The Parable of the Newborn's Needs

I know it's the most horrible thing in the world or whatever to be wistfully anticipating the next stage in my child's life instead of just enjoying this one.
But.
I can't wait until my kid can actually, like, love me.
I hear mommies talk about how their kid crawl to them for books, or cuddles, or milk or about how their kid spends "nursing time" stroking mommy's face and babbling incoherently, about how their kids reach out and love their mommies.
My kid, through no fault of his little 3 1/2 week old self, doesn't really indicate that he loves me. Or that I really even exist.
If he stops crying when I pick him up, it's because he found comfort and he's pleased about being comforted. If he stops crying to nurse, its because he's pleased to have food. If he stops crying after a diaper change, it's because he's pleased to have discomfort taken out of his life. The most I get is a brief moment of eye contact before they lose focus on me. He's pleased with the things I give him, but he doesn't seem to realize that it's me who gives it. That there's an entity whose heart swells every time I look at him. Who's taking the time to meet these needs. Instead, he fusses and cries until his grievances in life are gone.
One day, and I know it will come, he'll see me and love me. He'll learn to come to me when he needs something and will trust me to take care of those needs. He'll come to me when he doesn't need something too. He'll come to me just to cuddle. He'll come to me just to babble about the little things a baby spends his time worrying about. And I just can't wait to be loved by the person I love so very very much.

But as I shove the pacifier into my son's mouth for the umpteenth time, I can't help but wonder if God feels the same way about many of His children.

My Birth Story - Rated G

At 41 weeks exactly, we went to the midwife to do a biophysical on the baby, which is essentially an ultrasound that checks on various things, to make sure everything's cool, that there's no need to panic and induce.
Well, my kid wasn't practice breathing, which is normally totally fine, but it was test time and they wanted to see that he could. So they poked and prodded and, in general, harassed the baby until he started breathing. Cool. Whatever. Did that have effects on the rest of this story? I don't know.
What I do know is that night my contractions which had never hurt me before, became back labor pains.
Back labor = not good
Just in case you didn't know or couldn't deduce.
So we waited and timed and what not and came to the hospital the next evening when we were about 3-5 minutes apart for at least 1 minute (be thinking more like 2...) for more than an hour.
I can listen and follow directions despite what my kindergarten teachers said about me!

We took a last minute picture at the house before we left.

Our present residence

The day before delivery belly shot

We get all the way to the hospital, 

(which for some reason didn't have a pre-registration system set up, so I had to figure out where to go and no one believed me when I said I wasn't being induced. ("Are you here to be induced?" "No." "You're here to be induced?" "No." "Why are you here?" "To have a baby..." It was ridiculous.) And no one understood where I was supposed to go even though I told them. And it took forever to be admitted. And then! to....)

find out we're not in active labor yet. Lame. But we were told that we shouldn't go home. It's been long enough after the due date and the back labor was noteworthy enough that I should hang out. The word c-section was mentioned with concern, so we got right down to making it to active labor. Because you can totally just will these things to happen. (Sure why not.) 2 hours later I was!! 

Then, many hours later, I hadn't progressed at all. 

Either my contractions weren't strong enough or the baby was too big. So the first step was dose me up with Pitocin (a drug to induce labor) which is known to be beyond painful, and after having gone over 12 hours in back labor, many of which were active labor, all night long, we decided to get the epidural. Then she told me that I needed an IV.

I did have a minor emotional breakdown then. The staff was really confused why I was so distraught at the idea when I taking everything like a champ for so long. My only other time getting an IV was during my D&C. I felt like I had failed again. (Because, you know, I was an emotional, hormonal, exhausted, pained woman who was told her plan wasn't going to work.) The midwife assured and reassured me that I had done well. That I had fought long and hard without anything to show for it and that was impressive in and of itself. 

So they shot me up. 

Now, I have an issue with experiencing numbness.... Namely? I hate it. So I wasn't in love with this epidural thing. But the contractions went by without my noticing until transition. Which was a nice change in pace and gave me a time to rest before transition. During that time, the pressure and the urge to push were very noticeable

Even just two days later it's hard to believe I was that big...

 The other problem was that the kids head was turned so he was looking at my side instead of my back, His ridiculously large head wasn't able to help me progress in labor with gravity backing it. So we needed to turn him. In order to do that, they cut off the circulation(? who knows whether or not I could feel my leg anymore. The epidural made everything numb. But I certainly felt like it was cutting off the circulation!) of one leg by placing a huge exercise ball shaped like a peanut on top of it and propping my other leg up on the ball. And somehow that managed to do the trick.

