Is it December 11th already? Christmas is swiftly approaching, our bundle of joy is on its way into this world, but, sadly, my cognitive ability is on its way out. I found out this week why many pregnant women tend to "nest" or to prepare their homes for the anticipated newborn. It's because anything requiring more thought than typical housework would simply flop. Sure, I'm loving the process of building my own business and seeking out more ways to get my message out there (more on that later), but there are days I can barely remember my own name - much less the contents of a 6-hour seminar for business professionals. 

I had one such seminar in Yorkshire this past Tuesday, and I must confess I wasn't quite "on my game." I do believe I gave them the information they expected and desired, but it was the delivery that I'm afraid might have suffered due to what our UK friends like to call "mumnesia." I guess the Americans would call it "momnesia"? In case you're wondering, the Brits say mum with a "u" instead of mom with an "o."

Anyhow, I thoroughly enjoyed the interacting with the group of Administrative Professionals on Tuesday, and I received some encouraging feedback. However, there was more than one occasion where I'm certain I went on a mini mental holiday for several seconds before realizing where I was and what I was supposed to say next. This kind of mental block hasn't really happened to me since the first formal presentation I gave back in 2003. The one where I blacked out because I was so nervous. The one where a room full of Rotary Club members believed I might have a stroke there in their lunch meeting. The one where my mom sat there laughing at me because she couldn't believe I was actually blacking out in front of all these professionals.

This Tuesday, I'm not sure where those few mental holidays took me (the Caribbean sounds nice), but I am convinced that it might be best for me to refrain from operating heavy machinery or performing brain surgery for the duration of this pregnancy...make that the duration of parenthood.

Shifting gears, I'd like to pose a few questions to our readers:

1) What is the dumbest thing you've ever done on accident? Extra points if they're "mumnesia" stories. Even more extra points if you forgot something important...like where you left your kids.

We have an appointment next Tuesday for our 22-week ultrasound. You know what that means? Time to quite calling the baby "it." So, my next question is:

2) Do you think we'll have a boy or girl?

I think girl. Brian thinks boy. I want to know what YOU think!

How could I ever doubt the presence of God when I have seen this little miracle growing inside of me? How can I articulate the thrill of hearing that little heartbeat for the first time? How can I get my husband to stop messing with all the sterilized instruments in the doctor's office before I have to slap him? These were just a few of the thoughts that went through my mind yesterday at my first OB appointment. 

When I originally scheduled my 6-9 week appointment for next week, I wasn't thinking that my dear friends Amy and Donna are coming to visit! So, I moved my appointment to yesterday (Wednesday). Of course, the only time they had available was 8 a.m. - not really a "happy" time for me these days. But none of that mattered knowing we would see our baby for the first time!

After the nurse practitioner (who is a Major in the Air Force) had asked and answered lots of questions, we made our way to the ultrasound room. As soon as she properly positioned the machine, I knew immediately what I saw. I looked at that little peanut and exclaimed, "That's the head!" I couldn't believe how clearly we could see it. In fact, it wasn't that long ago that I looked at friends' ultrasound photos at 20 weeks and couldn't distinguish one black and white blob from another one. The technology available to us now is absolutely incredible. Not only could we see the shape of it's little body (approximately 3/4" in length), but we could see a precious little heart that was beating for all it was worth. The nurse recorded 170 beats per minute. No wonder I'm so out of breath!

I believe that was the first moment I allowed myself to believe that this is really happening and that I hadn't just imagined it all. There is a human being that is 100% dependent on me already. Every decision I make - whether to travel, eat, sleep, exercise, etc. - is preempted by the thought, "Is this the best thing for our child?" What an absolutely thrilling and terrifying feeling.

As for Brian's part, he's managed the extra responsibilities well. I don't think he fully understands why I can't even go into the kitchen without dry heaving or why I wake up every day more exhausted than when I went to bed, but he's more than willing to help out. I am trying my best not to overwork him now, because I know I'm going to need him desperately when I can no longer see my feet. 

And speaking of enormous bellies, I did ask the nurse if it was normal to eat about 8 to 10 meals a day. I usually eat something substantial (like a sandwich or soup and a piece of fruit) and feel absolutely starving one hour later. I'm watching that scale creep up pretty quickly, and it's making me wonder. If this is how almost 9 weeks feels, how is 40 is going to feel? She assured me it was my body's way of forcing me to store up some extra fat to help the baby grow. So, now I feel completely justified eating enough in one day to satisfy four grown men. As a side note, it seems a bit ironic now that we live in a barn...a barn that housed cows, as a matter of fact. First person to call me a heifer gets a swift slap on the head.

