| preview of a new year and epilogue to an old one. |

December 23rd, 2017. Preparing for our first Christmas as husband and wife, and as a family of  . . . three.

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Our first year of married life, soon to be a past milestone. What still feels like a very mere number of weeks ago Trenton and I were dreaming about a future together, and now, a whole year later, thanks to Jesus and a vast quantity of prayer and patience having her perfect work, we're living it.

 Married life, unlike some other exaggerated experiences in life, deserves all of the claims made about it. Exhilarating, humorous, exhausting, frustrating, and eternally rewarding. These baby steps in our life together have not been without a generous share of awkwardness, but in a sort of glorious way. It's a constant classroom, and you know better than to hope for perfect grades, but learning beside your best friend is worth all of the bumps along the way.

We honeymooned in Pagosa Springs, Colorado, for one delightful week following our wedding. It was the honeymoon of all my teenaged dreams, and more. We went for some spectacular hikes in the Rockies, visited a secluded waterfall that completely soaked all bystanders within thirty feet with icy mist (memorable + freezing + perfect) and spent an entire day at the hot mineral springs, which I would recommend as one of the most incredible experiences obtainable on the continent. The springs were located beside a river swollen with melted snow from the mountain summits themselves, (suffice it to say that frozen yogurt could have easily floated down that river in a bowl without melting) and the temptation to dip in it was too strong for this hardy child of the far north. Not to be outdone by his brand-new wife, my husband followed suit, (though not for as long, HA) and the expression on his face when he submerged himself in that current was definitely one for the books.

Upon returning to New Mexico, we settled in the trailer we were renting and officially commenced married life, the real thing. Not even three weeks after our wedding day, we went to my brother and sister-in-law's home, and they let us borrow their Ranger to go for a ride. My husband grew up riding four-wheelers and all-terrain vehicles, but I did not, and despite the feeling that wisdom would suggest allowing him to drive without requesting a turn at the wheel, when he offered (with much hesitancy, I should add) to give me a turn, I accepted, of course. Five minutes into experimenting with this novelty, I managed (still not sure how) to run the vehicle into a stray pile of barbed wire and roll it, breaking my foot and puncturing it to the bone in the process.
 I expected Trent to lose his temper, rebuke me, or show some form of irritation, but he was nothing but instantly worried and sorry for me. I had to stay in the hospital for two nights, and he never left me for a minute, would have even slept next to me in a chair if the hospital staff would have allowed him. That weekend showed me what kind of a man I had married-- patient and compassionate, even in the throes of chaos I had created.

Thus began a rather violent (literally) plunge into marriage, but thus far the memories we've made since then have managed to be of a more peaceable variety. We went to El Paso in July for a "business trip" that was definitely more leisure and eating than business, saw the United States / Mexico border (which for some reason struck me as a big deal, wall or no wall) and we ate out once in a while, but more often found a movie at home and accompanied it with microwave popcorn, bought two adorable Siberian husky puppies that seem perpetually bent on preparing us for the alleged chaos of parenting, went shooting out in the desert while the sun was setting (our go-to when he has a day off) and he bought a pickup truck and let me drive it, which, considering aforementioned events, was a great demonstration of optimism and faith. We spent a weekend at Riodoso, in a perfect little cedar cabin that I desperately wanted to take home, and cooked burritos and tacos outside in a disco. I was introduced to matanzas, which are basically the Hispanic version of a pig roast and one of his family's favorite annual traditions. I won't even attempt the spelling of the various ways of cooking and serving the slaughtered pig, but they were delicious, nonetheless. And I got to "introduce" him to the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta, which, despite being a native of New Mexico, he had never attended, while this transplant girl has already loved it for a long time.

Early in the fall, we bought our very first home together, complete with more than just one bedroom, because we had discovered that we were no longer merely a couple. A tiny daughter will be joining us this upcoming spring, and the round of completely new feelings that that knowledge has delivered can hardly be transcribed with mere letters on a screen. Ever since I was seventeen I have taken care of other women's babies, grown attached to them, and wondered if I would ever get to be the mom instead of the babysitter / daycare teacher / nanny who was obliged to return the adorable little child to her real parents at the end of the day. It's surreal to know that, in a little over three months, I will be the mom, and the baby will be mine - I won't have to give her up to anyone or refrain from forming too strong of an emotional attachment, or correct her when she calls me mama. I get to keep this baby. She's mine, finally mine to love without restraint. I get to be her mama. She's half me and half the man I love, and we will be her protection, her security, her right in a wrong kind of world.

Pregnancy has not been without its own unique kind of emotions. It's a fearful thing to be a parent, to realize the sudden measure of responsibility you have, and to only hope and pray that you honor it as it deserves, even before the child enters the world. It's humbling to be swamped in first-trimester sickness, to vomit in front of others because there was no time to locate a private place, and to look in the mirror and see that your former figure has vanished under a layer of weight and stretch marks.
 More humbling than that, however, is to realize the sacred trust that God has invested in us, two entirely imperfect humans, by lending us this seed to nurture and grow to maturity. I've never been a parent. I want to be a flawless one, to never make my little girl cry, or frustrate her, or fail to influence her for the good.
But I know I won't be a flawless one. I'll fail her. Many times. I'm a sinner, and that's what sinners do. They fail.

But, by God's grace, I want to be a sinner sanctified by Christ, and pour Christ's love into this tiny little person's life, for as long as I am a part of her life and able to do so. Regardless of how many things I mistakenly say, or do or don't do, I never want her to doubt that her mama loves her more than anything in the world. Because even now, having never seen her in person, I already know that I do. That when I look into her newborn eyes for the first time, I will never have seen anything quite as beautiful. That little has touched my heart as much as when my husband kneels, his face pressed against my belly, and talks to his baby girl so that she'll already know his voice when she meets him. That, in spite of having a much-compromised figure, I have never been so proud of my body as I am now, watching it accommodate itself to become a suitable habitat and safe nest for my precious unborn child.

2017 and newlywed-hood was awkward, exhilarating, undoubtedly scary, and ultimately glorious, with far more than our deserved share of God's blessings. 2018 and parenthood, let's do this.