Apparently We CAN Get Pregante*

My period wasn't even late.

I was supposed to start on Monday or Tuesday, but by Sunday night I'd had zero PMS symptoms, which was unusual. I have endometriosis, and I'm usually in pain for at least couple of days before starting. This month, nothing.

That night, I had really vivid dreams. I woke up at 6:00am before my alarm, went to the bathroom in a smooth burst of spontaneous momentum, and took a pregnancy test. I didn't plan to do it. I didn't tell Gabe I was doing it. I don't even remember deciding to.

But this journey starts AT LEAST five days earlier on Wednesday when I had a chiropractor appointment. I usually go on Mondays, but I'd had to reschedule this time, and it was time for my three-month evaluation appointment. A lady named Stacey and I went into a little room together to discuss my progress and anything else I wanted to talk about.

Everyone at the chiropractor knew we'd been trying to get pregnant, so it's something that comes up in evaluations. This time, Stacey—whom I'd never had an evaluation with before—focused on our trying to conceive with more heart and compassion than I was anticipating. Everyone at Twin City Health** is phenomenal and compassionate and attentive, but there was something Different in the room with me and Stacey that day.

As the evaluation drew to a close, Stacey asked if she could pray for me, about getting pregnant specifically.

In all honesty, guys, I was just tired at this point. Gabe and I had both quietly given up hope without telling each other, and I didn't know what God was doing, but "getting me pregnant" wasn't it.

But, like the good, God-fearing ENFJ in the chiropractic office that plays Christian music 24/7, I said, "Sure, I'd love that."

"Do you mind—and this is totally up to you—if I lay hands on you?" Stacey asked.

"I—sure," I said—again, just tired but trying to keep up the act for her benefit. She was being really kind to me and I really did appreciate it.

Stacey prayed for me and laid hands on my stomach, and I tried to keep my mind in the prayer and believe. I've known people who have been healed. I've been around miracles. I already believed they could happen, but they also don't happen for a lot of people, so *shrug*. It occurred to me during the prayer that no one had actually laid hands on me about this before.

I texted Gabe after I left: "During my quarterly chiropractor paperwork check-in a lady prayed for us to get pregnant and laid her hands on my belly :) No one has ever done that for me. We'll see."

And that following Monday, I did see.

My heart actually wasn't pounding when my phone timer went off and I looked at the stick, because I was barely in the moment. Like I said, I hadn't really even meant to take the test, it was just that my dreams that night had felt Different.

There was no doubt about the second line in the little results window.

I went to get Gabe from the kitchen, because he would be leaving for work any minute and I didn't want to have to sit on this all day.

"I need you to come look at something," I told him.

I have no idea what my face or body language was communicating, but he cocked his head, suspicious and maybe distantly suspecting, and followed me back to the bathroom.

I think I just pointed.

"It's early," I think I said. "Obviously. But. I mean. It's there."

"It's there," Gabe breathed, keeping himself tightly in check for me. He knows I don't like to be disappointed, which too often means refusing to get excited in the first place. "It's there. Okay. Okay."

"Okay."

And that is where I sat with it for WEEKS. I made myself go two weeks before calling the doctor, and when we went in for the confirmation ultrasound, I was so convinced the tech was going to murmur, "Oh, I'm sorry" that I mentally missed the first half of the appointment. I clued in with a wand inside of me, my hand inside Gabe's, and the tech saying, "Mmm, see that flutter? That's the heartbeat."

"You mean it's okay?" I said, feeling like I must've glitched into an alternate universe.

"Riiiiiight on schedule for growth," she said.

"Oh." I looked at Gabe, who was radiating quiet joy so big I could practically see an aura.

This is a God thing, 100%. No could could figure out why we weren't getting pregnant, and no one but God knows why we are now.

Except, I feel like I do?

There are a million tiny and not-so-tiny things that God has aligned lately, and I know he's been listening to the prayers of dozens of people lifting us up.