Anyhow, after such an exciting appointment, we both wanted to travel to RAF Feltwell (just north of RAF Mildenhall and RAF Lakenheath). This base houses the local military veterinary clinic as well as a small furniture store. We walked straight to the baby section of the store to check out prices on cribs, strollers, car seats, high chairs, playpens, toys - I never really stopped to think about how much gear a baby requires! There was an interesting toy that caught my eye.

They advertise it as an "activity station" rather than by its street name, "vibrating, noise-making plastic device that shuts your baby up for a few hours." Yes, activity station sounds much nicer. I was actually admiring the cute little children on the front of the box when I thought that perhaps one of them looked like our niece Reagan. I looked a few seconds longer and said, "That IS Reagan!"

I think we may have to buy that activity station just to show off the box to all our friends!

So, that's the latest in the development of our Mini-Morgan or "Peanut." Or as Gerald likes to call it, G-baby. Or as Pam likes to call it, "MY Grandbaby." This poor kid is going to be so confused.

In the mean time, Brian and I aren't sitting around twiddling our thumbs waiting for this baby to arrive. I believe the reality of our new family dynamic has motivated us to make the most of our amazing location. So, stay tuned for more on our upcoming trip to the Czech Republic next week and a Mediterranean Cruise in October (including stops in Italy, Greece, Turkey, Israel, and Egypt). April will be here before we know it!

PS - We'll keep all pregnancy photos in "The Peanut Gallery"

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven." Ecclesiastes 3:1

As the glorious, summer days swiftly fade into crisp, autumn ones, I am grateful for this past season of my life. I learned more about God, my husband and myself this summer than I ever expected or imagined. I experienced a full spectrum emotions:  anger, disappointment, sadness, hopefulness, forgiveness, joy, and gratitude. This season in our lives and in our marriage taught me that the things I work to build in my own strength will only fail, because "He has made everything beautiful in its time" (Ecclesiastes 3:11). I learned that this does not read, "I can make everything beautiful in MY time." Fortunately, life doesn't work that way. Just imagine if it did. 

As I mentioned in my last post, Brian and I spent a few months apart this summer to gain some perspective. While it was a difficult time for the two of us, I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with many of the people I am blessed to call my family. Brian came to Georgia at the end of July, and it was a precious time of healing and reconciliation for us. Since that time I can honestly say that I experience joy in a way I never did before. I'm not talking about the kind of "happiness" or "self-esteem" the world would want us to believe we should have. Rather, I have the kind of joy that comes from not knowing what tomorrow will hold but knowing full well the One who holds it.

With this newfound joy and gratitude for what God has done, I hopped a plane in early August eagerly anticipating my return home to Brian (and, I'll be honest, I was as excited to see The Chief). But when I arrived home, nothing sounded better to me than my bed. And that was the first place I went. When I didn't get out of bed for the first week, I chalked it up to jet lag. Around the second or third week I started to suspect that something else was seriously wrong. Was I depressed? I didn't think so. Was this narcolepsy? I hoped not! Brian tried his best to coax me out of my sleepy stupor with dinner, salsa dancing, and movies, but I wouldn't budge. I was seriously considering moving my bed into the kitchen - that whole two birds with one stone thing - when I had a revelation...

Sunday, August 30, began the way most Sundays begin in the Morgan household. A little bit late and in a hurry so we wouldn't miss church. It's the story of my life, really. I rolled out of bed and jumped in the shower only to jump right back out as the urge came over me to...well...become ill. And I then did what I suspect every grown woman does after a moment like that. I said to my husband (who had promptly left the bathroom), "I need to call my mom!" Fortunately for her it was the middle of the night. Otherwise, I am certain she would have received this call:

Katy - "Mommy! I'm not feeling well..."
Pam -  (Long pause) "Who is this?"
Katy - "Do you seriously have to ask me this every time? It's your daughter...Katy!"
Pam - "Oh. What's wrong?"
Katy - "I just threw up." (Sniff, sniff)
Pam - "Well, what do you want me to do about it?"
Katy - "Nothing, I just wanted you to know."
Pam - "Oh. Well, thank you so much for informing me." 

Somehow, at 28 years of age, I still feel compelled to call my mommy every time I get sick. Call me crazy, but I believe it's just a bond some mothers and daughters instinctively have. The kind of bond that makes a grown woman say to her mother, "Sure, you cleaned me up my entire childhood, but you're not done yet!" The kind of bond that will one day cause an elderly mother to say to her daughter, "Guess what, you overgrown brat? It's payback time."

