Bat Shit Crazy

Sometimes I nut up and act crazy and run around the house sneaking toys out to the recycle bin when no one is watching.  

Big Al, my OB, recently put me on birth control pills. For the first time in over 6 years I realized I am completely capable of bat shit crazy. 

I go to therapy every week. Seasons are hard y'all.  I have recruited several of my friends.  I can't decide if I am surrounded by crazy people or if I am making everyone around me crazy.   
Every week I have to talk about how I feel. Why I feel. What I feel. 

I have to look at this feelings poster and pick my feel. 

I recently asked D if she would take my picture and post it up there. Right next to "smug". D is my therapist. My sweet, sweet therapist who was hand picked straight by Jesus to be my champion during this season. Under my mugshot, snapshot, I asked her to write: Bat Shit Crazy.

Cause that's an emotion too. A feel. 

So about three weeks after Big Al put me on the pill, Coop and Finn were playing in their ginormous Lightening McQueen pop up tent. Only they weren't playing. They were acting the fool. Hoodlums all up in the playroom. Pop up tent gangsters. They would get a running start (halfway across the family room), run full speed AT the tent, man handle it, plow over it, and throw themselves into the furniture. Mama don't play hoodlum. 

So I went a little crazy.

First I winky face reminded them that we are Davises and we don't go gangster on the pop up tent. When that didn't work after three, no four tries, I nutted straight up. I went all Poltergeist on their little people selves. I wrestled the tent to the ground, karate chopped it into pieces and took it straight out to the garbage. 

Ok I didn't take it out to the garbage. Yet. But I'm going to. As soon as no one is looking. 

Having too much stuff is problematic. It makes my skin crawl and overwhelms my soul. Less is more. Less is more. 

Right after I went Poltergeist on the pop up tent, I threw my phone across the foyer in a fit of rage because auto correct kept changing the word "grace" to "grease" when I was texting my mama about my lack of it.

The struggle is real. Because sometimes you have to karate chop a pop up tent. Because I am beyond blessed to be able to be at home with my most important little people and wouldn't trade if for anything in all the whole wide world. Because sometimes I just want to face-plant on the floor and not get up from there til next week. Because it's hard. And I give the kids too many GMOs. And I didn't use cloth diapers. Or breastfeed. And I don't let Coop and Finn play with sidewalk chalk because it's chalky and dirty and gives me the eebyjibbies. Because I fail daily. 

But also because "I can do this". And you can too. This is for you warrior mamas. Bat shit crazy warrior mamas. March on.

On the subject of dry bars.

I used to wash my hair every single day. I also used to wear sassy, coordinated, and well thought-out outfits. 

I now wash my hair every two three days {if I'm lucky or have someplace other than the carpool line to go} and live in my monogrammed fleece tunic with handy side pockets. Perfect for carrying puffs and/or ninja turtles. 

So the concept of a dry bar is absolutely fascinating to me. You go there. They wash and dry and style your hair. For you. While you sit there. And read a magazine. Or stare at the wall. So why did the lady look at me so crazy when I asked if I could get a weekly pass? JK. You know I haven't gotten to check one out. Yet. 

You know what concept I adore even more than a fabulous hairdresser blowing out your hair? A Kroger or Publix employee who would sashay up to my driver side window and let me ask {beg} them to run to the far back side of the store and snag me a gallon of milk {whole, not skim- we got growing brains in this grocery-getter mommy mobile Holmes} and a box of mini muffins so I would not have to do the car seat shuffle with two babies. In the rain. And the cold. 

Would that not be a dream? If that happened, I would probably be able to go back to washing my hair. And wearing well thought out, coordinated outfits. 

To Blog or Not to Blog

It's been a long time, Between the Lines. Shoowee. I got an aching in my soul that drove me to dig through my purse {diaper bag} on my flight from ATL to Vegas Baby 3.0 and out pen to paper.

I miss writing. I really do.

I didn't abandon this little blog on purpose. It just somehow got pushed to the bottom of the list of priorities in this incredible season of joy for our little family. And also I lost brain cells with my last pregnancy. I'm sure of it because I tried to do a suduko puzzle on the plane and I honestly could not count to nine to save my life.

The girl in the seat next to me tried not to let me know she was watching me and silently mocking me but I know she was. That's ok because I was silently coveting her Chickfila Combo Number One that she magically produced from her Kate Spade bag and chowed down on mid-flight. 

Instead of sitting in front of the computer screen I sit behind board books these days. Instead of getting struck with silly thoughts to hammer out out late at night, I get struck with thoughts of diaper ointments and kindergarten registration (Wait. What? It can't be). And Letter P Show and Tell assignments. And bedtime prayers. And did we remind Coop to brush his teeth tonight?

And I could not be happier. It's in the fabric of my being. 

God has fulfilled His mighty promise to us. It was touch and go there for a while but His JOY came at just the right moment. His Grace covered us and created in us a spirit of humility that I wouldn't trade for anything in the world. 