This all feels like a giant exercise in trusting God, which is probably why this post sounds more wary and fearful than joyful and excited. I am joyful and I am excited...but trusting and letting go of control are the two most difficult things in the world for me. They're horrifically uncomfortable physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

The baby isn't even born yet and God's already using it to teach me XD Gabe and I are about to be refined like never before—for the rest of our lives, I hear.

Please continue praying for the health of the baby, for wisdom for me and Gabe, and for me to believe that God wants good things for us.

~ Stephanie

* A reference to this video that makes me and Gabe laugh til we cry.

** I cannot recommend them highly enough. They have done more for me and my health (including interpreting bloodwork, suggesting that I might have endometriosis, explaining diagnoses I've received from doctors, etc.) than any doctor has ever even come CLOSE to doing. Everything that's broken about the medical system is whole at Twin City Health.

Five Reads Later...

So, I'm reading The Great Gatsby again. I guess this is going to be an annual series.

I think the first time I posted about Gatsby, I said I was starting to think the term "great" in the title was sarcastic. I don't remember what I wrote about last year, but the post title has the word "evanescence" in it, so it must've been something about the fleeting, ephemeral vibe of the book.

This year, I'm noticing the narrator, Nick, and coming away with a new perception of him.

Nick begins the book with a piece of advice from his father about not criticizing people because they might not have had the same opportunities he's had. "In consequence," Nick says, "I'm inclined to reserve all judgments."

Nick then proceeds to write a book that is nothing short of a collection of judgments.

Nick also says that he himself is "one of the few honest people [he's] ever known," but does things like "pretend to be surprised." He even says to another character that because he's thirty years old, he's "five years too old to lie to [himself] and call it honor." So, he used to lie, at least to himself? He used to justify dishonesty being calling it honorable?

Nick is the narrator. He's the only way we learn anything about the characters. We don't know what Tom or Daisy or Gatsby or Jordan really meant or thought or felt or even said; we only have Nick's version of it.

Nick who claims to reserve all judgments and to be honest, but who judges people constantly and apparently lies under certain conditions.

On several occasions, Nick is sarcastic.

"Do you want to hear about the Butler's nose?" Daisy whispers to him at dinner.
"That's why I cam over tonight," Nick says. Of course, he's not being serious.

"Oh, do you like Europe?" someone asks Nick later. "I just got back from Monte Carlo."

Nick replies, "Really." You can hear the flat, sarcastic tone Fitzgerald gives him. No question mark. Just a judgmental "Really."

Later, chapters after telling readers that Tom dislikes being labeled "the polo player," Nick asks after "Mr. Thomas Buchanan, the athlete?" in a voice, I imagine, loaded with irony.

When a woman has just been struck by a man at a small party, Nick leaves. He takes his hat from the chandelier and walks out the door, tired of the drama.

For a time, Nick has a "short affair with a girl who live[s] in Jersey City," but ghosts her when her brother starts giving Nick mean looks. This is while he is corresponding with a girl back home to whom he's loosely engaged. He's been writing her weekly letters and signing them "Love, Nick."

At one point, Gatsby tells Nick that their mutual friend Jordan has "kindly offered to speak to" Nick about a matter concerning Gatsby. Nick's reactions are as follows: he's annoyed because he doesn't want to spend his date with Jordan talking about Gatsby, he assumes Gatsby's request via Jordan will be "something utterly fantastic," and for a moment Nick wishes he'd never even met Gatsby if this is how things will go. Up to this point, Gatsby has been nothing but gracious and friendly to Nick, and yet Nick reacts with annoyance, judgment, and pettiness—even if it is just in his head.

Of course, Nick is there for Gatsby at the end. Nick applies himself like a true friend and is justifiably upset at the way humanity treats Gatsby. At the end, Nick is one of the only good, true people.

If we believe him.