Unfortunately (or fortunately for mom), the miles and hours that separate us caused me to reconsider my compulsion to inform my mother of my every visit to the loo. So, I picked myself up by the bootstraps, and we made our way to church. Surprisingly, my rendezvous with the toilet that morning didn't leave me wondering what kind of flu bug I caught this time. Mainly because I felt absolutely FINE after the whole "incident" (Honestly, am I grossing y'all out yet? I promise there's a point to this story.). In fact, I could only think of ONE thing that would have caused that kind of momentary "sickness." That's when it occurred to me to freak out a bit. 

To be honest I was so distracted the entire service, and I couldn't wait to get back home. The suspense was unbearable. If only we hadn't been running late, I could have taken a pregnancy test before church. Must make a mental note to always leave time for unexpected things like sudden illness and peeing on a stick. 

Fortunately, I fake myself out every month, so we had a stockpile of pregnancy tests in the cabinet. I grabbed two of them - thoroughness is key when you're married to a pilot - and shut myself in the "loo" for approximately 6-8 minutes. I was disappointed when I couldn't quite determine if that second line was a figment of my imagination or an indication of a mini-me. I took the test to Brian who was as inconclusive as I was. I drank about a gallon of water and returned to the loo. When the second test displayed similar, inconclusive results, I was (as the Brits say) gutted. Why couldn't they make those things so that fireworks or confetti or something spews out when it's positive? Why does it have to be so confusing? 

With all this drama and uncertainly we found ourselves nearing teatime, and most of the stores around us close early on Sundays. If we were going to have any rest at all, we needed to know for certain. I needed a different kind of test. We found a convenience store in Bury St. Edmunds (about 25 minutes from our house) that was open a bit later on Sundays, so we quickly got ourselves and the Chief in the car to make it there before they closed. Again, my thorough husband insisted on two tests and I insisted on more to drink. I'm not a camel, for crying out loud!

Two minutes after returning home, I emerged from the loo with a huge smile on my face. Sure enough, the Brits know how to make a straightforward, no-nonsense pregnancy test. There was NO mistaking that second line. I didn't even need fireworks or the second test to prove it, but I went ahead and took it anyway for good measure. Brian (ever the cautious one) decided he was more reluctant to believe anything store-bought, so he suggested I go on base for an "official" test. Once again, our suspicions were confirmed, and we started to realize that if five pregnancy tests wouldn't convince us, nothing would. 

So, if our calculations (and the calculations of the nurse on base) are correct, my due date is April 22! I will most likely have a more accurate date once I have my first ultrasound in two weeks. What a wonderful time to have a baby in England. The flowers are blooming, the winter is waning, and the sun is hanging around a bit longer. I can hardly wait to meet Mini-Morgan (or G-baby as my father has already designated it). Whatever you want to call it, please just pray that this baby won't have me in the loo much longer. Oh, and who's the idiot who coined the phrase "morning sickness"? Try "all-day-every-day sickness." Must have been a man. A man without a clue. 

Excuse me, I need to go now...

I thought now would be an excellent time to break the 2 1/2 month silence since I just experienced one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. It's a moment that doesn't quite trump the time my dad thought I was my mom and seriously scarred me for life, but it's close. I'll get to that a bit later, though.

For those of you who don't already know, I spent nearly two months back "home" with my family and friends. I guess you could say that Brian and I went through a pretty serious time of uncertainty in our marriage, and I just needed my family there next to me. I spent a few weeks completely confused, a few weeks in "counseling" with the handful of people I am so blessed to call my brothers and sisters in Christ, a few weeks working my tail off with mom's new business (more on that in the coming weeks!), and a few weeks reconciling with Brian. It was by far the best visit home I've ever had, and I appreciate how the people we love absolutely covered us in prayers! I assure you they've been answered.

I hesitated even saying anything here about this "valley" in our marriage, but want to make it clear that I don't keep this site going to inflate my ego. I'm not trying to find my 15 minutes of fame or to add to the plethora of egocentric individuals out there in cyberspace. I want you all to know that we need your prayers every day and that your participation here greatly encourages us. I wish I could describe how it thrills my heart to know that our loved ones enjoy hearing about all the funny and ridiculous things we experience, but I am equally blessed by your encouragement through the hard times.

Brian and I are content to accept both God's blessings AND the hard lessons we must learn - knowing that everything works together for the good of those who love the Lord. That has carried me and Brian through some difficult times these past few years. Knowing that God is glorified through our reconciliation is something I feel is important to share!