Doesn't this look like it would kill my lower leg? Yes. The answer is yes. 

There was a peanut shaped exercise ball between my legs to help turn the baby's head.

When my mom arrived, the midwife went on and on about how well he took care of me. She did not overstate. 

So after a few other positions and just some general waiting on contractions, I finally got through transition and was ready to push. 

This isn't pushing. This is the pressure of the contractions.

So what does pushing look like?

My mother and photographer was recruited to hold my leg as I pushed, so there are no further pictures of that subject matter. For better or worse... idk. 

They asked me if I wanted a mirror. 

Um. No. That's ok. Pretty sure I'm not looking so hot...

And then they told me to push. 

Generally, women under epidurals take two hours of pushing. I took half an hour. My midwife had changed to this Nigerian woman who kept going on about how I was such a strong woman in that nice accent. Let me tell you, in that accent you'll believe just about anything. 

For instance, I believe her when she told me that tugging on a sheet would be a good idea. I was supposed to hold the center and she would hold the two ends and throw her weight into the tug of war contest that randomly commenced in the middle of my labor. 

Great, now I'm going through labor and my hands hurt because the sheet cut into them. Awesome.  

But eventually the kid came out. They told me not to push. Something about projectile babies being a weapon and not permissible on hospital grounds... I don't know, I was pretty drugged up.

But they did keep telling me to look. So I'd look and there'd be this huge creepy bluish thing covered with whiteness coming out of me. So naturally, I'd look away. 

"Look, look!"

I'd look again. The scene had not become any less nauseating. 

No, thanks, nurse. 

So then they hand me this thing. 

Now, it may have been the drugs, but I have heard other moms speak of similar sentiments. They handed me that thing and I was just like: what is this? why are you handing this to me?

Drug induced confusion

Fatherhood awe

Still confused

Still awed

Both reactions together now

"Oh! My husband is happy!"

"Yay! We're kissing now!"

And then Jacob cut the cord. 

He was about as equally unimpressed with the "magic" of his moment as I was with mine. 

But still pretty stoked about the whole thing....

Baby James was starting to adapt a normal coloration and I was becoming more inclined...

And then they took him to a corner of the room to be weighed. 

Jacob asked me if I wanted him to stay with me. 

Of course, I want you to stay with me! I know you like that creepy looking huge thing for whatever reason, but you need to stay with me. 

So Jacob stayed and everybody else left, because no one's really interested in the mother after the baby comes out. 

And then he was weighed.

Aww... That's a way more attractive face!
(At the present point of the story, I was still confused.)

Now, this whole time, I was just in a state of: what? what is this? what did I go through this for? what is this thing?

And then they called out to me. 9lbs and 9 oz

And I lost it. 

That's what I had worked so hard for. 9lbs and 9 oz of baby that I carried for 10 months, that was reluctant to descend, reluctant to engage, but was here now.

Now, I was holding him. 

Ok, I don't look much more enthusiastic, but I'm also on drugs, so....

Daddy finally got his chance to hold the 9lbs 9oz bundle of joy

And that will be his life for the next very very long time. 

Baby James!!

So, yeah, that's my story. Without all the nitty gritty details that, frankly, I don't even want to know about....

I'm recovering well. We asked to leave the hospital the next day, and everyone was super chill about that until the last midwife to come on shift... who had spent all of five minutes with me and decided I was being incredible irresponsible for leaving so soon???

"Why?" And seriously, she made my confidence waver and I had my listening ears turned on to see what she had to say. 

"The first days home are hard!" "...how does delaying it help?"

"There won't be nurses to take care of you!" "Or to disrupt my sleep.... and I'm feeling great."

"You said your kid didn't latch great!" "Yeah, I'm not impressed but the lactation consultants seem to think it's ok."

And so on. 

It boiled down to "that's not how we do it" and I don't give that much weight. 

So we went home. 

Things have been great. This pregnancy ordeal was obviously just the beginning, but we're all doing well.