Nick might be a very fair narrator. He might be showing us his ideals and his flaws because he is honest. He wants to paint a realistic picture of everyone, himself included, even when that makes him look bad.

Or he might be an unreliable narrator. We don't really have any way to know. We have no one else's account of the characters or events. Maybe he tries to paint himself in a good light, but the truth shines through the cracks.

Maybe no one should be allowed to read The Great Gatsby five times.

For what it's worth, I lean toward Nick being a perfectly reliable narrator who doesn't even realize that he might be coming off like an ass at times. I mean, it took me five reads and fifteen years to see it myself.

~ Stephanie

We Married the Wrong People

"If you were writing the job posting for 'Stephanie's Partner,' what are three qualifications you'd require?" I asked Gabe one night.

Gabe, unfazed by any part of this question, held up fingers and listed off, "1) They'd have to have a lot of personal agency, 2) be very kind, 3) be socially empathetic."

"Mm," I said. "Yeah. That's good."

We started getting ready for bed. I took a breath and said: "It's interesting because you're not all of those things. You have agency and you are very kind, but you're not socially empathetic."

"I know," Gabe said, smiling. "I'm not the perfect person for you."

"Yeah," I laughed. "I'm not who I'd design for you on paper either."

And we continued getting ready for bed, unbothered, because it wasn't the first time we'd recognized this fact.

I love Gabe an unfathomable amount, on an absolute soul-level. By the grace of God, we've been knitted into one flesh in two bodies—but I really mean by the grace of God. In a lot of ways, we do complement each other: he likes deep cleaning, tedious projects, and having lots of choices. This works out great because I hate all of those things.

But in a lot of other ways, we are fire and water. In a lot of other ways, you almost couldn't design a WORSE match.

When we first got married, Gabe was rigidly independent. It did not occur to him to allow me into his thought process, tell me when he needed something from the store, or check with me before watching a show or movie without me. To me, it felt like his ideal relationship was me leaving him alone.

When we first got married, I needed everything to have logical reasons. If Gabe couldn't present his thoughts to me in a persuasive essay, then he had to be wrong and we were NOT doing things his way.

I was (still am) WAY extroverted—I barely felt like I existed unless I was interacting with someone—and Gabe was WAY introverted. Life on a desert island with tourists who visit for two hours every other weekend was about his speed.

Gabe likes artsy movies and, in the beginning, he liked to watch them alone on his laptop. He hates movies with awkward situations or people making stupid choices and, well, that's most movies, so finding something to watch together was tough. His tastes in media were inextricably tied to his mood, so we'd go weeks or months not being able to finish a TV show because he just didn't feel like it.

I wanted a guy who would confront the people sitting in our seats at the theater or knock on the neighbor's door when he was being too loud. That isn't Gabe.

I loved showing Gabe love and gratitude on social media; he wouldn't reciprocate because he didn't like doing that kind of thing and thought it wouldn't feel authentic. That made me feel unloved and embarrassed.

I loved expressing my thoughts in writing (journaling, blogging, writing letters), and Gabe mostly couldn't.

I processed quickly, externally, and passionately. Gabe processed slowly, internally, gently. His opinions and heart were constantly splintered by the battering ram of my reactions.

I received love through quality time and physical touch, and Gabe seemed unable to speak either of those languages. I liked showing love by performing acts of service and words of affirmation, both of which made Gabe feel guilty and uncomfortable. His love language was gifts, which is my absolute Achilles heel. I felt awful.

For the first couple of years, I worried that I'd married the wrong person, that I'd made a mistake. As much as I loved Gabe, we weren't a good match. We were too different and we would never make each other happy. We'd doomed each other. (I confirmed a couple of years ago that Gabe had felt the same way.)

I never considered leaving him because that wasn't an option in my mind. I just thought we'd be a little bit unhappy forever.

