29 weeks {frocktober, day 14}

Dress (worn here, here and here): gifted, Sweater: forever 21

Wednesday marked the 29th week for this baby boy. Which means 11 weeks until he's born. Unless he comes early. Which I can't quite think about at the moment. 

I utilize The Bump app for my weekly baby updates, and it mentioned that I should make sure that the nursery is stocked this week and that we should begin packing our hospital bag. I only panicked a tiny amount. Because WE'RE STILL HOMELESS. That's not true, I'm being dramatic. 

But THERE IS NO NURSERY AND IT IS NOT STOCKED AND I HAVE NO BAGS, especially not a "hospital" bag. We have none of the things. Zero things. If I went into labor and our poor sweet son came into the world tonight, we'd be wrapping him into a pair of daddy's sweats and carrying him like a football all the way home, where we'd lovingly place him in a padded drawer to go night night. We have zero things, people.

As all parents do, we will somehow figure it out. Every day that this baby stays in there is a big hallelujah. I want him to grow big (but not too big) and strong and be ready to greet us when the time comes. It seems impossible that we're closing in on 30 weeks already. We cherish his presence and are constantly torn by our impatience to meet him and our desire to slow the rest of this pregnancy down, enjoying our time together and taking the necessary days to finish all of our house projects and actually move in. Whether we choose impatience or attempt to stop time, these next two months are going to go by faster than any in my lifetime of memory. I have a feeling time will continue to go by at this startling pace once he's in our arms, too. It's such an endeavor to cherish our days, even (and maybe especially) the mundane ones.

This month is Infant Loss Awareness Month. October 15th specifically is the annual day that's set aside to recognize Infant Loss and what it means for so many of us. It has been heavy on my heart today. Our sweet Poppy's due date would have been October 26th. It's a date I have been anticipating and dreading for many months now. Our loss is complexified by the immense joy we feel every time William's heartbeat thumps against our own hearts and his little kicks push against our hands. It's difficult to put into words how that hope and heartache intertwine. But today, I honor Poppy by remembering her in ways that only I can. I cry and rejoice in the same breath. I am so grateful for her life. Short, sweet, vibrant. I look forward to heaven in a new light, and to the many perfect faces we will see there. So many precious babies. 

Thinking of you and yours on this day - those I know and those I do not. May you remember your lost children and have hope that they have been found in the arms of Jesus. 

green hair don't care

Dress (remixed 1, 2, 3, 4): Modcloth, Sweater (shop!): Gap

This past October, I created a to-do list for my 26th year of life. It's filled with silly and serious dreams and goals, and one of them was to dye the ends of my hair purple. Because why not?

I dyed my hair tips red last year, and after it inevitably began to fade to a golden blonde I began to think about other fun colors I'd like to eventually try. Purple won out in the end. I loved the dark purple, but after a few weeks, it began to turn into this strange, mermaid-inspired teal green. I'm not gonna lie, I wasn't bothered by it. I was totally fine with the seaweed locks, and even found a kindred spirit (Elizabeth over at Delightfully Tacky) with teal hair in the blogosphere. 

A week or two ago, though, I had a friend tell me that she really didn't like it. That it was probably time for it to go. It kind of took me back a little bit, because I somehow still manage to be surprised when people don't think the things I like are as awesome as I think they are (like my gold-capped molar, like my autographed Orlando Bloom headshot, like the Renaissance Festival...). Maybe I'm just super weird in a million different ways. But I reacted differently to the criticism this time around. I didn't shy back or try to people please or become embarrassed that something I like might be weird or nerdy or whatever else. I just said, "Oh, I like it!" and the conversation moved on. 

It wasn't a particularly life-changing moment, but it did cause me to think a little bit. Why do I make the choices that I do, in style and otherwise? Who are they for? Because if they're for me, then I can proudly wear that green hair don't care vibe and be unashamed by my loud galaxy-print dress and my gold molar and my handcrafted dragon statue made by a woman dressed like an apothecary's wife. I've been told by many various people over the course of my life that I am weird. That I'm nerdy, or "homeschooled". I have never been able to figure out the reasons for saying those things in a hurtful way, especially when the words are spoken by friends. What are they hoping to gain? My embarrassment, an apology, a change of personality? Who knows. 

I think it's really hard to be confident. I often find myself feeling out a group before voicing my opinions. Sometimes I even nod in agreement or change my answer based on the dialogue of others. Not about big things, of course, like God or Harry Potter. But the little things often slip away, out of cowardice and self doubt. I know I'm not the only one who does this, but it often leaves me feeling really frustrated with myself. Sometimes I'll blurt out the truth to my husband after we've been hanging out with friends, because it has been proven over the course of our relationship that he will love me in all things, to the bizarrest degree. I wish I could feel that strong all the time. 

I chopped my hair off this week, and the whole evening I was trying to decide why I was doing it. Was it because I had already been thinking about it, because my hair was dry and brittle from the dye? Or was it because of that friend's comment? I'm not sure. Either way, I love the new haircut and it feels much happier and healthier. And perhaps it's the first step toward that dream of a pixie cut. 

At the end of the day, I want what I do to be for me. Not in a selfish way, but in an intentional way. I wear the clothes that I do because I love the way I feel in them, and I love the creativity inherent in putting together unique combinations and in utilizing my clothes in new and unexpected ways. They're small but freeing choices that I'm proud of. I don't think there's any one secret to not caring what other people think - I think I'll always care. But I also think that I can practice confidence and claim joy. Those are worthy pursuits. So is Renaissance Festival pizza. Everyone else is just missing out.