from venice

Heyo! We're in Florida. This was our first wedding-less weekend since August, and Southwest had a deal so we flew down on the cheap. 

I highly recommend talking your parents into moving somewhere with a beach. Between that and my mom's dishwasher and in-home laundry machines, it's going to be a teensy bit hard going back to Chicago.

This is me with my mom. She's a full time nurse and a part time professor and a part time student finishing up her Master's degree. She also clears her whole schedule when her kids come home to visit. She's completely awesome.

Add in Dad. He can't keep any secrets ever and really loves to make jokes. I was afraid that he might make a joke about my big pregnant belly when he picked us up at the airport and I was also afraid I might be hungry after getting off the plane where they only feed people peanuts on four hour long flights and I was afraid I might kill him if those two potential circumstances came to pass, so I warned him ahead of time to zip it and provide me food lest I become hangry (= hungry + angry), and he did both very well. So he's awesome too. 

What a hunk. Tim has been working so hard since March. Much harder than me, that's for sure, because he carried my work load when I was busy being sick for five months (which is over now, thank God!). He's had so many weeks packed with shoots (read: weeks with little time to catch up on editing) that have necessitated more than a few all-nighters lately. We've been looking forward to this trip as the light at the end of the tunnel of wedding season and it makes me very glad to see him with his relaxed vacation face on. I love that face.

Our work is our bread and butter, and it's damn good work to have. We are blessed and thankful and so happy. We wake up in love every day and relish spending all of our minutes together, toiling our little business, lifting each other to high places and carrying each other through the low spots. I'm still in awe of the goodness of God because none of these things that I have in my life is fair or deserved. I just found it, like a pearl in a field. I gave up everything I had for it, and got back so much more than I surrendered.

Here's the 31 week belly, you guys. I'm ready for it to stop growing, but we have a ways to go. New Tab's been rolling around like crazy and I'm trying so hard to get to know this baby inside me. Is that a foot or an elbow? A hick-up or a kick? Am I carrying a boy or a girl?
Some of my mom's friends threw me a shower this week. They gave me some precious books and yellow ducky baby sized towels and obscure advice from the other side, like "drink in every minute!", "you'll have all you need when you need it", "your birth will be your birth",  and "just take it one day at a time". But I also got some literal pointers too, like "order your diapers off amazon", "expect to wear your maternity clothes for a few months after the birth", and "don't compare yourself to anyone else". I'm very grateful for those ladies and this vacation. It's nice to feel rested and surrounded at a time like this.

Tablife busynesses

September is busy for the Tabs, you guys. We have a record number of weddings on our roster, so we've been spending our every weekday waking hour mesmerized by computer screens and our weekends beholding lots of pretty weddings. We shot an especially sweet one last Saturday. 

Sometimes we'll zone out of the computer glare long enough to realize that it's been a few days since we stepped outside and we need some air. 

I'm learning, slowly, that to step outside my front door while living in Chicago is to step into a swirl of controversial political activity. Whether it's our governor being thrown in jail or our mayor making the whole city angry or our cops getting convicted for murder or our teachers going on strike or the gangs killing each other, or, or...it just never ends. I keep waiting for a peaceful week in this city and I haven't seen one yet. The rhythm and the wind don't stop. I'm trying to get used to this part.

And yet, for all her faults and wounds, Chicago still dazzles me. She is adored by her cantankerous people. She's too pretty to break up with. 

So. We have the constant motion of our work and the restless energy of our city to keep up with, which is more than enough to think about...and then there's me and my condition. Me and my baby. Already changing our lives in every way. 

I finally started keeping a health journal so I can keep track of the varied array of symptoms and side effects I have every day, because the changes are so close and quick that Tim and I both live in a constant state of confusion over what's happening and how to fix me. Nausea, headaches, exhaustion together with insomnia, extreme hunger, sore joints, heartburn, forgetfulness, swollen blood vessels, frayed emotions. It's all there each day and, praise God, it's all normal. Nothing about it is predictable, and nothing is out of the ordinary at the same time. It is hard, but it is beautiful and good at the same time. Even as I sit here quietly right now, my heart is pounding so hard I can hear it and feel the drum beating throughout my whole body. It has more work to do than normal. The baby bounces and turns and kicks my belly visibly out in dramatic motions that shake my shirt. I pass the mirror on my way into the shower and am shocked to see bright blue lines tracing highways under my skin, expertly navigating an extra 50% of my normal blood supply through me and to the baby. It's all incredible, and I have never been more thankful for my health or positively sure that my body is fearfully and wonderfully made, and a divine creator's power alone is effortlessly building another body deep inside mine and this new person already has a soul and life purpose for the outside world. 

