Photo Journal {March 17th-23rd, 2014}

So...


This week was almost a total bust.

I snapped a couple of iPhone photos and logged some videos for the grandmas, but no actual photography or documentation was completed.

I'm blaming wee Bettina for this.

Side note: per multiple questions, my daughter's "real" name is Elizabeth, but we call her "Bets," or any combination of the following nicknames: Bettina, Bitty Bets, Betsy-boo-boo, Chicka-B, and Chicken Little (the last one because of her dramatic hysterical crying as though the sky is falling, although there is nothing wrong...)

Any way, Chicken Little decided that she would go on a feeding binge during the early part of this week. Feeding binges mean that she eats for an hour, rests for 30 minutes, and then eats for another hour--around the clock. And by "rests" I mean that she may decide to stop eating long enough for me to use the rest room, feed her brother, and change her diaper. Maybe. Since wee Bets is so tiny, we indulge these binges.

It's a good thing I think she's cute...

Then, after a day of playing catch-up with laundry, Scott left for the weekend, and I solo-parented through Friday night and Saturday...

So, I kept the house from burning down, cuddled and fed babies, and managed to get everything prepped for Sunday.

All that to say...

On Sunday, I napped, grocery shopped, and hugged my husband for coming back. And that sums up the week.

So, no pics. No journals.

But rest assured everything at the Allison abode will settle back into normal chaos soon.

I have to go.

Betsy-boo-boo is howling for another snack.

And Tell Me HOW This Makes Me Look Good?

In the middle of the night; another feeding. Tears from a dramatic toddler. Peanut butter in curly hair. Spit-up down another shirt. Reflux screams. Selfish whimpers. Repeated instructions. Constant discipline. The kitchen is a mess. Again.

I live with a whirling tornado and a screaming banshee.

I love them. They're adorable. This job of mommyhood is amazing.

And sometimes completely disgusting, exhausting, and wearing.

There needs to be a word for "something I would never trade, that I prize greatly, and that exhausts me mentally, physically, spiritually, and emotionally."

Oh, wait... that word is "mommyhood."

As I waded into this adjustment period, I knew that fatigue, the possibility of physical illness, and spiritual dryness would attack me at every corner. I filled up my nights with prayer, my note cards with verses, and my Spotify with encouragement. And I got ready for the onslaught.

But a verse that I never planned on is the verse that God brought to mind...

It attacked me. It lodged itself in the crevices of my thinking and it wouldn't go away. We call that the "Holy Spirit."

This verse has become a mainstay. "What benefit" could easily be paraphrased, "So, explain to me how you look good if...?" On a daily basis, I'll ask myself:

"What benefit is it to me, if I'm patient when my child has done nothing wrong?"

"Explain to me how I look good, if I'm joyful after a full night's sleep?"

"What benefit is it to me, if I keep my temper when everything is going my way?"

What benefit is that to you?

The answer? None.

There is no glory gleaned for the Father. No self-discipline gained. No dying to selfishness accomplished.

You are not modeling Christ's love and God's mercy.

You're just acting like a reasonable human being. Congratulations, you're not a sociopath. Yippee.

So, when that peanut butter gets everywhere (seriously, how on earth does it get everywhere?), and the toddler disobeys again, and dinner isn't yummy, and the most you accomplished all day was folding one load of laundry (which said toddler enjoyed flinging around the room after it was folded)... do you smile when your hubby walks through the door? Do you cuddle the toddler and teach him "no" in a loving way? Is your voice sweet and your words sweeter?

Because that's when you make Him look good.

And that's when you're being true mercy in a world that desperately needs His love.

Back Home Again... In Michigan

Well, more than a week after our return, I've finally unloaded my camera (but still not my suitcase!), stocked the kitchen, scrubbed the house, and returned to normalcy. Grant and I were able to fly home for a short visit to see family in Indiana and Michigan before flying became impossible for mommy and miserable for Grant (the child likes to move!). We left Scott in Philly, and became seasoned jet-setters, as we navigated airports solo... just baby, Mommy, a car seat, a massive "purse," and rolling carry-on. Needless to say, we were relieved to finally land in Detroit. (I'm not sure how happy most people are to arrive  in Detroit, but I most definitely was.)

'

We visited "Granny& Gramps" Allison in Lansing... and Grantopatomus enjoyed all the attention (who wouldn't!?), and mommy enjoyed all the pizza and fun conversation.

Probably the cutest lil' gangster around. 

What on earth  are they feeding my little Boilermaker!?!

I would submit that no child's life is complete if there are not plenty of embarrassing bath pictures. And (of course) the quintessential bath picture should really  be snapped while you're in Grandmama's sink, playing with your father's vintage toys.

At this point in our documentation, Grant was still not familiar with any camera other than my iPhone. But Grandmama looks just lovely.

And Wee Squidgee Is A...

I am completely surprised. And I have no idea what I will call this little pink doll. As soon as I saw her, all the names I HAD thought I liked flew right out the window...

But I am sure of one thing... Scott will be an amazing daddy to "Baby Squidgette." (And these are the only two pink things we own... I don't have a lot of pink, and that color hasn't really come out in Grant's wardrobe. I know. Shocker.)

Of Providence, Pregnancy, and "My" Family Plan

I would have blogged one-hundred times in the past month and a half. Easily 100. Maybe even more. My life is fairly exploding with adventure and new learning.