But I think maybe God wanted to make a point? I've heard it said before that "marriage isn't about happiness, it's about holiness." Gabe and I shouldn't have gotten married because we thought we'd make each other happy, although I think that's what everyone does to some extent, and obviously you do want to be happy with your spouse.

I think God put us together because we both needed MAJOR remodeling as humans, and God wanted us to go through that journey together. It goes back to the post I wrote about being willing to change. If we had continued our marriage the way we began, we'd probably be miserable. But little by little we've changed just about everything about how we do marriage and our relationship. We've figured out what works for us and what doesn't. Gabe has learned that just because I sound angry doesn't mean I am. I've learned that sometimes Gabe says the wrong thing because he's still editing his thoughts, and I need to give him patience and the benefit of the doubt. Et cetera.

So many fights and panic attacks were started back in the day because one of us would drop a bomb that the other wasn't in a place to disarm. Now, we start every potentially stressful conversation with "I have something stressful to talk about" and give the other person time to brace him/herself. Or we'll ask, "Are you in a place to talk about X?" before launching into the topic, and respect the other's answer one way or the other.

At our cores, Gabe and I are the same people, but in some ways I barely recognize us. I genuinely cannot believe how different our marriage and personalities are from what they were eight years ago.

Are we perfect for each other on paper? Hell. No. But—not to sound cliché—I almost think that's made our marriage stronger. Two perfectly compatible people can have a beautiful marriage for sure, but there's something to be said for two people who went to WAR for each other's hearts, who shed blood, sweat, and tears to stay together.

(Note: I wouldn't want a young person to read all this and come away with, "See, my boyfriend/girlfriend and I CAN work out despite what everyone else says. We love each other enough to fight to stay together."

That's...not exactly what I mean. Or maybe it IS, but you both have to ACTUALLY be willing to change and do the work—not just say you're going to. Not just stay together in a crazy-dysfunctional relationship that isn't improving. Not just stay with someone because he/she says he'll change but you see no consistent, lasting difference. Like I said in the lucky post, Gabe and I both happened to marry people who were willing to change, but that is not everyone. I've been in "crazy-dysfunctional but we love each other enough to stay even though nothing is really improving" too and that's not worth it.)

Anyway, Gabe's and my marriage is obviously a young work-in-progress still, but I am proud of how different we are today.

Oh, and, in case this wasn't clear, I am now so, so, SO happy :) This post is probably gonna need a Part 2.

~Stephanie

unspecified loss

thinking your feelings versus feeling your feelings

I think I'm missing a whole center with the way I try to feel grief

it's in my mind. and it's like I think that if I can get myself to cry, I'm feeling the feeling instead of intellectualizing it. it's like I think that if I can think about sad things to the point where it makes me cry, I'm "feeling." But I think maybe that's just going straight from the head center to the body center.

aaron said that feeling your feelings is like imagining that you're sitting with the feeling on the couch together. you're not talking, you're not doing anything, you're just sitting with it, like a friend.

when I try to do that...it's like there's a forcefield around the concept. I get bounced back away from it.

is crying the best I can do? is that better than having grief ONLY in my head? is it less genuine if I TRY to make myself cry, in order to...heal? do the right thing? does it not count? is it disingenuous? is it gross? wrong?

it must be better than refusing to encounter sadness at all, right? like at least I'm not totally suppressing it?

I don't know how to sit with these feelings. I don't know if I want to or not. and I don't know what the point is. why would bringing myself down—or even letting myself fall—be...productive? healthy?

I'm probably viewing this wrong, because when I typed "productive" something snagged in my mind. not everything has to be "PRODUCTIVE."

(but doesn't it? isn't it? wouldn't grieving properly BE productive?)

my chest feels heavy and sad. is that the heart center or the body center again?

am I thinking, or am I writing? am I performing? I never know. ember and I have that in common too.

but I don't think ember would even be sad.

Permanently Scarred

I like to get a tattoo about seven and a half years XD I now have two.

