"Outnumbered" OR "Blessed Beyond Measure"

If you're a regular follower of this blog, then you know that me and Hillary are officially expecting our third child (our first child together) in October. In case you haven't heard that story, feel free to check out the post previous to this one. It was quite a journey to make it to this point.

Even though the big secret was revealed to the whole world, there was still another secret that far fewer people were privy to:

Boy or Girl? 

Only a select few people knew. Not even Hillary and I; we arranged with Hillary's doctor to seal the identity of the gender in an envelope, which we delivered to Hillary's mother, Teresa, and Hillary's brother's girlfriend, Mohini. The two of them had volunteered to throw us a gender reveal party as soon as they heard we had a baby on the way. 

It was almost a month between the big Facebook pregnancy reveal and the gender reveal party. And in that time, Hillary researched (and practiced) every old wives' tale she could find about determining the baby's gender.  

What she considered the most important tell was the baby's heartbeat. Using a home fetal doppler, she found (and still finds) the baby's heartbeat at least once a day. According to the doppler, the baby has a heart rate of around 150 bpm. And, according to whatever nebulous place on the internet where one finds such information, a heart rate that slow indicated a boy. 

Hillary was also incredibly nauseous for the entire first trimester. And, according to a friend of ours who experienced the same symptoms, those are symptoms of being pregnant with a boy (the friend in question had, appropriate to her theory, given birth to a boy). 

When the gender reveal party finally arrived, Hillary and I were treated to an amazing surprise: a volcano. 

We were to pour baking soda into the volcano, and watch as lava streamed out the top. The color of the lava would indicate the baby's gender. 

Volcanos are messy, so we took it outside. And there, in our front yard, we saw it. 

PINK lava. 

Honesty time. And yes, I realize that's pretty much all the time with me, especially when I post my thoughts and exercises and whatever else on the internet for all to read. But time to lay out the truth like a fitted sheet. Because that's the thing with the truth: it looks easy, but most of the time it's corners have elastic in them and you can't get them around the mattress without someone's help. 

I was a little disappointed. 

Don't get me wrong; I am absolutely thrilled that me and Hillary are going to bring this little girl into the world. I consider myself the luckiest man in the world (eat your heart out, Lou Gehrig), that I not only get to raise this child of mine, but the two beautiful, wonderful girls that God decided to bring into my life. And I could not ask for a more supportive, hard-working, and loving woman to call my wife through it all. 

But, even so... I sort of wanted a son. And I don't think there's anything wrong with that.  

Maybe it's something hard-wired into the DNA of a man, to want a smaller version of you running around behind you, learning all the things you learned, from you, watching him grow and wondering what kind of man he's going to be. And, of course, there's the patriarchal desire to continue passing your name to your descendants. As if I was a Game of Thrones character looking to extend my family bloodline. 

By that evening, when all our friends had gone home and Hillary and I had put our two current girls to bed, the shock of seeing the pink lava had worn off. And I'd had time to consider what I'd been telling people for weeks, who'd been asking the ubiquitous question, "What do you want your baby to be?" 

"Healthy," I'd said. 

And, by God, I am sticking by it. 

This child is the child that Hillary and I prayed for, the one we'd spend month after month trying for, mourning for, and placing all our hopes and dreams in. After losing the pregnancy in October (see last blog post), all we wanted was a happy, healthy baby together. The way I look at it, God has a lot more experience in choosing the perfect children for their parents, and I haven't heard an instance yet of Him getting it wrong. She is our child, our gift from God, exactly as He has intended her. The gender He's picked is good enough for Him, so it's certainly good enough for me. 

Last weekend, Hillary and I got to attended two weddings on the same day; one in the early afternoon, and one in the evening, one-hundred-and-fifty miles apart. It made for a lot of driving, but we got to see our beautiful girls drop flower petals just before a bride made the walk to meet her groom. 

No, really, I'm not crying. There's just something in my eye. 

And then, as I gradually stretched the truth of the matter around my mattress of life, I began to realize  the full weight of what it meant to have the unparalleled honor of being a father to three daughters. 

