As Brian and I near the end of our carefree parenting days in a man-to-man defense and move into a zone defense, it seems fitting to publish the rest of our family/maternity photos. It’s difficult for me to imagine how different our lives will look and feel this time next week.
I had an OB appointment this past Tuesday, and I AM actually making some progress in the laboring department. So, it appears that you all should hear some baby news from us by the end of next week if not sooner, Lord willing!
Aaaahhhhhhhh, St. Patrick’s Day. The day I remember from childhood as an excuse for all the little girls with green scrunchies and embroidered, clover jumpers to run around pinching the crap out of those of us who forgot to wear green to school.
I’m pretty sure Saint Patrick is the patron saint of mean little girls.
Several weeks ago I received a message from my precious friend Donna to ask if she could throw me a baby shower in Georgia. First of all…let me just stop right here so I can confess something. Thoughtfulness is probably not my super power.
If you listen closely, you can hear my family violently nodding their heads in agreement.
I’m forgetful. I’m self-centered by nature. I’m a procrastinator. And I can be selfish with my time.
If there was a support group for people like me, NO ONE would show up for the meetings.
Last September I had dinner with my dear, childhood friends Liz and Donna. Liz was in her third trimester with twin babies (her 3rd and 4th kids), and I recall that she was lamenting her overall state of discomfort. She had weeks left before she was officially full term, but Liz said she would have let the doctor rip her open that moment—right on a table in the middle of Panera Bread—to end her suffering.
Okay, those are my melodramatic words, not hers.
I was at the barely-there baby bump phase of this pregnancy, and I remember encouraging/lecturing her on the importance of carrying full term and the absolute atrocity of c-sections for the sake of the mother’s comfort or convenience. Shame on these mothers for wanting to rip a child out of the womb before he or she is fully developed, I thought to myself. Shame on them!
Oh…stupid, stupid Katy.
With little more than 2 1/2 months remaining in Brian’s Air Force career, we have both been hit with the realization that this is not just a job we’re leaving. We’re not merely moving to a new city or a different house. We’re leaving behind a lifestyle. We’re saying goodbye to a community that we’ll never really be a part of again. Sure, Brian is and always will be a veteran, but there’s a different camaraderie amongst active duty service members and their families.
And while this change is 100% what we want for our marriage and for our kids, the bitter part of the bittersweetness hit us both last Friday night like a ton of bricks.
Or like 50 cannon blasts and an amazing fireworks display.
The next time someone asks me what I do for a living, I’m going to pull out the following photo and show it to them.
I’m a mommy blogger. So, I basically force my husband and kids to do fun things with me so I can blog about them.
I poured through my photos yesterday (Thursday) in an attempt to come up with the perfect TBT photo. Dad, since I know you’ll ask, TBT (Throwback Thursday) is when people post old photos of themselves on social media or blogs. Not old as in, “Check out my crow’s feet in this photo,” but old like, “Hey, check out my ALF t-shirt.”
I have plenty of pictures of both, by the way.
I think one of the most difficult aspects of blogging for me isn’t the writing, the photo editing, the video editing, or the constant need to be “in the know” technologically. No, the most difficult part for me is this black hole time waster called the Internet.
I spend at least 75% of my dedicated blog time asking myself the question, “Why in the WORLD am I reading this?”
[Funny, I often ask myself that same question while here on this blog.]
It has become a ritual of mine to take photos of the cemetery here on Fort Leavenworth at various times of day, in different seasons, on holidays, and under certain weather conditions. There’s something about the pristine uniformity of this military cemetery that makes it so beautiful to me. And never is that more true than when the grounds are covered in a blanket of clean, undisturbed snow.
I look at the innumerable headstones and remember that each one represents a living soul: a man, woman or (in some cases) teenager who was willing to take an oath to defend our nation against our enemies.