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Listening … Lately, it’s all about Pandora. Maybe it’s because all my music is on an external hard drive still, or because Mumford & Sons station ROCKS. Either way, I’m on a steady diet of Pandora.

Watching … Mad Men is BACK! I’m surprised to say this, but I find myself rooting for Megan this time around. Maybe I’m just sick of Don… yeah right, I could never be sick of Don.

Reading … Quiet by Susan Cain and Lean In by Sheryl Sandburg. My momish-brain is getting them mixed up; sometimes I start pulling together conclusions about introverted women in the workplace and then realize . . . wait, those are separate books. I highly recommend Quiet for everyone–whether you are an introvert or not, chances are you’re married to one, work with one, or live with one. It’s changed the way I approach people, and myself.

Eating … Lots of quinoa, black beans, and goat cheese. I don’t know how my brain decided this was a good meal (probably a moment of pantry-panic), but lately, it’s all I’m eating for lunch. That and… you know, oreos. For balance, obviously. (You didn’t think I was that healthy, did you?)

Drinking … water, water, and then some more water.

Wearing … I’d rather not admit my current wardrobe choices, but since there’s nothing I can do about it . . .  you can find me in one of two things: yoga pants and a zip-up hoodie, or yoga pants and a t-shirt. Twice a week, when I prepare to see other earthlings, I dress like a person.

Feeling … grateful, excited, and did I mention grateful?

Weather … In between Spring and Summer, which means geese are everywhere . . . patrolling parking lots and scouring out their next victims. Also, flip-flops are here.

Wanting … to wake up on Saturday morning to a clean house and a enjoy nice, long hike at Eagle Creek.

Needing … to attempt the laundry. At this rate, a mild attempt would equate to extreme success.

Thinking … thinking? What a funny word. Give me a couple of weeks and I’ll see if I remember how to do that.

Enjoying … coffee in the mornings, my son, my husband, my new coworkers, our new church, friendships, watching Mad Men at the Trujillo’s, oreo cookies, passion tea, and back porch living.

What about you? What are you on a steady diet of this May?

Keegan Thomas Wilson was born to us last Monday night, February 4th at 10:49pm.

Blogging will be more on the sporadic side over the next few weeks; be patient with us. We’re still figuring this whole baby-mom-dad thing out.

Remember that time, about ten days ago when I took a picture of myself with a big, “I’m about to meet my baby!” smirk and posted it on the internet for the world to see? And then remember when ten days passed and I was still pregnant?

I do.

But there’s hope yet, it turns out I won’t break a record for world’s longest pregnancy. We head to the hospital tomorrow night to start the inducing process. We’ll start small on Sunday night, stay overnight, and they’ll induce on Monday morning. I really hesitated posting anything on any form of social media about this, only because I have been slightly overwhelmed with it all and wanted to maintain some form of privacy. However, our family does need a lot of prayer, so pray for us in the coming days! We are anxious to meet this little guy and bring him home.

Meanwhile, here’s a song that’s been on repeat in our house:

“I Will Show You Love” by Kendall Payne

…I’m still pregnant. :)

Yesterday marked my first “official” day of maternity leave, which I did on purpose. Even though our due date is not until Friday, I saved up some vacation days for the week leading up to the big day, thinking (if he was still in the womb) it’d be good to have a few days to relax before he arrived. And now it’s here!

So we are trying our hardest to enjoy these last few days “just the two of us,” although I admit it’s hard not to be anxious just to see this little guy’s face! But I find myself in a deep place of gratitude this afternoon . . . grateful for a healthy pregnancy, that we’ve made it this far, and for this special time with Kyle.

Also, if you’ve texted me in the past two days and I haven’t responded, I don’t hate you. I just happen to leave my phone upstairs a lot, and once it’s up there and I’ve already made the journey downstairs, well . . . it’s a journey to get back up. You understand.

Well, week 39 arrived! At this point, my feet are so swollen that the shoes you see above are all that work now… which is a great excuse to wear slippers to work! My maternity leave officially starts a week from today (to read more on that, click here), our bags are packed, car seat installed, paperwork completed . . . we’re as ready as we’re going to be! 9 months ago this time seemed like forever away, now it’s here and the anticipation of holding our sweet boy has eradicated all fear of labor and delivery (well, almost all fear). We are ready to meet our little boy, hold him in our arms, and bring him home. Until then, I am spending lots of time with my exercise ball, walking laps in Target, and eating any and every spicy food that comes my way.

