41, 1 and 20

I have been pregnant for 41 weeks, 1 day and 20 hours so far. The baby is overdue, and I am getting bigger and bigger. I feel like I am so big that I must scare people with my bigness as they pass me by. It's almost like a promise has been broken somewhere--a pregnancy is only supposed to last 40 weeks. Why am I still pregnant? Doesn't the baby know this womb is only supposed to be open for business for 40 weeks and no more? The rent is due kid, time to move out!

However, I am sure the baby feels she is not overdue and plans to make her exit when she believes it is time. It is really funny how much of her character we are surmising from her continued stay in my belly. "She loves all the attention and wants to make a grand entrance--she must be a drama queen!" or "She is laid-back and not in a hurry to be anywhere" or "She must be very independent-minded because she doesn't want to share a birthday with anyone."


While we have been waiting, my youngest sister Sharon has been in and out of town. She arrived a day after the due date and stayed until this past Wednesday. She came to help with the baby but since there hasn't been a baby to help, she helped reorganize the baby's room instead.

Mom came on Monday and she will be here for 3 and 1/2 weeks. She flew all the way in from Hong Kong to be with me and the baby. She also came to help out with the baby, but since there has been no baby to help, she has been cooking, cleaning around the house and hanging out with me. Between Mom and Sharon, I have felt like I have been on one of those HGTV decluttering and reorganizing shows, but with lots of good Chinese food.

Advent and Epiphany

We celebrated Christmas in Philadelphia this year, our first Christmas away from normal family celebrations in Tennessee. I am 37 weeks pregnant in this picture, sitting in our new rocking chair (given to us, free!) in front of our poor Christmas tree that suffered nightly attacks and abuses from our cat, Smokey. If you look closely, you may notice NO ornaments, garlands, anything on the bottom quarter of the tree--our attempts to protect the tree's dignity from Smokey. It didn't really work; I am still trying to locate Smokey's stash of ornaments because at last count we are missing some.

Though Christmas was truly a wonderful and surprising blessing to us, I have to say that Advent and Epiphany have been more meaningful to me this year. Advent is the season when we prepare ourselves for God's revelation of love and new life, when we live in expectation of the fulfillment of God's promises to us--"the hopes and fears of all our years are held in thee tonight". Epiphany is when God's promises are revealed in a majestic announcement with triumph and humble reverence. Can you imagine being Mary, sitting in the midst of animal funk and food and accepting exotic and expensive gifts from strange and breath-taking kings who traveled a great distance just to see your baby?

Being pregnant during Advent and now Epiphany makes it so real to us--how magnificent are God's promises! How stunning are the expectations that we have of God during this time as we prepare for this wonderful blessing! And the waiting for the fulfillment of these promises are causing lip-quivering, cringing days lived in suspense--when is she going to get here?!

And it seems that she will almost never arrive. Though we are only two days away from her approximated "due date", I have already entertained the medical possibility of being pregnant forever, but have been assured by mothers everywhere and Wikipedia that she will eventually arrive, and precisely on time according to God's watch.

God's timing is so amazing, and it simply isn't possible to know when he will fulfill his promises. You can only know that he will.

When she arrives, I don't expect to see any kings or dignitaries coming to visit her, but I do suspect that there will be angels singing songs of praise and announcements of great joy over her coming -- another of God's precious daughters has come into this world to fulfill the promises God has placed inside of her. Hallelujah!

Community: Version 26.2

November 19, 2006 was a date that I had circled on my calander for over six months. It symbolized a long sought after dream, a goal, a monstrous challenge. It was on this date that I ran in the Philadelphia Marathon. I had followed a training plan from a book I had bought years before. When I say "followed", I am using that verb loosely, but it provided a good guidline for all those lonely and thoughtful preparatory miles. Through all the aches and pains I made it to the starting line (along with 10,000 other souls as you can see in the photo).



Running a marathon presents you with many interesting people to mingle with. All I had to say was that this was my first marathon and people slapped me on the back and gave me encouragment. As I ran, people wore indications of why they ran. Some ran for lost parents or family with pictures printed on their clothing. One guy's shirt said "Running to where I started". I noticed that lot's of people ran with their names written on their shirts. I found this strange until I started running down 3 miles of Chestnut street (where most of the the onlookers stood) and people were yelling out their names and cheering them on. It was a nice thought to have beer offerred to you as you finish mile 18, but they didn't have many takers! They seemed to be having a good time though! The whole trail was littered with encouragement and affirmations from fellow runners, which I gave out as well. None of the people I was running with were in danger of breaking any speed records that day, but it gave me a different glimpse on what community can be. We were struggling toward a common goal. We all knew what each other was going through and if somebody fell away or surge forward they were given or gave words to lift the other.