One day, I will be the guy walking a girl down the aisle to meet her groom. 

And I'm going to get to do it three times. 

There are going to be, at fewest, six prom dresses these girls are going to be fitted for, which I'm going to object to because of the (in my eyes) scandalous amount of skin they show, but for which I'll eventually give in at the girls' insistence, because I'm their dad and I'm already wrapped around their little fingers. 

Boys galore are going to be brought to our house, and I'm going to feel like almost all of them are not good enough for my girls. I'm going to ruthlessly create lists of all the qualities I don't like in them, but I'm going to keep (most of them) to myself because I want to trust their judgment. And besides, everyone knows telling a teenage girl she CAN'T date a certain boy only makes her want to date him even more. 

I'm also going to learn how to disassemble a gun on the kitchen table, clean it, and meticulously reassemble it. Just in case. 

There are going to be sleep-overs, make-overs, tea parties, wrestling matches, games of tag and hide-and-seek and video game marathons, sword fights and scary stories and campfires and s'mores. And it's all because God decided to bless me with three little girls. 

Yes, I'm hopelessly outnumbered. But this is exactly how God intended it. So I wouldn't have it any other way. 

Seeing how grown-up Faith and Zoe already are, and how fast they're growing up, I barely held it together as the wedding progressed. And as much as I can't wait for our new baby to arrive, I want to revel in this magical time of not knowing, of simply wondering and waiting and hoping. 

Oh, and if you're wondering, the baby is completely healthy. 

See you in October, Elliot Katherine Smith. 

"Bun In the Oven", OR "Back-Up Plans"

So now, the world knows.

Hillary and I have known for almost two months, now. Our closest relatives and friends have known for a month, maybe longer. But, for the most part, we've managed to keep it a secret from the rest of the world until earlier this week.

In case you missed it, this was Hillary's Facebook post earlier this week.

It took some people a little longer to get it than others. But pretty much everyone realized the news. Hillary and I expecting a baby this October. 

We waiting so long to tell everyone because we wanted to make sure everything was okay. We got our first ultrasound a few weeks ago, and everything looked fine. But we wanted further testing, just to be safe. 

He/She is the little gray lump inside the dark gray lump. 

Last week we finally got back the blood tests that eased our fears. All the possible genetic abnormalities that could be detected by blood test were pretty much out of the question. Whether boy or girl, we're hopeful for a healthy baby. 

This is a triumph, for Hillary and I. For years, even before we were married, we discussed the possibility of having a child together. We decided the time was right to try, what with both of us already in our thirties. And, last March, signs began to point to the truth that God had blessed us. 

It was the best possible news. But it was bittersweet, because this wasn't the first time we'd gotten our hopes up. 

Last September, Hillary and I also though we'd succeeded in getting pregnant. Like this time, all the signed pointed toward the blessing we thought we were ready for. 

A few weeks passed. The date of Hillary's first ultrasound approached. She wanted me to go with her, because she was nervous. She said that she felt uneasy, nervous; like something wasn't right. I chocked it up to the nerves of a newly pregnant woman.  

I should have listened. 

There was simply nothing there. No baby. We didn't have a viable pregnancy, after all. 

(If this comes as a shock, it should. Hillary and I didn't tell very many people about it. In fact, only a select few of our closest friends and relatives even knew we were pregnant in September/October.)

The timing for a baby would have been perfect. Hillary would have been due at the first of June. I wouldn't have had to spend any sick days to spend all the time I wanted at home with her and the baby. Our baby would have been born within a month of my cousin, Cory Rayborn, and his wife Lindsay's daughter. The two would have been able to grow up together, nearly the same age. Hillary wouldn't have to spend her summer pregnant. 

Everything was perfect. All was as it should have been. 

Except that it was not meant to be. 

The following weeks and months were a roller coaster of emotions for the two of us. They were met with lots of questioning, anger, and confusion. God knew our situation. He knew our lives. He knew our willingness to have a child, to lace our family together. Why would he do this? And why, in this way? Was God cruel enough to dangle what we desired in front of us, only to pull it from our grasp like some cosmic game of keep-away?  

