To the only one who was capable of scratching my seven year itch...

Wrapping up this pregnancy, I'm trying to find enjoyment in the little things.... Though, as you can see from this one picture, there are not a lot of "little things" around here.

Both of these photos are compliments of Thunder. He's got some mad photography skills.

I'm going to take just a moment to get sappy and brag on my babies' Daddy. Bert is a wonderful husband and a super father. He sweeps, mops, unloads the dishwasher, helps fold the laundry, drives our carpool, wipes the cute lil' bottoms of our nutty children, and spanks those cute lil' butts when they are disrespectful to their Momma; most of the time without even being asked, or complaining about it while he's doing it. A family man and a hardworking businessman too. A true provider.

We got married young, (I was barely 21) eight years ago tomorrow. So hard to believe it's been eight years... and not eighteen... I mean, and not less. We've grown up a lot in those eight years. And I'm so thankful that we've grown together.

Proud wife, yes indeed. I love you, Babe. Thanks for eight great years!

My favorite things about those years together would definitely be these four (almost five).

They are all a true mix of Bert and me-- looks and personality. I like to say that they got their sweet side from me, and their stubborn meanness from their Daddy. Those who know me well usually laugh at that statement.

Each of our children have been super sweet to me throughout this pregnancy, making encouraging comments when they can, to keep my spirits high. This quality definitely came from their Daddy... For example, Her Highness, who loves to sit and chat on my bathroom counter while I take a shower, then play in my makeup bag while I'm getting dressed to go out, commented just the other day while I was drying off, "Wow! Momma! Our baby is really getting big in there! Your tummy gets bigger and bigger everyday!!!" As I bent over to wrap my hair in a towel, genie style, she continued, quite seriously I might add, "And so is your BUTT!"

Thanks, Babe. For instilling such truthfulness into our children.

Thunder asked me a few days ago if our new baby could please come out brown. (Side note: Brown is how we refer to African-Americans in the Hudson House. The kids started this on their own, and we've continued it. Mainly because I never understood why the term was "black." I've never seen black skin, only brown, and Bert nor I ever want our children to see people as the color of their skin, but simply that we're all the same, with different skin tones. So, when referring to the specific color, brown is used. Sorry, didn't mean to get all political there. Just wanted to clarify.)

"Well, no Honey, our baby won't come out brown. He'll look the same as you guys probably."

Thunder, disappointed replied, "Ahhh man! Cause we haven't had any brown kids yet. I really wanted one of us to be brown!"

One morning, while I was still in my jammies, which are not maternity so my belly usually hangs out below my pj tops and over the waist band of my pants, Lightning got a funny look on his face as I walked passed.

"Mommy-Mommy!! I think your baby is trying to come out!"

I looked down and realized more of my gut was hanging over than usual and tried to explain that it was just my tummy, and those jammies were too small. Lightning then came across the room to study my stomach closer. After tracing several of the stretch marks with his tiny finger he stated confidently, "Nope. See those scratches? He's trying to come out!" I've since graduated to pajama pants and one of Bert's t-shirts.


Hail is still somewhat oblivious. Not sure if he's in denial or just really doesn't understand.

One thing he does understand is my change in size. I was singing a zany song from one of our many obnoxious cds "I love you, BABY! I love the way that you walk..." I was waiting for him to sing the next verse, "I love you, BABY! I love the way that you talk..." as this is a common song to be sung back and forth in our house. Only, Hail decided to change the words up a bit. He sang, in tune, "I love you BIG FAT MOMMA!..."

Hail is still practicing to be a big brother, even if he doesn't realize it. He loves to hold and kiss on babies. My only concern is how bossy he has been to my friends about their own babies. For example, one of my good friends was over recently with her precious 9 month old daughter, and Hail kept trying to tell her all the things she was doing wrong. "Uh-oh! She gonna put dat in her mouf! Don't let her do dat! She gonna choke!" I kept reminding him that her Momma would take good care of her and he need not worry about her safety. Hail apparently thought we were both under-qualified to care for a baby, cause he didn't stop there. We heard repeatedly, "She gonna fall! She tant do dat! Don't let her do dat!"

I'm afraid he's going to drive us nuts, updating us constantly of all our parenting wrong-doings.

Bert, after eight years of marriage (and 18 months of dating prior to that), I can honestly say, "You're still the one that makes me laugh. Still the one that's my better half. We're still having fun, and you're still the one...
You're still the one that makes me strong. Still the one I want to take along. We're still having fun, and you're still the one..."

And I hope that song is stuck in your head ALL DAY, so that you know how much I mean it.

I love you.