I love this outdoor cabinet in my grandparent’s backyard, just below the kitchen window. They live in a storybook 30s home and even though my grandma is going to die when she sees I post this picture, I think it portrays everything I love about rustic beauty.
I skipped week 29. Too much fun eating Dewars ice cream, enjoying the sun, shopping with my mama, and playing outside every possible chance we could get.
But in case you’re wondering, here’s the view from where I stand:
I would like to live in this dress, by the way. If I could, I would wear it every day for the next ten weeks.
TEN WEEKS!
It simultaneously feels like forever and also very very soon. I want to nest. Desperate to nest, even, but this belly has me feeling like my lower half is broken. When I’m finished with this post, I’m going to wrap a heat pack around my lower back and storm the bedroom with JD. NOT FOR THAT! No no, we have a hot date with a file cabinet and some shelving units. Our bedroom will be in order and lovely by the time baby three makes her debut. She’s not allowed out until both our and the girls’ bedroom look fantastic.
Worth mentioning: I rode a bike for the first time in 6 years. Always good to do something you’re nervous about when your belly looks like it’s housing a beach ball. And then turn that in to a little family bike ride into town for a crazy parade. I’m still recovering. Thankfully, I lived to write this post.
We have a date with an ultrasound technician and baby girl this afternoon! Our diagnostic imaging place offers free 3D/4D ultrasounds for the 28-30 week preggos and we’re getting a peek today.
Thanks for your patience on the blog! Stay tuned. I’m working on a few different projects that should debut here shortly.
I started to write this from an iron table, poolside in my parents’ backyard. My mason jar filled with Pellegrino, lemon, and ice. Little ones were supposedly tucked for naptime and I was pleased with my completed chunk of reading from War of Art (I recommend. Highly.). Ready to commence on a few writing projects, I started the computer and was just about to let my fingers go when I saw two little chubby hands, then cheeks, and finally lips, press against the glass window.
Hello motherhood!
After vacuuming spilled sand from the ant farm and REtucking little ones into bed, I am here. 28.5 weeks pregnant, visiting in Bakersfield for a surprise Mother’s Day present for my mama, and mildly sunburnt. Imagine! Sun! It does exist and it can heat the earth to insanely high temperatures. Oregon, have you heard?
We’ve planned this visit for over a month now. Not a word spoken to anyone but my dad, brother and sister-in-law, and uncle who picked us up from LAX. The girls walked into my parents’ home, the home I was raised in, and woke nonnie up from her nap. Mouths cannot possibly open any wider than my mother’s when she saw the girls and I. Best surprise ever.
The girls were gems on the flight and drive over here. My 28 week preggo body, on the other hand, not so much.
Full on cankles, swollen everything, and my waddle is entirely out of control. I am thankful for the distraction of caring for my girls because it’s quite possible I would dissolve into the couch for the remainder of my pregnancy. I am only slightly exaggerating.
This past week has been significant. I am resolved to the projects I’ve given myself.
The third trimester of pregnancy is a gift of strength. I feel achy and tired and physically undone. My pelvis might just fall apart.
But honestly? I also feel great.
I keep {mildly} strong with exercise, write and read and fight compulsory phone use so I can mother my babies, enjoy my husband because he’s all sorts of awesome, hang out with teens and nest. All while my innards are pushed up inside my throat and the lower half of my body burns and aches. The third trimester of pregnancy is living proof that we are fearfully and wonderfully made. We actually are capable of living well even when our bodies feel like they’re barely functioning. God is just that good. I am given strength beyond what I feel capable of. I sort of love/hate this part of pregnancy/motherhood. My friend Jess calls it ‘mom strength.’ It’s totally legit. It will get me through until delivery and it will sustain me when I have three (oh gosh we’re going to have three) kiddos. Mom strength is grace and I’m asking for lots of it these days.
12 weeks to go!
Have you checked out this new blog? My college roommate Christie is an occupational therapist, specializing in the kiddos, and has created this killer blog. I’m hoping to guest blog soon on the wee ones with giant imaginations! Congrats Teddy! That study candle really paid off 
These two posts from Sashes to the Merchants on creative work. Must reads for anyone involved in creativity, particularly if you feel discouraged!!