The months of questioning stretched into 2016. 

As soon as Hillary and I were able, we started trying again. Hillary went to her doctor often, to see what more we could do to increase our chances.  All the while, we wondered why it simply hadn't "taken" the first time. 

One night in January, Hillary and I had to drive separately to a church function. I'm not sure what it was, or why we had to drive our own vehicles. What I do remember is how hard our seemingly fruitless attempt to conceive again was weighing on her. And as I drove home that night, I thought about my wife, and what she'd personally been through over the last few months. And I said a desperate prayer, aloud, as I drove on the Bluegrass Parkway back to our house. 

God, if Hillary and I are meant to have a child together, let us have that child soon. If we aren't, then ease mine - and especially my wife's - hearts about the subject, and instead show us how to focus our energies on you and how much you've already given us. 

I wish I could say that it only took me saying the prayer once to believe that God heard it, but I must have repeated the prayer three or four times before I got home. I told Hillary about it, because I believe there is not only power in prayer, but power in prayer shared with others. 

A few weeks later, while the two of us were volunteering at our church's Wednesday night youth Bible study, the topic was raised of the annual Guys/Girls Retreat. Sarah Bailie, the youth minister, announced the dates of the trip, and asked for adult volunteers to serve as chaperones. 

The Guys/Girls retreat is one of mine and Hillary's favorite retreats. We had never missed it. But the dates fell upon the weekend in March in which Hillary had calculated as our prime conception time. If we missed those dates, we'd have to wait until April to try again. 

At this time, it was late January. We'd already missed our opportunity for the month. February was coming up. And if nothing happened in February, waiting until April to try again felt out of the question. 

We hem-hawed around the topic. I prayed about it, unsure of what I'd hear. Yes, youth retreats are extremely important in the spiritual development of the youth of our church, and could impact a student's life in ways I can't understand. But was there anything wrong with missing it just this once, to try for what our hearts had desired for so long (and had already been denied once)? 

The response to the prayer was pretty immediate. 

For some context, God did not grant me with an abundance of discernment. In fact, when it comes down to it, my skill at discerning the will of The Spirit is downright anemic. So when God spoke, he must have known that a nearly-audible voice was what I need. 

Believe I AM capable of this. 

Of course, this was ridiculous. I believed God was capable of helping Hillary and I conceive again. 

But did I believe He would come through? 

Faith is a weird thing. The Bible continually says that not only is Faith believing that God has the power to do what He says He'll do, but living our lives as though He WILL do the things He says He'll do.  Jesus himself said that, even with a tiny speck of faith, we can tell a mountain to throw itself into the sea, and it'll be done. 

Jesus doesn't say that we have to simply believe God can throw a mountain into the sea. It requires action on our part. We must change our words, thoughts, and actions to reflect the reality that God not only CAN do what He says he will, or WILL do what He says He will, but that He has ALREADY GONE BEFORE US, HAS ALREADY DONE WHAT HE SAYS HE WILL DO. 

Hillary and I were trying everything we possibly could to fulfill our dream. But if we really believed we served a God who was powerful enough to do what we had prayed of Him, why were we constantly making contingency plans as though He wasn't going to come through? 

In real faith, there is no room for, "If God does this, great, but if He DOESN'T, then I have a back-up plan." 

So I told Hillary that I thought we should sign up for the Guys/Girls retreat. 

And, before we left for the retreat in March, pregnancy tests started coming up with the little blue line. 

Of course, God owes us nothing. There is nothing I could do that could put God in my debt. And I'm not saying that God is like a slot machine, guaranteed to "pay out" the longer you pull His arm. But even Jesus knew the power of true faith, of faith that doesn't ask, 'What if God doesn't come through?' but instead, 'God has already gone before me; there is no need of a back-up plan'. 