I was with a friend a few weeks ago and halfway through our conversation, I realized I hated the sound of my own voice.

Has that ever happened to you?

I felt like I was looking in on my critical, obnoxious self, wishing I could shut her up–but instead she kept going, going, and going . . . and I just wanted to put my hand over her mouth and say, “Ssh. No one’s listening.”

No, you don’t have voices in your head? Good, that’s probably good.

I’ve been actively trying to listen more lately, which sounds like a 3rd-grade-level task on relationships. And the more I actively bite my lips, seek to listen more instead of insert my voice when it’s not desired (or needed), the more I find just how ugly and cynical my voice can be.

And I don’t like it.

Recently, I cleared my Google Reader of all things overly critical (when nothing else works, I work in extremes). And while I had high hopes this would bring comfort because hey, I’m listening to more beauty, instead it brought to life just how much I put my mouth before my ears and how ready to spout out something negative I usually am. How ironic that beauty illuminated the disease of my heart.

A few mornings ago, while ignoring my alarm clock and reading Proverbs instead of getting out of bed, these words gripped me,

From the fruit of a person’s mouth his stomach is satisfied, with the product of his lips is he satisfied. Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love its use will eat its fruit. (Proverbs 18.20, 21 NET)

I think they stopped me because lately, my tongue has probably brought a lot more death than it has life.

So this is my promise and confession: I promise to try to bring life to the circles I’m in, relationships I have, and conversations I’m invited into. I promise to start with my heart, instead of forcing behavior on myself that my heart hasn’t caught up to. I also promise to try, but I warn you–I may need a slap in the face sometimes. I’ll probably be okay with it.

Where is your tongue bringing death instead of life? And what circumstances can you change to bring more beauty into the world instead of negativity and cynicism? 

Listening… Christmas music started a few weeks ago around our house. This year, we’ve gone from Ella Fitzgerald to Rosie Thomas to Hillsong and back to Straight No Chaser. So to say we have an eclectic taste is, well, an understatement.

Watching… New Girl and Parenthood (well, I’m the only one watching Parenthood). Kyle and I laugh out loud on Tuesday nights watching New Girl. But that’s about it around here. Well . . . I lie. I’m a dedicated fan to the Today Show in the mornings, but that’s a given. What can I say? I love Matt Lauer. And I miss Ann Curry.

Reading… I got my ADHD-like reading tendencies under control and am only reading two books now: Daring Greatly by Brene Brown and Caring For Your Baby and Young Child by . . . lots of people. I can’t say enough about Daring Greatly. I am almost on the verge of telling strangers in Target about it, along with every coworker and friend I know. So if you’ve been around me, and I have not yet talked about this book, it’s probably because I haven’t found a way to naturally make it apart of the conversation. But it’s coming, my friends, it’s coming.

With our last baby class completed, I’m feeling a little vulnerable.

Up until this moment, there were still lots of things that stood as precursors to giving birth: baby showers, birthing and baby classes, painting the nursery, setting up his crib. All things that signified this baby would come someday, but not today. And now with most of those things behind us, the future is looking a lot more hypothetical and very, very real.

Pregnancy has taken me on a journey I didn’t expect . . . into a land of unknowns and uncontrollable circumstances, which undoubtedly pave the way to parenthood. And tonight I feel more raw and exposed than ever, with hands stretched out wide–looking for someone and something to take my place so that I can stand on the sidelines and cheer her on, then go home to my cozy, comfortable bed and say a little prayer for her. But no, it’s me, and there’s a little baby boy kicking furiously inside. I say prayers for him with every jolt, asking God to give us wisdom for the long haul and that he would grow up to be a man of faith and character.

Perhaps the only place we are most available to God is when we feel this raw, we have no other option but to trust, seek Him, and live close to Him. And I have never been more grateful for any season of life.

Last night as dinner came to an end, Kyle started putting away the leftovers and I shamefully (and sneakily) reached for the last pieces of bacon. In his mind, ever-the-saver, he had hopes and dreams of saving said-bacon for lunch the next day. In my mind (and hunger), I saw one thing, and one thing only: savory, sweet bacon that was begging to be devoured.