Enjoy!
I’m excited. Creative energy bursting in all my seams. Finally, a plan – or brainstorm – or vision – or something with a goal in mind!!!!
Have you noticed we’re at dot com status here on the interwebs? That’s right – per a couple persistent family members (ahem brother and father) and some friends who went before me, I bit the bullet and purchased anniegroves [dot] com.
I’ve prayed for this blog, this space and my writing for a while now. Just little prayers here and there. I read blogs and books with clear premises and always get stuck in the “I have none.” No book ideas, really. No themes for the blog. No crafts to sell. No recipes to share. No advice to give. No professional experience to offer (outside of youth ministry… which might come some day, when I’m older and wiser). Grandma says write what you know.
I know how to write about life. I’ve been doing it since jr. high. God has given me the desire and medium to be raw and real with people and himself. A modern day Psalmist without the poetry and song (Yes, I know that Psalms are poetry and song, but I’ve tried poetry and song writing. It’s hilarious). What I mean to say is I see the sentiment in my writing craft as similar to King David’s honest conversations with God about life, sin, brokenness, joy and delight. My joy and my journey has been to find Jesus and gratitude in the mundane, the broken, the simple and the beautiful. When I set out to write about a story, experience or mood, I find Jesus. Sometimes I know the end point when I start writing a blog post – the revelation has come – but other times, the revelation comes in the writing. It’s for me as much as it is for you. Quietly and somewhat slowly, purpose and direction is beginning to make its way on this blog.
And so, dear readers, bear with me. Changes are coming. New features, some cosmetic changes, and hopefully an e-book or two are on the horizon and I’m stoked. I will continue to mostly talk about life: stories of daily living woven with threads of honesty, gratitude and beauty. Pregnancy updates will continue (guys I peed like 25 times the other day. Not cool), but other than that, the stories might get quiet around here for a bit. Oh – and I hear it’s always a good idea to launch a giant project right before your third child is born – so there’s always that.
In the meantime, add anniegroves.com to your bookmarks or feed and join me as we head on a new direction in the journey together. I couldn’t do this without your kind words and support… I never would have even dreamed of taking this blog anywhere if it weren’t for the handful of you that encourage and inspire me to keep going. So thanks. And see you soon as we approach week TWENTY EIGHT of pregnancy (hi there third trimester!!!)!!!!
I think I’ll spend the remaining trimester right here.
And that about sums it up folks!!
ps – loving this super retro ottoman find from the Young Life garage sale Saturday!
I think if I ever move toward publication, perhaps an e-book or two, I’ll start with the sentiments from this post from October 2008. Most of my content is written. The first year of motherhood is entirely transforming. I want to tell my frazzled self in this post what some of the folks who commented did – girl you’ve got this. All of this? Normal. Embrace and learn… some day she’ll be three and a half and the best snuggler ever.
…………………………
“Why are you going to a coffee shop?” My husband asks as I quickly grab the coffee shop essentials: journal, Bible, one or two books, and my laptop. “For my sanity,” I reply. JD was asking because he knows a small fortune is donated to coffee shops out of our paycheck each month. This morning’s iced coffee will come out of my birthday money though. I need it. Ellie tricked us into thinking she would sleep through the night for good, and then a week later began waking up around two or three each morning, hungry as all get out. This confuses me because I am pretty sure she just had a growth spurt. Unless she has growth spurts every two weeks, she isn’t due for another month or so.
Back to the drawing board. I’m not really sure why I ever leave. Just when some sort of normalcy begins to settle into our day, Ellie up and changes everything. This is motherhood. Well, this is motherhood with El. I don’t know about other mothers. Probably they have their babies all figured out and know just why their baby might be screaming at the top of their lungs in the middle of nap time or waking up at the hours God created for rest. Probably. Probably not, though. Because if I’m the only mom constantly calling my mom or mother in law or consulting the books or calling the doctor after four harmless spit ups, then I need to turn in my license. You know, the license they give you to be a mom just after delivering a watermelon out of your nostril while you stand outside the hospital on the sidewalk convinced that your entire bottom is going to fall off. Where did I put that license anyway? Oh wait, THEY DON’T GIVE YOU ONE.