Sneaking a way for a few days is always good for the soul. Plus you get to go to the bathroom by yourself. {Side-note: I almost did not know what to do in the airport bathroom without Coop and Finn giggling at my feet. "Mommy your booty is big" "Mama tee tee?" "Can I have a drink?" "Have you seen my nun chucks?"}. How can so much happen in 23 seconds while you just try to go to the bathroom?? 

No matter how much I wish I was there to tuck our sweet babies in tonight and whisper prayers over them, I know the value in respecting the need for purposeful, sweet time together as a couple.{Interpreted: Eating loaded chicken nachos together at 3 AM and watching back to back episodes of Shark Tank while snuggling in a giant fluffy bed.} A giant fluffy bed that I did not honor my OCD tendencies with and make up this morning when I crawled out of it. Small victories!

How could I waste time making up that silly bed when I caught a glimpse of the high powered cosmetic magnification mirror in the bathroom? I have a mustache? Why didn't someone tell me? 

I digress. 

I'm happy to be back at this little blog. If nothing else, I need to remember these musings when I am old and gray. Like how Coop calls Darth Vader "Darth Thader" and how Finley Jane carries her babies around by their heads and dances in her highchair when I sing "Ain't No Sunshine". 

No judging if my next post does not happen until 2037 though, mmkay?

"Write what should not be forgotten". ~Isabelle Allende

Joy

I've all but fallen off the blogostratosphere.

It's just that I discovered Pepperidge Farm's Shortbread Cookies so I've been busy. Eating cookies.

What an incredible season this has been for our family. I wake up praising God, fall asleep praising Him, and whisper a million prayers of gratitude and thankfulness in between.

I feel Finley Jane kick and roll and turn and dance and jab and move constantly and there's just no sweeter reminder of God's Grace.

When I decided to blog about our history of loss and infertility, I had no idea how God was going to use our story, I just knew that He had a purpose for everything, and most thankfully, that His purpose surpassed my understanding (or lack thereof). Y'all have shared unending stories with me and each time I receive an email or text or phone call, I am so incredibly humbled. My heart breaks with each and every story that is shared, but I know that God will use everything for His glory, in His time. I humbly pray for so many of you each and every day and cover you in a million prayers of Hope.

I have always tried to strive to separate joy from sorrow and sorrow from joy. In seasons of our own personal sorrow and struggle (Lord knows we've had 'em), I tried my hardest to separate that pain from the joy I felt for others. In this sweet, sweet season of joy, it is my prayer that I separate that from the sorrow I still feel for so many precious friends who are in seasons of "waiting". Because of that, I decided that y'all didn't need to read about how big my ankles have gotten or how many stretch marks I have gained or about how I still can't look at my toothbrush without hurling. Those are beautiful, precious, sacred things undoubtedly, but I just don't necessarily feel right about blogging about being pregnant this go round.

Social media floods our minds and hearts with unending images and words that we sometimes welcome and are thankful for, and sometimes are not. So I've been quietly dancing in God's grace with indescribable joy. It's all but shut "Between the Lines" down, but I feel God breathing a peace and quiet over me that I just can't disturb.

This post is for my sweet friends who are still in that tough space--the gap we call the "waiting"...I urge you to cling to the one thing that transcended both our sorrow and now, our joy: HOPE. It really does cover those dark spaces and lights the way for beautiful things yet to come.

To our precious friends and family members who have shared in our joy over the past 6 months, we just cannot thank you enough. I always go back to "shared joy is double the joy and shared sorrow is half the sorrow"--us Davises got really stellar at walking in seasons of chaos and I have to say, we could sure get used to frolicking in these sweet seasons of joy.

Much love to you all!

Think Pink!

Best beach phone call ever. Ever.

A HEALTHY baby GIRL is on the way!

We shrieked. And hand flapped. And cried. And marveled and marveled in God's goodness. While staring at the ocean. Oh, how I will treasure those moments forever.

Chris was in a condo with 6 (SIX) girls when we got the call from the perinatologist. After all the jazz hands and spirit sprinkles I think he broke into a cold sweat and said something about a shot gun. Bless him. She is already wrapped around his little finger, don't let him fool ya.

We came home and I have somehow gotten buried under a pile of burlap and lace and minky dot fabric.

What a season of absolute JOY for our little family. I almost can't get over how sweet it feels to soak up such a season.

Her name is Finley, meaning "beautiful warrior" and we just can't think of a better name to give this little sassy Sugar Britches. She is already such an incredible breath of fresh air that I just don't know what else to do but monogram and surround myself little ruffly things.

So that's just what I am doing...

Emily over at Holden's Hut had these precious burps made up within 10 minutes of us sharing our news. Sweetest things ever. Great big thank you, Emily!!