Honestly, my first tattoo barely counts. When I went to the shop to get the second one, the artist asked if I'd ever gotten a tattoo before, and I said, "Barely. Like point five." The asterisk sits behind my ear where I can't see it (a very important requirement of a tattoo for me) and is slowly blurring because it was done slightly too small.

Cassidy and I first started talking about getting matching/best friend tattoos in May of 2023. One idea we threw out was a minimalist cat-eye eyeliner wing, our signature style in high school. We'd be getting ready together and one of us would lean away from the mirror, turn to the other, and say, "Mkay" and the other would scrutinize the wing angle, thickness, and length, and then give critique. You'd have been hard pressed to find more symmetrical wings when we walked out together.

But that tattoo would've been tough for a few reasons, including getting the shape and size just right (and you heard how important that is to us) and knowing where on the body to place a line of eyeliner. That idea faded, but the concept of matching tattoos never did.

Last July, Cass had the idea of getting tattoos that coordinated rather than straight-up matched. That made a lot of sense because while we've been best friends for about thirteen years, we are extremely different in most ways.

Cassidy enjoys being home; I could be happy living out of a van.
I'm impulsive; Cassidy is a researcher.
Cassidy is an Enneagram Nine, the Peacemaker; I'm an Enneagram Eight, the Challenger.
I have a phobia of vomiting; Cassidy doesn't mind throwing up so much.
Cassidy could have her arm blown off and say nothing; I will let you know if I have a hangnail.
I can live with mystery and unspilled tea; Cassidy needs to know all the things.
I embrace conflict as a way of increasing intimacy; Cassidy would rather live in peace as much as it is possible with her.
No one has ever accused me of being easygoing, whereas that is one of Cassidy's trademark characteristics.
Cassidy loves animals; I am allergic to cats and scared of dogs.
I would rather be hot than cold; Cassidy would rather be cold than hot.
Cassidy loves hoodies and cozy clothes; I love crop tops and generally wearing as little as possible.
My favorite season is summer; Cassidy's is winter.
I'm intense; Cassidy is calm.
Cassidy is a night owl; my mood is tied to the amount of sunlight I can get.

One might even say we're as different as the sun and moon.

*finger guns*

Now, I struggled a little bit with the idea of being the sun, because I'm obsessed with the moon and its phases. However...let's be real: I am not the moon.

After settling on this concept, there were still a lot of decisions to be made, like where and what exactly to get. Because of my OCD, it's important that I not be able to see my tattoos; I will obsess over any perceived imperfection. I had put a temporary tattoo on the back of my elbow in May 2023, and loved that placement.

And that temporary tattoo had actually been the sun symbol from Tangled.

It is important to me for my tattoos to have layers of meanings. While I love tattoos, I need a lot of symbolic bang for the buck when it comes to permanently scarring my body. Getting matching tattoos with my best friend was the main event, but if I got the sun from Tangled behind my elbow...

It would be a symbol of a bright spot in my very dark November of 2010.
It would champion the Disney movie Gabe and I think is criminally underrated.
It would match the temporary tattoo I had when I visited Paw Paw for the last time.
It would remind me of the last night of the beach trip, where we watched Tangled and I got to breathe the same air as some of my best friends (and even lean against Aaron).
It would remind me of the core of myself, which is more like Rapunzel than I'm usually comfortable admitting.

So, it was settled. Cass and I pored over styles and images of moons, and tattoo artists' Instagram pages. We chose an artist. We chose a date.

Two days before, I had this thought and texted Cassidy:

Growing up, I was discouraged from getting tattoos because "they're a permanent reminder of a temporary decision." What if they're a permanent reminder of a decision you've been confident in for six months? A year? Thirteen years? The reality is, Cassidy's friendship has marked me whether or not I choose to represent it on the outside. There are lots of permanent things in the world (including having children); permanence in and of itself is a neutral quality.

And when your best friend is involved, it might be one of the biggest blessings in your life.

~Stephanie