One shirt said "Runin' to Howard and Sade". I don't know who they are, but I know that they are loved. I got to thinking (there was a lot of time for thinking) what or who am I running for? I have thought about this for a while and running the marathon for me was a physical and mental test that I wanted to put myself through. Why, you might ask? Because it is my celebration of my life. I am alive. There is air in my lungs and strength in my muscles enough to travel 26.2 miles. I am alive and the possiblities that can come from this reality, which I did nothing to deserve, are worthy of celebrating. Each mile was a reminder of new possibilities that life can reveal if I am willing to go after them. The book I read that helped me prepare for the marathon stated that, "it takes a lot more courage to step up to the starting line than it does to finish it." Yes, that's true - with marathons and life too!

Documenting the Transformation

Call this a mini National Geographic-esque documentary on the transformation of the Baby's Room, if you will. This transformation has been as much a part of our lives these past few months as the pregnancy.

Here, you can see that we used this room as the "we don't know what to do with this stuff, let's just put it in here and close the door" room. After we discovered we were pregnant, we redubbed this "The baby's room."
Yes, we had a long way to go.













Ahhh, the transformation begins.



















Here is my husband in action. He, like many other carriers of the hormone "testosterone", insisted that he carry out the preparation of the room by himself.

He presented arguments that my delicate state of pregnancy prevented me from painting or breathing in paint fumes (he was supported by my midwife and the guy at the paint store). He also remained obstinate that no outisde assistance cross into his territory, oh, erhh, I meant preparations for the baby.







However, Smokey the cat, who is barely male since the vet took away his precious ability to procreate, did attempt to assist Tim. Here, he has a nice white streak of paint across his forehead. His attempts at assistance were not appreciated.












Finally, the transformation is complete! You can see that because of my natural beauty and the obvious visual reason why all this work was necessary in the first place, I have fulfilled the Vanna White role in the presentation of this finished product.
Yes, there are still items in the crib that would hinder comfort and sleep, but that will be resolved before the baby arrives.

Now, all we are actually missing is a baby.

Pregnancy is a Journey

I am slowly beginning to realize that everything in life that has a process, stages of growth or milestones of change is ultimately a journey. Like finding the love of your life and marrying him, or hearing and understanding your calling in life and then pursuing it, or becoming pregnant and having a baby--it's all a journey.

When we first found out that we were pregnant, we were happy in our disbelief and barely grasped what the enormity of pregnancy. It was unreal, and we were just giddy over the fact that we were starting something that would have a life, character and personality all its own.

Then the morning sickness came. And the food aversions. And the crazy fatigue. And the lists of banned food and drinks. And somewhere along the way, I had to start adjusting my wardrobe to compensate for a growing belly. Reality was slowly setting in ... this is becoming more than we bargained for.


This is me at 5 months, when I am just beginning to actually look pregnant. I am standing in what was to become the baby's room. Obviously, the Bowflex machine, ladder, and boxes of books in the background were evidences of the beginning phase of the transformation (that is, haven't done a durn thing yet). This is the "ahhhhh, what have we gotten ourselves into?" phase of the journey.

Here I am at 6 months, standing in our tiny bathroom.

I might be smiling in this picture, but this is the time when I started feeling like I was in an "Alien" movie, where the alien bursts out of the human host body, destroying the human and causing great distress for Sigourney Weaver and her team of trained alien killers. This is the part of the journey when my mind was slowly beginning to realize that my life was about to drastically change, that another little human was about to be solely dependent on me for its survival. Not that I was beginning to resent the baby, but I had lots of unanswered questions, like "Will having a baby cause me to put off my ministry dreams and calling?" or "Will I lose my identity, because I think I was just starting to get a handle on myself?" or "Who am I going to be on the other side of this life-changing event?" This is the "Oh. My. God." phase of the journey.


This is me at 8 months, in a completed baby's room. (Obviously, getting the baby's room in order was also a journey.)

Here, I am used to feeling kicks and punches from within and have finally managed to reconcile myself to the fact that life-changing events are scary but good. (Haven't we done life-changing events already? Getting married? Graduating? Moving out on my own? Why is this so new?) I am much more ready to accept pain of childbirth and life changes, even, strangely, welcome it. My doses of courage and boldness are from God, because quite honestly, if I had known it was going to be like this, I may not have chosen this path on my own. This is the "Readiness is a State of Mind" phase of the journey.

And ... away we go!

Hear ye, Hear ye ...

My sister Lillian has finally convinced me -- a blog is a good idea, especially for family and friends to see pictures and keep up with the baby (whenever she finally decides to arrive) and our exciting superhero lives. Besides, Tim and I have things to say and share that you might find interesting. Or you just may be bored at work and need something to look at for 5 minutes that has nothing to do with using the gray matter that God gave you. Whatever the reason, you are always welcome.

So with that, (imagine sound of gavel pounding wood, or birds joyously breaking into song -- whatever your preference), this blog is open for your perusal and enjoyment.

Love, Doris, Tim and Smokey