Working with Super Small Languages

I went to a mission's committee meeting and some questions were brought up about the size of the language group that we're going to work with. There was some concern pertaining to whether or not a small language group was worth the financial investment.
Now, I really hate these questions.
Because I don't really have a good answer for them.
Because I've never struggled with this issue.
I have really never been put off by the sizes of Papuan Language groups and wondered if they were too small to merit my attention. And why spend time formulating an answer to a question I've never had? Well, because other people, potential supporters, are now asking these questions and I should be able to respond in a way slightly more reassuring than gaping. So it's time to come up with something a bit more polished. And this is what I have:

Before we begin looking at my well formulated response, let's provide you with some numbers to orient yourself with. PNG has 800 languages and 7 million people. This inevitably results in some small language groups. Most languages have less than 3000 speakers. Only 8 have more than 50,000. African languages are way bigger. Jacob was going to work with a people group of 100,000 and that was considered on the smaller side.


All the languages we work with are small languages 
Bible Translation has been going on for a really long time. And our predecessors were super intelligent people who understood that translations into a larger language would have a greater impact globally. This is why we have the Bible in English and approximately 400 other languages. With these translations completed, 95% of the world can read the Bible in their heart language!
Which means that the remaining 5% people are divided among 6,700 languages.
At this point in the game, every language still needing a translation is a small language.

Now, one could point out that we should continue in the pattern of the translators who went before us, going to the largest languages groups first and working our way down, but allow me to tell you about the Within Our Reach Campaign. This is an inter-organizational effort committed to getting a translation project started in every language in the world by 2050. That is not that far away! Which means that which language project gets started first is negligible. (And I do know people who are looking at working with the aforementioned African language.)

So why should I be the one to work with a tiny language group?

1. I feel called to Papua New Guinea. 
   This is where God told me to be. And it has super small language groups. So I will probably work with a super small language. 
2. I don't have a problem working with a super small language group
   If future translators do struggle with the idea of investing a couple decades of their life to a super small language group, then I am glad that I left some small language groups for them to work with, as I don't have such a struggle. 
3. I like the idea of working with a super small language group. 
   As in, not only do I not mind, but if given a choice either way, I may even choose to work with a super small language. 
1. It makes my job easier. 
   When you have to develop a writing system for an entire people group or translate the Bible, there can be some differences in thought among the people group. Some people will have various preferences for alphabet choices or biblical key terms. Some preferences will be so strong that to ignore them will estrange some people from the work that we're doing. A smaller language group means fewer people to have problems with and an easier time sorting out the best way to proceed. (The language Jacob was looking at was actually larger when you considered the population in other countries. But the Bible has been translated for the speakers in Burkina Faso and the people of Togo refuse to use it. Now a whole new translation project must be started! Lame.)
2. Better discipleship
   When dealing with fewer people, you're better able to interact and build relationships throughout the people group. We'll be able to visit the various villages of the language group and have relationships with the church leaders, coaching them on how to study and apply the Scriptures and how to share that knowledge with the whole village. 

We know the parables that Jesus told of a shepherd leaving 99 of his sheep to find the one that wandered off. We don't know what Jesus would do should he have 7,000,000,000 sheep and 3000 went off in one direction while 100,000 went off in another direction, but I believe that I was pointed off to follow those 3000 and I'm going to trust that Jesus has a plan for the rest of the sheep. 

Don't Stick Your Finger in My Pregnancy

It has really gotten too much to bear! 

I don't know why people insist on doing it! Other than their claims "I'm just trying to be nice!" which overlooks a couple important points I will touch on in a moment. 

The only reason I've found that seems to make sense is that: pregnancy is beautiful. 

It's just beautiful. 

A woman round with child imminently about to go on a life-changing adventure. 

What could be greater than that!

And as a consequence, other people, strangers, want to be a part of that. They have a compulsive need to interact with the pregnant woman so they can feel that in some small way they've had a part of that beautiful pregnancy.  

I hate that. 

My pregnancy isn't something for strangers to snatch a piece of as they pass by! It's mine. Mine! Perhaps this sounds selfish, but, at times, it can feel very violating. Something that is mine is snatched from my possession and waved about, being soiled by other people's eyes, fingers, thoughts upon it. I hate it. 

But let's look back on that "just being nice/friendly/neighborly/whatever" argument. 

True story:

I manage to get out of the car in the parking lot of Walmart. My child's head is so low that rocking my pelvic bone (which is involved in, you know, walking) is super painful. (Also, rolling over in the middle of the night or trying to get out of bed which occurs every hour or so. So, sleep-wise, I'm not doing so hot.) I stand up and waddle inside looking to be in and out quickly as quickly as possible. But, of course, I have just stood up. Which means my first stop in Walmart is at the lavatory. Gross. 

