The Making of M.O.M.

With Ella, we didn't find out her gender until she was born. It was fun not knowing if she was a he or she for the duration of my pregnancy. There was great fun in finding out if we were having a girl or boy with the 1st words my doctor said upon her delivery.

We found out Elizabeth's gender (our 1st born).

With Lucas and Ashlee, well, finding out that we were having twins was surprise enough so we didn't feel like we needed any more surprises. :)

We didn't even know about Aaron or Olivia until we got the call for them on the days they were born.

So not finding out Ella's gender until her birth was new for us. Exciting even.

With Beaver Baby #7 growing inside me and with each little flutter of kicks, we'd planned not to find out Baby #7's gender until his or her birth as well.

That was until couple weeks ago when Elizabeth asked me why we couldn't find out what Baby #7 was.

"Well," I said, "it's really up to your Dad. I don't care either way if we find out or if we wait. But Daddy likes to wait."

A few days later Elizabeth quietly asks Luke, "Dad? Can I change your mind about something?"

I think Luke panicked at first, wondering what she could be wanting.

"Can we please find out what the baby is? Pretty, pretty please?"

Over the course of the last week Elizabeth has continued to ~~prod~~ ~~steer~~ ~~trick~~ ~~beg~~ persuade Luke into finding out this new baby's gender.

Today, was our "big" ultrasound, the anatomy scan where the option to find out the baby's gender was, well, an option.

In the waiting room, Luke's soft side won out and he looked at Elizabeth and asked her, "Well, do we want to find out what the baby is?"

She was beside herself excited. And so were Lucas and Ashlee.

That is, until the doctor scanned and then announced,

"It looks like it's a GIRL!"

Then all of Lucas' hopes and dreams were crushed when he realized he'd have FIVE sisters and still only ONE brother.

Y'all pray for him. :)

We couldn't be more blessed or pleased.

I finally have managed to remember some of the funny things the kids have said lately. What better reason to have a Das Not Funny! Friday? I can think of not one more reason. Plus, blogging is fun.

Lately, Ashlee has begun old-school preacher length bedtime prayers. She is uber careful to include each person in our family. Including Brinkley. The dog.

"And dear God, please help Momma not frow up so much. And help her to work it out."

"And dear God, please help Daddy not to get frusterwated. And help him to work it out."

"And dear God, please help Aaron not to cry all the time. And help him to work it out."

"And dear God, please help Woocus not to hit and push. And help him to work it out."

"And dear God, please help Ewizabets not to be so bossy. And help her to work it out."

"And dear God, please help Wivia not to pee in her pants because it frustwates Mommy. And help her to work it out."

"And dear God, please help Ella Goat not to bite people because biting hurts their feelings and their skin. And help her to work it out."

"And dear God, please help Bwinkley not to bark so much because she's loud. And help her to work it out.

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Ella has starting talking. It's so cute. Except when her answer is "Nuh." (No.)

I asked her if she wanted to contribute to today's post.

I bet you can guess her answer.

"Nuh."

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Aaron has to be the fastest pooper ever. Not that I'm complaining since he does that in the potty exclusively now.

Yesterday while we waited on the older 3 to finish up piano lessons, we went outside to play on the playground. Naturally, as soon as we get down there, with no point of re-entry to the building he has to poop. We make a long trek around the side of the church (up a hill) toward the unlocked door.

Please keep in mind I am carrying Ella, who weighs just as much as her older brother and sister, at a whopping 27lbs, while Olivia insists on hopping/jumping/flinging her body forward no matter where we are going. And with no specific speed.

Aaron is walking on his tippy toes, butt cheeks squinched, hand firmly grasping his backside.

We hustle, hustle, hustle (I use that word loosely) up the hill, inside the building and back down the stairs so Aaron can use the toilet.

He sits and approximately 20 seconds later this conversations ensues.

"Mom. I done. Come wipe me."

"Buddy, push some more out okay? Get it all out."

"But I all done. I already gone."

"Just a little more, okay? Make sure it's all out."

(Fake grunt) "It all out now. Noooooooooo more poop is in my butt. Come see!"

Uh. No thanks. I trust you. I'm sure you worked it out just fine, all on your own.

Y'all have a great weekend.