Angle of the Dangle

A few things I've learned over the past few weeks:

1. It is entirely possible to be extremely nauseous, choke down a Zofran, and somehow manage to eat a plate full of Extreme Nacho Doritos. Dipped in Ketchup.

2. God's grace and provision can wipe away our human frailty in an instant. 2 weeks ago we sashayed back down to Dr. Sermons' office, sweating *tiny* bullets, praying without ceasing to please, please, please not receive bad news and be shuffled to the consult room where the plastic vaginas stare at you as you shift in the itchy blue chairs of doom.

What we saw brought us to our knees (again).

This is where I start to flail around each time and ask if that is really our little baby on the screen.Then there was this:

Break it down Baby. Break it down. Dancing away in there. Stop the DNA tests right now. We know this one is ours.

 Mighty miracles!

3. I will in fact, spend the rest of this pregnancy nekkid. It's because there are no cute stretchy clothes. Anywhere. Any. Where.

4. If you have not become versed in the "angle of the dangle" theory (we had not), my sweet, sweet perinatologist Dr. Stone will gladly educate you on it from behind his spotfree coke bottle glasses. Bless it. LOVE that man. Loved him 3 years ago. Love him now.

We made it through round one of our genetic testing today. Again, God's grace wipes away our human frailty.

First on the agenda was to rule out any markers of Turner's Syndrome. There are none visible-PRAISE the Lord! Amongst the chatter of Trisomy this and Trisomy that, I somehow got lost in our little one's itty bitty button nose. So perfect. So. dern. cute. Could not take my eyes off of it.

In love. Head over heels.

Perfectly formed, no matter what the gazillion (unsolicited) genetic tests may reveal.

The bulk of the tests will be back in around 10 days and that's awful nice of the sweet folks at Northside and we sure do appreciate their attention to detail but to us, they make no difference. Not a one.

Well ok maybe one tiny difference. Because Turner Syndrome affects only girl babies, one of the tests will confirm "the angle of the dangle". And welp, that makes my heart a wincy bit happy.

I'm a planner y'all. And a monogrammer. Please excuse my sillyness.

"He has made everything beautiful in it's time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men, yet they cannot fathom what He has done from beginning to end". -Ecclesiastes 3:11

We are surrounded by the very best prayer warriors, friends, and family in all the world and we sure cannot thank you enough for your encouragement and kind words. Truly, great big hugs and lots of love! After several seasons of, ahem, chaos, we are soaking up His goodness and mercy, dancing in the joy this mighty blessing is bringing us. Thank you for coming along for the ride. I apologize about the Doritos and ketchup visual picture. And the nekkid comment. And the angle of the dangle offensiveness. That is all.

Cheeseball

I said I wasn't going to do any cheeseball pictures this go round. Uh uh. Nope. Sitting on the sidelines of this pregnancy rocking my sea bands and Zofran praising a God who has given us a second chance.

Then I realized that I look like a busted can of biscuits (howcanthisbewheni'velost7pounds?) and thought what the heck.

Barefoot and pregnant.

This pregnancy has been different. Way. 

I was paralyzed by fear for the first 4-5 weeks. Had to shake my sillies out and remember that I am not in control and therefore being a fraidy cat is just about as useless as trying to order meatless sushi. *I might have done that a few weeks ago.*

Once I got out of the fetal position from being paralyzed by fear, I faceplanted myself (purposefully) on the bathroom floor so I could feel the cold tiles on my cheeks. I think God has given me the gift of all-day-sickness as a blessing of reassurance. As long as I am heaving and sweating, I am reminded that I am still pregnant. It's a beautiful mess.

I feel like we are walking on Holy Ground. Borrowed Ground. God-Given Ground. That alone has made it so very different. Not that I took our previous pregnancies for granted at all, it's just I realize that this go round is an absolute gift.

My human self wants to say that we are holding our breaths and hoping for the best, but I know that's not true. God has called us to more than that. We are praising Him, trusting Him, and leaning on Him.

We've had a lot of ultrasounds this go round. 7 already. I guess that's one perk of being a fruitcake high risk gal I won't argue with one bit. Each time I stare motionless at the little black and white screen and almost can't believe it's OUR baby. Each time I flail and ask if everything is ok. Each time it absolutely has been.

We have always been given the choice of having the extra genetic screening tests and we have always declined. This go round it isn't an option. The second the fear of having lost a baby to a genetic syndrome rises up in me, I have to squash it. Squish squash. So we will take that extra visit with the perinatologist. It'll just be one more opportunity for us to praise Him.

My visit to Big Al this week is the visit that we found out we lost Ella Grace last year. I realize that normal people don't think in crazy terms like that, but for us, it will be a huge milestone and hurdle.

Praying, praying, praying for one more week of staring at that screen in awe of the great things He has done! 

We cannot thank y'all enough for your precious words of encouragement and for covering us in so many prayers. Truly, thank you from the very bottom of our hearts!