Motherhood is a good deal of instinct. It’s also a good deal of trial and error. Sometimes the hardest part is learning to be ok with the error. Like maybe I should stop telling Jess that I ruined my child from cuddling by promptly putting her into her crib at nap time when she born. She’s fairly great at taking naps, but try to sit with her and rock her in a chair and she’ll chew your head off. Literally. This is all very disconcerting to a parent. It hurts our feelings a bit, as if our three month old is already out to get us and prove us wrong in everything we say and do. This morning Ellie was just starting to get tired and JD took her to the rocking recliner for a bit of cuddle time. Yeah right dad. The second he sat down she began screaming bloody murder, but JD was determined to rock and cuddle his daughter, and so for about forty five seconds he rocked, she screamed, and then he obliged.
It’s personality, I’m told. Awesome. I don’t know what this means. Maybe I should buy ear plugs.
Of course, there are the tender moments too, like when you first walk into her room in the morning and she gets so excited to see your face that her entire body goes into little happy convulsions and you are convinced that if she flapped her arms a little bit harder she’d fly right up to you. Or while she nurses and latches off just to give you a great big smile, a slight chuckle, and then latch right back on and off and on and off until mom pretends to ignore her so she will finish eating. Or just after eating when she smiles real big and says “geeeee” until you say “geeee?” back and then you create your own little mommy/daughter language (this is the only time I use baby talk – I promise).
These are the moments I cling to. The moments that tell me I must be doing something right amidst all the “oopses.” Motherhood is a great deal instinct, a great deal trial and error, but mostly motherhood is a constant state of extravagant love, labored through, worked out, stretched, tested, and purified… love.
I am non confrontational to a fault. There are lots of good excuses stored up in my brain as to why I bite my tongue when perhaps I shouldn’t. I don’t want to nag. I can be a good listener this way. They’ll probably figure this out on their own, I don’t need to be the one to point it out. I’m not their mother. I’ve got my own issues, I don’t want them to think I’m perfect. I want them to like me... etc. etc.
Some of these reasons are valid and intentional and have a place and purpose. In most of my ministry meetings with teens, I usually try to listen the first few times we hang out – I really want to hear their story and their heart and am tentative with instruction or rebuke. I believe I am wired this way as a youth leader and have found that I am able to speak truth and instruction into their lives when I know them and listen first.
However, in marriage and in close friendships, there are times when I probably should say something and don’t. I am insistent on not being a nag in our marriage. I tell myself that I’m choosing my battles when I let things go that bug me. Some of this is good. I would rather focus on enjoying my husband than dwelling on his faults. We are frequent communicators and often kind in the way we communicate (not always, but usually). BUT… But. last night my husband gave me a new perspective on communicating and why it is important for me to remind him about things that bug me.
He is particular. I am not so much particular. He wishes I were more particular. I resist particularity… Until we’ve talked about particularity enough that I acknowledge there are habits he has that drive me a wee batty, and that maybe JUST MAYBE I am also particular. JD asked me to share some of the habits that annoy me, but that I rarely address because I don’t want to become naggy mcnaggerson. Ahem clothes pile that permanently resides on his side of the bed...
… Annie I need your help. I don’t like those things about myself. When you talk to me about them and remind me that it frustrates you, it helps me to be a better person…
My husband is a humble man. I am less humble. I have a hard time with criticism and rebuke. It crushes my spirit to know I’ve hurt someone or acted inappropriately or just plain sinned. For me to think of communicating reminders about things that bother me or that I see as a need for growth actually makes my stomach nervous. But his perspective allowed me to see truth speaking, rebuking, loving criticism, etc (whatever you want to call it) as good and just and maybe just maybe – God inspired. It is helpful to JD for me to kindly remind him to clean his desk and pick up his clothes because he actually wants to work on them to bless me as my husband. He’s so good.
By the way, for you Friends fans, our whole conversation made me want to exclaim, “and nagging WORKS!” Anyone? Season and Episode? I’m looking at you Christie and Jess…
In our five and a half years of marriage, I’ve had plenty of conversations with wife friends who have frustrations with their spouse. More often than not, when they actually get to talking about their frustrations, the spouse wants them to communicate how they can better help. Ten times out of ten, this is the case in our marriage as well. There are plenty of ways to graciously communicate desires without nagging. And if hubs wants it? I can accommodate.