Speaking of reconciliation...I've enjoyed the past several days back in Walsham le Willows. Brian is working the night shift this week, so we're keeping a ridiculous schedule here. Going to bed around 6 a.m. Waking up around 2 p.m. It's very confusing, and I'm pretty sure I'm still a bit jet lagged.

Around 1:00 a.m. I was just doing some laundry and picking up all the junk I brought back from the U.S., when I decided to send a text message to my husband. I simply responded to his earlier text and also described in some graphic detail my anticipation about his return home from work. I knew he would be unable to read it for several hours, so I just sent it and returned to my housework. A few hours later, I checked my phone for messages and realized that I hadn't sent that text to Brian at all. Not only did he not receive it, a poor, unsuspecting neighbor of mine received it instead!

Needless to say I couldn't call or text to explain since it is now the middle of the night, so I sent her daughter a Facebook message hoping by some small miracle she could explain before her mother got my text. I know good and well it is not going to work out that way, but I had to do SOMETHING to help my face return to a normal shade. We're gonna need to move.

I also posted a message about my little fiasco on Facebook and had more than a dozen responses within an hour! Unbelievable. Technology is such a wonderfully dangerous thing, isn't it?

This is a lesson my father also learned the hard way several years ago. Mom and I were in the car together, and her cell phone rang. When I noticed it was dad, I told her I would answer it. APPARENTLY, my mother and I sound exactly alike on the phone, because I got the kind of earful no daughter should ever have to hear. I'm pretty sure dad wasn't able to look me in the eye some two or three years after that incident. I now preface every phone conversation with him by saying, "Dad, this is your daughter."

Well, daddy, I guess all those years of making fun of you has finally caught up with me. I suppose I'll have to stick to "Have a nice day" and "TTYL" (talk to you later). Anything else is just too dangerous.

PS - Stay tuned as I update our blog readers on our adventures in America - including working with my mother and the World's Longest Yard Sale!

If you had asked me a little over a month ago what I desire most from my husband, I probably would have responded with some smart-alecky comment about his credit card or yard work. For some reason I have always believed that I wasn't the type of girl who needed mushy stuff like poetry, candles, music, and flowers. Give me a decent blender over a bouquet of flowers any day. Brian has almost always been the more sentimental one in this relationship. Sure, I try to be thoughtful, but sappy is not something I typically respond to...until now.

Maybe it's the distance - or the terrible thoughts about what he's doing out there that sometimes enter my mind. Maybe it's hormonal (no, mom, I'm not pregnant). Maybe I'm just frustrated that the only male affection I receive on a daily basis comes from the dog. Whatever it is, I've become a HUGE sucker for the sappy stuff since Brian left.

Take yesterday, for instance. For those of you who keep up with the site, you would have noticed that yesterday was our four-year wedding anniversary. Anniversaries are a BIG deal in the Morgan household. I figure every additional year we can make it without driving each other crazy is reason enough to celebrate. Brian and I are both big into gift-giving, but we decided from the start to stick to the traditional anniversary gift guide. This year, since we're in the UK, we're following the UK tradition of giving fruit and flowers for the 4th year.

Not only did I receive a gorgeous bouquet of flowers (that were divided into four quadrants, symbolizing the four years we've been married), and an "Apple" iTunes gift card, but I also received a poem with lots of adorable references to fruits.

Here's a quick excerpt for you:

So here’s an example of using imagination
Just think that pear equals pair (just a simple equation.)

So we’ll spend a ‘pear’ of nights on a quick getaway.
We’ll also get a ‘pear’ of tickets and go see a play.

I don’t know the ‘date’ so I can’t buy them yet,
(A ‘date’ is also a fruit…or did you forget?)

And there’s one more thing to sweeten the deal,
Here comes a promise that is very real.

Salsa comes from tomatoes which also count as fruit,
So we’ll finally go dancing; I promise it’ll be a hoot!

Okay, so he's not going to win any Pulitzers for it, but I was so touched by this gift that I couldn't help but melt into a puddle of tears. Honestly, I was glad he didn't send me an "Apple" laptop (next up on my wishlist), because this poem meant more to me than anything he could have purchased. Granted, I'm still holding him to the getaway, the play, and the dancing. You can COUNT on that!

Since my gift to Brian is still in transit, I'll let him share it with you when it arrives. I do, however, want to post the video I created in honor of our anniversary, because many of your faces are there as well. Our family and friends have blessed our lives so richly, and we are grateful for your love and encouragement throughout our marriage! Please continue to keep Brian in your prayers...especially as many of you enjoy the break for Memorial Day weekend!

Happy Anniversary, Brian, and thank you for humbly serving our God, our family, and our nation!