Hillary and I didn't deserve this blessing. We hadn't earned it. And I don't believe my faith made it magically happen when it did. That's the real mystery of faith, I guess. God's got a whole lot going on up there; things that I will never be able to understand. He's still not provided Hillary and I with an explanation why things happened the way they did in October. God owes me no explanation. But he has still promised me, and everyone else, that all we have to do is believe that He is capable of the things He says He is. 

And then to live our lives as if we believe it. 

7-23-14: "The Long Run", OR "Beginning Again"

Well, it finally happened.

For the first time since I started judiciously blogging, I am a married man.

Yeah, we were pretty stoked. 

 I started this blog not long after my now ex-wife moved out, around summer 2012. I had a few good posts that summer, but then fall rolled around. With both the summer sun and my wife gone, I lapsed into a series of unhealthy habits and unfortunate decisions, things that didn't reflect who I truly was. I suppose, looking back now, that they were all actions of a man trying to figure out who he was outside of a relationship he had invested nearly seven years into; someone trying to figure out how to "Enjoy his own company", as a therapist put it (and yes, I saw a therapist for a while, with absolutely no shame). 

One of the most moving moments during that time is recorded in cartoon form on the wall of Side Bar Grill, one of my favorite places in Lexington. Someone was nice enough to take a picture of the cartoon and Tweet it to me.

During that dark time, I wrote a lot. It was pretty much the only outlet I had for all that depression that didn't involve a bottle, and it was a heck of a lot more healthy. Many of those writings are only now seeing the light of day. Two of the pieces, titled "Storm Clouds" and "Smash", have been posted on my short story blog, Cut and Dry, if you'd like to check them out. Fair warning: they're pretty dark, because it was a pretty dark period in my life, "Smash" in particular.

Spring 2013, I reconnected with a girl named Hillary Smith that I had been sort of acquainted with in high school. We definitely hadn't been friends; I couldn't recall even one conversation the two of us had shared the three years we were at Belfry High School together. Though she'll deny it now, back in those days she was WAAAAAY out of my league. She insists I should have asked her out, that high-school-me and high-school-her totally would have been an item.

She is far too kind. Anyone I was friends with in high school will verify just how far out of my league she was.

We had been Facebook 'friends' for several years, though there had been zero correspondence between us. I did know, though, simply from her posts and pictures, that she was married to another guy she and I went to high school with, they had two daughters, and they were still living somewhere in Kentucky. But in the spring of 2013, I started noticing a few changes in her posts. She was using pronoun phrases like, "A change in my life", and "My latest adventure", and "My new apartment." It was a change that I had noticed in my own moody Facebook posts and short writings.

I'm not sure why I messaged her that day, and asked her about her life change. Call it fate. Call it destiny. I'm calling it God getting fed up with me making poor decisions and nudging me in the right direction.

Fast forward, a little more than a year later. I'm stepping off a plane onto a tiny runway in the Florida Keys, honeymooning with that acquaintance I messaged out of the blue.

She's still out of my league. As long as she never realizes that, I'm in the clear. 

I normally use this blog to describe my various exploits in running, athletics, or anything else I'm doing that could possibly injure me in some way. I mean, the blog is called "Runner Confidential," for crying out loud. But this post has nothing to do with running, exercising, or being active in any way. Unless you count that we've been riding bikes to get around the Key West, which I totally am. Hey, I haven't ridden a bike in, like, twenty years! It's hard! 

No, this blog post is simply to celebrate how far God has brought me and Hillary over the last two years. In case you hadn't heard, she's had a harrowing year or so, herself. If you're curious, one of the many links above goes to her blog. If you're both curious AND lazy, then click here to check it out. 

For those looking to hear more about my exploits on running, I promise I'll get back at it as soon as I'm out of the Florida humidity. Until then, I'm going to be snorkeling, deep-sea fishing, and peddling around an island with the love of my life. 

In case you're desperate for something to read/look at until I get back to running, you can check out 'A Man's World', where I post silly rules for maintaining my manliness while living in a house filled with women. I post there pretty frequently, because my phone makes it easy. Thanks, technology!  

Also, sorry for the sheer number of links in this post. You should click on all of them; they all go to cool stuff. Well, all of them except this one.