*JD read this before I posted. He’s just fine with the world wide web knowing about his clothes pile. To be fair, I leave water glasses on my nightstand until they pile up enough to play scales by clinking them. Drives him crazy.
I am in the stage of pregnancy where greetings have transitioned from “hey how are you?” to “how are you feeling?” I blame this on the waddle. Observe, exhibit A:
Me: approach friend, waddling.
Friend: notices waddle. Hey there! How are you feeling?
Me: Hey! Feeling pretty good actually, thanks for asking!
This has happened on several occasions. I’m not lying when I tell them I’m feeling good. I am still in that sweet spot of pregnancy where the aches and pains aren’t terrible and I’m certainly no longer puking my brains out. However… if I were to nitpick? Like maybe if that friend had some time and we could be honest about the way our bodies work? I might respond with something like this…
(we can call this exhibit B, because I like to use the word ‘exhibit.’):
Me: approach friend, waddling.
Friend: notices waddle. Hey there! How are you feeling?
Me: long exhale… Pretty good. Except things are feeling crowded in here and I’m freaked out about fourteen more weeks of growing. My belly feels really heavy. Like maybe I should have a pair of suspenders to hold this basketball I’m lugging around? Do they attach those to skin? And when I hold my toddlers it feels like maybe my baby is going to fall out. My rib is numb. Oh and we’ve introduced a new symptom to pregnancy called pelvic pain. Thanks to this being the third pregnancy, everything hurts. My midwife said something similar to my OB with Claire… each pregnancy gets worse and the pain happens sooner. WHEEE!!!! So, you know. I’m doing feeling pretty good! Oh hey is that a bathroom?
There you have it. At 26 weeks, I feel the above. I’m too stubborn, or perhaps prideful and embarrassed to resort to support belts and other fancy preggo supplies, which is perhaps silly since I have no problem telling the universe about all my symptoms. Thank you blog.
My alarm beeped at 6:20 and I heaved the belly out of bed to get ready. They were still sleeping, so I ate my cheerios and read. After dressing, I opened their door and greeted those precious girls of mine with smiles and urgency.
“Good morning girls! Today we’re going to check out a school for Elianna. Let’s go eat and get dressed so we’re not late!”
El responded, “mom we already like the school!”
“Well let’s go find out.”
In a routine completely unfamiliar to us, we quickly ate cheerios, dressed, brushed teeth and hair, and loaded into the van with boots and smiles. Planning ahead, I stopped by the Starbucks drive thru and through choked tears, ordered a tall 1 pump vanilla latte. I never order that drink.
We chatted and drove and I cried.
Flashes of my firstborn swaddled in my arms and chunky toddler legs running ran through my head as I gasped at the fleeting of it all. How is it possible that my almost four year old is… almost four?! She is even at the tail end of being old enough for preschool and we’re only just checking it out but suddenly I wanted to grab at those four years and hold them in my arms forever. She, the girl who made me a mama is beginning her journey into girlhood and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.
Yesterday we played the game Memory for the first time and clapped and squealed over making matches. I remember playing Memory with my mama! How is she old enough to fit her life into memories?!
The preschool was lovely and fine and we’re praying about whether or not we can even afford preschool at all, but the heaviness of the day belongs to the acknowledgement that my baby isn’t a baby anymore. She is changing and growing rapidly with a thinning body, questions about how the world works, and a growing understanding of her responsibilities to listen, obey, and help with her sisters.
I’m trying to wrap my mind around the idea of our lives changing to fit around a school schedule and new baby. Regardless of whether or not we do preschool, the day is coming soon when that four year old will be five and school is everyday, every year… I knew it would come some day and suddenly it feels like it’s tomorrow.
I am choosing now to soak in today. To kiss those cheeks and enjoy our freedom as three girls who can venture to the library and donuts or stay in our PJs and watch Dinosaur Train. Because before I know it, they’ll all be in school.
It’s taken me several months to grab onto why I chose to stay home for the preschool years after working full time (mostly at home) for the first three years of motherhood. Today? I totally get it.