He peaked around the corner to find me mid-bite, and said, “Are you seriously eating all the leftover bacon!?” to which I–with immediate guilt and shame–replied, “Umm… er… yes, were you saving it for something?” With his mouth agape he half-jokingly yelled, “I CANNOT believe you could not just save that for lunch! You just ate over half the bacon I made for that soup!”

And this is where the communication-breakdown began.

What Kyle didn’t know was that little statement stirred up a range of emotions that I could hardly muster up the words to describe. And with his little, innocent, question, he sent me into a full-fledged guilt-fest. Isn’t this where all of us go wrong when it comes to communicating with those we love?

In that moment, I had two options: I could choose to believe the best, or assume the worst. Assuming the worst looks like this: believing that Kyle sat stirring in the kitchen, waiting for an opportunity to call out my over-eating tendencies in pregnancy and make me feel like the largest, most obese woman on earth. Or I could believe the best: assume that he seriously just wanted bacon with his leftovers, and was disappointed that his pregnant wife indulged in the sweet taste of bacon instead. Assuming the worst would have served my self-pitying desire for sympathy, even though I knew my sweet husband would never say anything to make me feel anything but beautiful. Believing the best leaves only one option: grace in place of judgment.

So, which scenario did I choose?

I collected my hormone-enraged self and calmly walked up to our bedroom where I sat and asked myself, “Does he think I’m the fattest person that ever lived, or was he just hoping for bacon?” After five minutes of calming down and realizing his taste buds took over (just like mine), he came to apologize and I–as they say–cried it out.

Isn’t this true of all our relationships? In every conflict, moment of tension, we are left with two options: believing the absolute best or assuming the complete worst of one another. Believing the best involves self-denial, surrendering the desire to win and argue, and instead choose love. And believing the best always leads the relationship to a healthier, more holy place.

Ever since I was a little girl, I always imagined myself being a mother of girls. Don’t misread me: this is not because that’s what I wanted, but because girls are familiar for me. I’m a woman. I’m friends with women. I look up to lots of women. I’ve always enjoyed the company of other women, and have pretty much lived on the more feminine side of life. I love dresses, make-up, getting my hair done, painting my nails, buying a new pair of shoes . . . anything that comes to mind when you think “she’s pretty girly,” is probably something I enjoy or like to do. It takes me way too long to get ready.

So when I say “I expected to be a mother of girls,” it’s not because I don’t like men. Hello! I married one. I have a dad and a brother. I’m friends with lots of guys, and have always worked with more men than women. But sit me down in a sports arena, and I feel pretty lost. I get into sporting events, but mainly for the experience. I confess that my eyes are mostly drawn to all the “extras” around me. Last year, my in-laws scored unbelievable seats to a Colts game, and I confess, I probably watched the real game for a total of fifteen minutes. The rest of the time I was looking around at everything else . . . the cheerleaders, announcers, players on the sidelines, Peyton Manning in his jeans and jacket.

I’m all girl. And I love it.

But that’s not the reason raising a boy intimidates me. I’ve kind of prepared myself for a girl. I consider it my job to encourage teenage girls. I spend my week thinking of ways to communicate God’s love to girls who struggle believing they’re worthy, loved, and valued. Girls are familiar to me. I know what to say when a girl tells me she doesn’t believe in herself. I have no idea what to say when a boy stubbornly pretends to not care when he fails. I just kind of stare at him.

But that’s also not the reason raising a boy scares me. I feel ready to show and model for a little girl how to be a “woman of valor,” how to be strong and gentle, how to embody a spirit of love and dignity, how to be confident while also humble. Not because I encompass all of those characteristics, but because I strive for them daily.

I don’t know how to show a little man what it means to respect a woman. It feels terrifyingly unfamiliar to think that I am partly responsible for how my son views, treats, and loves women. I have no idea what to do or say if my son gets in trouble for picking on a girl. To think that my son could be capable of turning a girl into the object of his desire throws me to my knees. I want to teach our son how to not be intimidated by strong women, but encouraged by them. I want to teach him that real strength is found in vulnerability, not arrogance and pride. I long for him to be a man known for humility above all else. And I haven’t the slightest clue how to do it.

So today while perusing the little man section at H&M, I stopped and stared for far too long at this pair of shoes. I found myself praying, “God, help me raise this little man,” while gazing at these little-man sweaters and boots, and feeling our own kicking inside me. And although his kicks intimidate me, I am so grateful for the chance to discover what this boy-raising-journey will bring.