I'm sure of that, and I'm sure of how bad my feet hurt.

Tim has been an incredible source of strength for me. I am not carrying this baby alone, ever. The man is a saint. He rubs my feet and washes endless dishes and when I'm restlessly trying to get comfortable next to him at 4am he reaches his hand over and says: "you've had a hard night, babe." I never have to fight for justification.

And for goodness sake, he goes and gets me things. Is it not the most annoying thing in the world when someone asks you to go get them something? A glass of water from the kitchen? The laundry from the dryer (which is down 4 flights of steps in the basement of our building)? Dinner from the takeout place? A very specific piece of clothing from the basket of clean laundry that he washed and I have yet to fold? Can you just get that for me, babe? He always says yes, letting me save my energy for the important things. He's amazing.

And whenever I have the energy, I try really hard to be amazing back to him. I was domestic in the kitchen and productive in the office today. It felt really good. Life is good. 

ultrasound recap. and all those feelings.

So, I was pretty nervous about the ultrasound.

We opted out of all genetic testing leading up to now (a decision I'm still happy we made), so this was the big important first ever examination our baby was going to have by the medical world. We'd already decided to wait to find out the gender until the birth, so I didn't have that excitement to distract me from the potential for discovering problems. I was so nervous about it that I didn't even consider what the experience of seeing my baby move around on the screen would be like for me.

Let me backtrack here and also share that I had been waiting to have an emotional attachment response to my baby. That sounds like a terrible thing to say, but I thought that when I found out I was pregnant, I would feel this huge sense of love for the child I'm carrying...and I didn't. It was more like "I'm carrying a child? Where is it? My body looks the same. I feel the same." And then when I did start to feel the physical effects of pregnancy, they were not good. They made me cranky, tired, doubting of my physical abilities to do my normal routine, and generally pretty sick.

So then I thought "when we hear the heartbeat at 11 weeks, then I'll fall in love." And again, I didn't. It was nice and reassuring to know the baby was still alive inside me. It was a cute sound and it made me happy. But I didn't fall in love that day, and I was really hoping I would.

I started to doubt that I would have any emotional attachment until the birth. It was odd and I felt a bit defective, because I hear other women talk about how they loved their unborn babies from the moment they found out they had conceived, and I always thought I would be like those women. I've always wanted to be pregnant and really looked forward to this whole process, but I was having a hard time really believing there was an actual living human inside me. It felt a lot more like a persistent stomach virus than a baby.

I hit a wall at 17 weeks and got sad and discouraged. I had expected morning sickness to end with the first trimester, and it didn't at all. With each day that I spent hunched over my vomit pail, missing out on seeing people and being social, completely bored with laying on my left side but unable to find comfort in any other position, I started to hate being pregnant and wondered why I signed up for this. This lasted for about 3 weeks.

On the night before the ultrasound, full of anxiety, I laid in bed and started praying. I have a lot of friends who are hurting right now, specifically because they or someone they love is really sick. I know that God's love for my baby and everyone else is not dependent on whether He keeps us from going through trials, and I confessed that I was scared of Him and what He might decide to put us through. It was a pretty honest and raw place I was in. I had no words articulated, except "Jesus, please..."

And then--right then--an answer that I needed but wasn't asking for at the moment came: "You do love this baby."
What? Yes! Of course I did! Here I was begging for mercy on behalf of my little one, wanting so badly for him or her to be born strong and healthy with every chance to achieve anything they want in life, and it was my own proof to myself that I cared. That I was starting to become a real mother with all the motherly feelings and deep, deep love for the tiniest details about my baby's life. It wasn't a promise that everything would be alright and we would get a good report on the baby's health the next day, but my growing confidence in myself to have the love I need to face any hardships that may come definitely helped me walk into the office the next day with more peace than I had the night before.

