behavior.

So, yes, I'm going a little crazy as Elijah gets into seemingly constant mischief. And I continually rejoice over the fact that he is able to get into mischief at all.  Sometimes the baby in the NICU flashes before my eyes and I remember where we've been.

Watching him climb on a chair to try and touch his boombox seems like a miracle. And, really, it is.

As is the boy we call our son.

"I didn't do it"

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