I am out of the lavatory and looking for my husband, who went to get a cart. We have just been reunited and are about to be off into the bowels of the beast when a woman comes up behind me, steps up just a pace in front of me, before extending her arm at me and says, "You ready to go?!"

...Who are you? Go where? Do I know you?

"You ready to go?!" she gesticulates at my stomach. 

"Ah ha ha!" I force out of my mouth as I've finally realized that she's talking about my pregnancy. But this one is worse than most. It appears that she wants me to dialogue with her about my pregnancy. 

"You're pregnant! You ready to go!?!"

At this point, I turned around and walked away. 

My mommy always said that if I didn't have anything nice to say, not to say anything at all.

Behind me I hear her shout at my husband, "I was just trying to be nice!"

Ok. Nothing you have done here, by any stretch of the imagination, was nice. I am tired and trying to get out of here. And you, you are not only getting in my way but acting like my pregnancy is yours to comment on. You're a stranger!

Now, in sharp juxtaposition to this, on the same Walmart outing, which is to say, my mood and condition is exactly the same, if not worsened by the above encounter, I had the following encounter: 

Our items were collected and we were off to the checkout line. Between us and the line was a table for cable equipped with cable salespeople. Generally, when we pass this table, we say "We don't own a TV" and keep on walking as the salespeople slink back to their table waiting to pounce on the next passerby. This time the call to us wasn't for cable, but a small request to explain our intentions with the contents of our cart. 

I looked down at our cart and back at them. 

"Pumpkin Spice Pancakes!"

And a dialogue commenced. Pumpkin. Fall. Other baked goods. Until finally:

"May I ask when you're due?"

"Oct 14th!"

"That's a good time, you know, with..." and more talk on the joys of fall before any attention was redirected at my pregnancy.

These people didn't feel like my pregnancy belonged to them to call out to me as it pleased them! These people felt like I, as a person, was worth investing time for (an albeit short) relationship with me. The comments about my pregnancy weren't a desperate attempt to stick their fingers in the beauty of pregnancy. They were a furthering of our relationship.  

I may never see Elizabeth and James the cable salespeople again, but I will remember them fondly. 

Falling in the middle of the spectrum, lies our encounter at Moe's:

I was standing up to leave, when a mother with approximately a throng of children looks up from her food and says to me, "Wow! You're about to pop!"

It required nothing of me and I continued to leave. But as I was walking to my car, I just had to wonder: why? Why was it so important to you to tell me that? Why couldn't you have commented on my pregnancy to your husband after I left? (It is, of course, the desire to stick her fingers in my pregnancy. It apparently doesn't count unless the pregnant lady knows you've commented.) But pointing out my expanding size maybe fun for you, full of nostalgia maybe, but for me it's a 20 lb bowling ball strapped underneath my skin. It is actually not nice to comment. 

To all of you who claim that your finger sticking is "just being nice", holding a pregnant woman hostage to the requirements of social niceties to strangers is not nice. We did not leave the house to be hassled by strangers who "know" the gender of our child based off how our stomachs look or who want to know how ready we are to be done with this stage of life. And while we pregnant women are aware that you didn't know that you were the 15th person today to inquire about our bump, you probably are. And that's just too many. 

So instead of "being nice" by commenting on how it looks like I'm real close now (at 7 months pregnant), be real nice in quiet practical ways. Let us cut in the checkout or bathroom line. Slip us a $5 giftcard to the store we're shopping at and wish us well. Or simply pull your cart over to the side while we're coming down the aisle. 

(I do believe than an exception to the above is when a pregnant woman comes to an event intended for socialization. Here, she did leave the house to talk with strangers! So, here it's ok, but remember you'll be better received if you start a relationship with her first, then her impending bundle of poop.)

Dallas vs Hampton Roads: Driving Edition

There are always fun differences as you travel to different places. Here are a few I've noticed from my recent transition back to life in Hampton Roads. So if you're moving from Dallas to Norfolk or vice versa, or if you're just really intrigued by small cultural differences within the States, I present ...