But wee squidgee #2 is sucking up all of my energy. Every single bit.

Yes, for those of you who may not know, I am pregnant with baby NUMBER 2!!! If you're surprised, just imagine how Scott and I felt...

This announcement is not entirely true... we are hoping that "wee squidgee" will actually join us at the end of January. But who knows... he/she is due on the 25th of January-- the cusp February, so they may decide to make Mama miserable for an additional week or two.

And yes, I have been miserable. Not horribly. Not debilitatingly. But mildly, and constantly. I'm constantly on the verge of throwing up. Never in my life has food sounded so atrocious. Groaning, I'll roll over on the couch, and grab Scott's arm, "This baby had better be good!" Just as Grant was not allowed to incur any more expense/paperwork after his adoption, this baby is not allowed to make me miserable past birth...

Ah... if only parenting worked that way!

But in all reality, if I would do it all over again for Grant, I'm sure I'll do it all over again for baby #2. I'm just a wimp.

So, because I know many people want to ask (and a few actually have), I will answer the following question: Did you adopt Grant because you thought you couldn't have any kids?

This question makes me want to cry. Just look at my baby! Look at that darling head of curly tufts, that warm brown skin, and those eyes that you can just stare into forever... I love his infectious smile, his desire to be around people, and his big-fat Buddha tummy (that I worked so hard to grow!). And although we just had an epic battle over peas (He learned how to spit today!), I would not trade this adorable bundle of grace for anything.

So in answer: No. Grant is not my back-up option. He was my first option. My dream come true. Scott and I have always wanted adoption to play a huge role in our family. And I prayed that my first baby would be adopted. When God took our first baby, I learned to be thankful for many small things... and the idea of our "first" child being adopted was one of those things. I wanted that darling little soul to know that I prayed for him, that I wanted him, that he wasn't a back-up option. He was a beautiful piece of our family, which we counted on from day one. 

I'm not insinuating that other people who adopt at the end of having biological children, or who exhaust other options prior to considering adoption, are not also thankful for their adopted children. God makes families differently. And I'm so glad. I love the creativity God displays as He uses His church to raise up the next generation. I'm simply stating that this was my prayer and plan, and God was gracious. He let me keep my plan. 

We are amazed and delighted that God would choose to bless us with another little one. Every time I stop and look at my life, my tears fill, and my heart feels as though it will explode.

And then I lay back down again, and start praying that I won't vomit.

Back in the Saddle Again

When I was growing up, we had this obnoxiously wonderful song playing in the background frequently...

That's me.

"Back in the saddle again... toting my old '54..." (Well, not really. I don't think anyone wants me "toting" a gun of any kind. My general disposition does not inspire "gun trust.")

I'm slipping into the patterns of motherhood, slowly but surely. I am constantly amazed of my glaring imperfections at the advent of every new life adventure. When I was 6, I was pretty sure I'd be perfect at age 14. After all, my babysitter was perfect.

14 came and went... no perfection. Then my new "perfection" age was 17. Then 23. Then 27.

I'm 27 now. My next "perfection" age is 30. But my faith is beginning to wain. So, somewhere in my early 20s, I switched to new "perfection" milestones... probably, I'd be perfect when I finished my undergrad. Nope. Maybe after grad school I'd have my life more organized. Nope. Probably, after I got married, some magic maturity pill would be swallowed. I think my husband can attest to the fact that that has not happened.

Motherhood was my next "phase." Well... folks... I'm still me. Still sinful. Still not wanting to match socks. Still leaving coffee cups (half finished) all over the house.

In part, I'm very confused. All the mothers I knew, (especially my own), were practically perfect in every way.

But as I fumble my way through night feedings, packing diaper bags, and scrubbing formula out of baby's soggy onesie, I'm finding myself less and less bothered by my imperfections. Oh, don't get me wrong, I would love to be perfect. Absolutely love it.

But I'm learning that that's not where my happiness lies...

Oops, but that's another blog post.

For now, suffice to say the following... We are busy.

I'm working longer hours at work as we switch to a new system of electronic medical records. Scott is counseling, working, or serving almost every night of the week. And babykins is working hard at wooing every lady who takes care of him... He's very blessed to be able to spend 3 days a week with Oma Blake and 2 days with Miss Whitney.

I hate having our house on the market. Cleaning is no longer fun. We are planning on moving (where? we don't know for sure... but I will keep you apprised) at the end of Scott's seminary degree. His last day of contract at the church is June 30th. (81 days, but who's counting?)

Babykins is growing like a weed. We're shooting for 25% at his doctor's appointment next week. He's currently on super-expensive formula (Nutramigen) and people have be amazing about collecting coupons, and generously gifting us with cases of powdered baby gold. He's rolling over, cooing like crazy, and has started this adorable baby belly laughter that makes me so happy. Grant loves to be read to (please use silly voices), but his favorite activity is "talking." (I'd say he was meant for this family...) He loves looking at someone's face for minutes on end and watching you talk to him. He gets so excited about this that he starts wiggling like an upside-down cockroach. (Not flattering, but true.) He has also recently discovered his fingers. Apparently just one finger isn't enough for him...

Yes, he is wearing Calvin Klein. Designer duds for our stylin' boy.

And with that cuteness, I will leave you.

Rest assured, I will try to blog more frequently in the days ahead. It's very hard to string words together when you're existing on 5 hours of sleep and a 50-60 hour work week...