Our ultrasound tech was less than friendly. She was a bit gruff at the beginning of the appointment and I tried to soften her and win her over with complementing her ultrasound skills. "I can't believe you know what you're looking at!" It sort of worked?
"Your baby is breech."
Thanks. I'm sure the next 20 weeks will allow for plenty of time for the baby to flip around once or twice. 
"Head circumference looks good."
"Really?! Because we have a family history of anencephaly so I was worried..."
"The head looks really good."
"...thank you."

And then, she moved on to the heart. That's about when I lost my composure and tears slipped down onto exam table paper under my head. I could see four perfect little chambers pumping regular and strong. 145 beats per minute.
"Heart looks good."

Then, a perfect strand of pearls arched down the baby's back. Moving in line with the kicks I was feeling.
"Spine looks good."
We have a family history of spina bifida too. More worries erased.

Two feet, two hands. A little birdcage of tiny ribs. A stomach, a diaphragm, and two kidneys. We got to see a perfect little skeleton wiggling around on the screen. I squeezed Tim's hand with each new relief. The reality of this baby's physical body and presence in our lives finally hit me in the deepest way. I was so happy.

me and my fear

I think it was a few weeks ago that Tim was talking finances with a friend, who urged us to get life insurance policies. We agreed that it was the smart thing to do, just in case, and then the conversation went on.

As we were getting ready for bed that night, Tim brought it up again and reaffirmed that he really wanted to get that done soon. If anything happened to him, he wanted me to have more than just our savings to sustain me for a while. I quietly agreed, and then Tim promptly fell asleep while I laid awake, anxiety eating at me, tears running down onto my pillow.
The cruel voice of fear, writing sad storied in my head.

Before I was married, the fear was that I would never find someone to love me. It followed me all day, influencing my decisions about where I went and how I spent my time and what I wore and how I valued people. Born out of lies, insecurity, and despair...all unnecessary, I know this, but there it was.

So I'm lying in bed crying, all worked up that the man I love (who's so at peace, he's asleep, mind you) will fade from my grasp like a vapor, and I realize how easily and regularly I get to this point. All it takes is erratic (read: normal) Chicago traffic to make me gasp in fear, or grip my seat with anxiety that we'll be in a crash that will take him and leave me. Or if Tim orders a cheeseburger when we're out, I get all bossy and patronizing, making him feel guilty for his unhealthy choice that will probably cost him his life and my happiness down the road. Or if he crosses the street too slowly with cars approaching, I pull him by the arm towards the sidewalk.

I see the pattern of course, there will always be something to fear. I'm sorry, future children! Besides that, the greatest product of my fear has never been the fear realized: it is my behavior. Fear makes me controlling, angry, anxious, insecure, condescending, and the list goes on. ALL negative side effects of a needless condition.

And then, laying awake and afraid that night, I just gave up and gave in to the fear. I submitted myself to it as a real possibility, admitting that the worst of the worst could happen to me and then if it does I would make it. I would eventually be ok, because ultimately, my wellbeing and peace doesn't rest on Tim or any other person or thing that will expire. This isn't a "strength within self" mantra, I don't have that kind of strength and I don't know how to fabricate it.

The God who put me together can take me apart and He can take care of me through it all. And I'm not supposed to live in fear.

And, I swear to you, this is the only relief and answer to my fear. The only hope for sleep and peace and hope in my tortured night. Trusting, having faith, in a God who loves me is the only remedy for my weak heart and tendency to be bitter, self-focused, and hard to live with.

I just thought I would tell you about me and my fears, in case you get afraid too.

so cute

This right here is just the most adorable moment. Tim's grandmother, affectionately known to her family as Mamie Suzanne, turns the corner into her 80th birthday party, shocked at the huge crowd gathered in a little church to celebrate her.

Mamie Suzanne is the matriarch of a community of Christians living in Grenoble, France. Her son (my father in law) now pastors the church that her husband planted in 1967, and the congregation loves and respects her so much.

At her party, everyone who wanted to share got up and told stories of how Mamie Suzanne had blessed and encouraged them over the years, and helped them to better understand the love of God. She's already left such a great legacy in her wake.

I love grandparents. I have four of them, which is unusual and incredible and a huge deal on its own, so I can't believe my fortune to have another sweet grandmother in my life now. I will meet her for the first time this Christmas when Tim and I get to France to celebrate. Parties!!