Dallas vs Hampton Roads: Driving Edition

1. Pedestrians vs Drivers
   When I was living in Dallas, I had this fear, an overwhelming fear, that someone would jump out in front of my car and I would kill them. "It's one of my goals in life," I would say, "to not accidentally kill someone." While Jacob could understand why I did not want to commit manslaughter, he did not really understand why this was a concern of mine. Until we arrived in Norfolk. Twice during the first week of our time here, we witnessed very very close calls. Closer than running out into the street like a moron (which we all know is danger) but "Augh! That man narrowly escaped being hit by that vehicle!!" Now Jacob knows the fear. Now the fear is real.
   On the other hand, driving in general is far better in the Hampton Roads area than Dallas. To drive in Dallas is to flirt with death. They are aggressive and feel entitled. If they are about to miss their exit, they have no qualms about shooting in front of you across three lanes of traffic to get there. They are the kind of people who reverse on the interstate to avoid making a U-turn. In Norfolk, driver's don't try to kill one another. It's quite nice.
2. Downtown
   In my first week in Dallas, I went downtown everyday. I had thought that this is what you did in Dallas. I got lost multiple times a day until, Wednesday, I came to accept that getting lost was a feature of driving in Dallas. (I still stand by that.) Most people look at me like I'm crazy. "Why would you do that? Why go downtown with threat of death over you?" Finally, coming home, I remember why that seemed like a good idea at the time.
   In Norfolk, everything is downtown. Does a day pass when we don't find ourselves passing the Scope? Probably not. Jacob at first thought I was manipulating things to force us into Downtown a lot. No. That is just where you go.
3. Smog
   In Dallas, there are smog warnings. Sometimes construction signs declare that you should roll up your car windows and try to stay inside as smog levels have risen to concerning levels. I never really noticed or smelled any difference.
   Norfolk smells like poison. I don't know if their emissions laws are super lax here because they haven't hit the problem that Dallas has. But, as a pregnant lady, Norfolk is rank with the smells of various emissions, burning rubber, construction odors and more. I've been surprised at how many different ways poison can smell, but a short drive down i-264 will give you quite an inventory.
4. Size
   In Dallas, everything is spread really really far apart. Dallas is the pretty much in the middle of nowhere which means they have a lot of room to sprawl. Hampton Roads, on the other hand, is nestled in a bunch of water ways, giving us some distinct building limits. So we crowd together and build up. Everything is about 20 minutes from where I'm staying in Norfolk. In Dallas, everything was at least 10 minutes away and all the cool stuff was 40 minutes away. (Consequently, we had boring lives. Live in North Dallas, trust me.)

Why Pray for the Will of the Lord?

In January, our Bible Study asked: What is something that you can pray for this year that, if it happened, it would totally and 100% be God who did it, no doubt?
I said, to be fully funded by the end of the year.
Jacob said, no, to be fully funded by my birthday. (which is Oct 3rd)
Fast forward a few weeks and we find out we're pregnant and due (drum roll, please) mid-October.
So look at that perfect timing! Our outrageous pray would have us financially set just in time to turn our attention to birthing our child.
Needless to say, we feel pretty good about this. We kinda feel like God placed that outrageous prayer on our lips when God prompted our Bible Study to ask this question, because He knew when we were going to have our family addition.

Do I think that just because God is cool with this timeline, that meeting it is a given?
No. Why? Because God kinda has this thing where He wants everyone to know that He is awesome. It's kinda a theme that permeates the entire Bible and time up to today.
So I expect that God will make me ask for it, beg for it, and scream that I can't do this on my own, before He makes a grand entrance. And in the spirit of beseeching the Lord for our needs, we ask others to come and pray with us, for us.
And on occasion, when I ask, "Can you pray that we'll be fully funded by Oct 3rd?", someone will bow their heads and pray, "and Lord, may your will be done."
...
.....
Now, I desire the will of the Lord in my life. I do, really I do.
But I just don't understand why people refuse to pray for specifics!

I think back to Abraham, who did not pray to God, "Hey, God, you seem pretty peeved right now. So if it's your will to totally obliterate Sodom, may it be done." No. He bargained with God. "Would you destroy the city if there were 50 good people left? Great! ...but what about 45? Ok! Good! How about 10? what if there were just 10?" (Now, it turns out that there weren't 10... But God did spare Lot's family!)

Moses in Exodus 32 talked God down from smiting all the Israelites. Not in the numbers game that Abraham used but by appealing to God's reputation. "God, if you kill off all these people, then the Egyptians you just rescued us from will think that we weren't actually your people. Plus, you promised that the Sons of Abraham would be a great nation. And inherit the world forever. That can't happen if everyone dies." So God relented. (Only to have the Israelites disobey again and punish them with a plague.)

Jesus tells a parable about the persistent widow in Luke 18, who came to an unjust judge repeatedly, asking for the same thing, again and again. Now, the judge didn't actually care about the woman, he just wanted her to stop bothering him. So finally he gave her what she wanted. And Jesus said, "Listen, if a shameless judge would grant her justice, why wouldn't your awesome God answer your prayers?" It seems that Jesus is trying to tell us we "should always pray and not give up" (Luke 18:1)

Now, I know that Jesus, when He demonstrates praying, includes that bit, "your will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven." But I think his prayer is a bit of a vague framework. I think "your will" here is more of a general,  that all the nations would praise you, kind of will. Which is totally what Jacob and I are after. And now we'd like to discuss specifics.
And I know that on the mount, Jesus prays for this cup to be taken from him, but if it's the Lord's will, he'll let himself be crucified. But, again, I think asking God, "must I obey You, because I don't like what You want me to do" is different than "will You in Your great majesty please take care of these needs by this time? Please."

Outside of the Lord's prayer and Jesus' example being the reason for this tendency, I wonder if it comes from praying for healing. Which is hard. You want to pray that people get better, but you're afraid that they won't no matter your prayers. And, in the event they don't, it's easier to say that it was the will of God, which you prayed for, that your prayers not being answered or receiving an answer you didn't like. For some even, these words might be a gentle reminder to the grieving that God has a plan even if we don't like it, which I do think is appropriate.

I just don't think we need to give God permission to do what He wants. He is going to totally do what He wants. Even if we can fathom why He wanted that, God does what He wants. But in prayer, we get to come before Him. To repent. To praise. To thank. And to beseech. We get to ask for things.

And we're asking to be fully funded by Oct 3rd!
And we ask you to join us.
(And you can pray however you want. We appreciate your prayers even if you pray for the will of the Lord! :) )

"Then Jesus told his disciples [this] parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up." Luke 18:1

Using our Kid as a Strategy

Jacob and I have spent our whole lives with the expectation that we would have children and we have been excited by that. So when I say that our kid is a strategy move for our ministry, I don't mean exclusively. We want the child for the reason most parents want a child aaaannd a few extra reasons...

Right before we pack our bags and head off into the jungle for the first time may seem like an absurd time to plan to have a child, but here's why it isn't:

1. Status
When Jacob and I were in the village, married, in 2012, we were put with the teens of marriageable age (whether or not married) who had no children. In the village, you weren't considered an adult unless you had kids. (I believe you could also skip that step and be an old person, but you needed some years to pull that off.) We feel like we can do a better job building relationships with people and doing our jobs if our peers are considered the adults of the village and not their angsty teens. For that to happen, we need a child.

2. Language Learning and Relationship Building
If you've ever tried to step out side of your comfort zone while people were looking at you like you were a circus animal and might do a trick or something, you know how valuable it can be to have the focus removed from you. When doing language learning and relationship building, there's a lot of forcing yourself to go outside and talk with people about.... ..... Forcing friends is hard. But when you sit a baby in the dirt, all the attention shifts to the kid and you have an easier time practicing your language and you have something to bond with nationals over. Aren't babies cute?

Furthermore, when our kid gets older, he will have grown up with this language as one of his own. When we come to a place of struggling with words, he might very well be able to step in and save the day. And even more impressively, he could do this with biblical concepts I can't seem to explain well to the nationals and we've found ourselves stuck on. My little translator in training!

3.  Life is More Fun with Kids
You can feel free to disagree with this one, but children are filled with wonder at the littlest things and that's contagious. I think back to some of my least favorite times in the bush and they usually involve me sitting on something I don't want to be sitting on for hours. But having a kid means I get to watch him toddle around and explore his new world. I get to focus in on him and not on - is that ANOTHER bug on my skin?!?!?!? On painfully boring days in the bush, I can pull out some bubbles and watch my kid race after them. Also, Jacob and I have a worthy excuse to bring Legos duplos to the bush.

So as you can see, for the sake of status, skills, and sanity, maybe making a baby right before heading out wasn't as crazy as you had originally been wondering!

Also, be sure to check out our 10 reasons (in more general terms) we're stoked to have a jungle kid.