These women have great giveaways on their site. So go check it out! (Thanks to Megan for always updating me on the contests. I never know what’s up until I stop by Half Pint House.)

I had already been checked, and received a big fat Postive. Now it was Livia’s turn.

“She keeps saying she’s tired, but I thought that was a phase. Oh, and she’s always thirsty.”

“Is she waking up at night?”

“Now that you mention it, she has been. But only once a night. And she always goes back to sleep.”

“Has her appetite changed recently?”

“She hasn’t been very hungry. I guess I thought that was a phase, too…”

“Any loose stools?”

“‘Yes’ would be an understatement.”

And the truth begins to sink in… lots of seemingly unconnected symptoms, the pediatrician connects the dots, the throat is swabbed and BINGO! the Tredways have won the strep throat contest for the week. Already we’re feeling better. Thank you, God, for antibiotics.

Jones is getting good press on The Grand as well as on his parent’s blog, so I figured I should join the crowd with a few of my own shots. It’s been Baby Central around here recently and I love it. Isn’t this punkin precious?

The Allens are now back home with Amelia after her second round of chemotherapy. It still seems surreal to me that Steve and Jen are engaging in such a tremendous battle over the health of their baby girl. I suppose it would feel more “real” if I could take them a meal or help them with rides for relatives to and from the airport. From here, from 500 miles away, I pray for them. Their posts of late have been incredibly encouraging and we are filled with hope for sweet little Amelia.

Being a mom is by far the craziest and most difficult job I’ve ever had. It is also the most satisfying, most frustrating, most exposing, and most challenging position I have ever held.

I smell like poop right now.

Or perhaps it’s my entire house that smells like that and I can no longer tell the difference. At any rate, I feel poopy and it’s not a pleasant feeling. I’ve washed and dried my hands multiple times, I’ve sprayed air freshener multiple times, I’ve washed and dried little hands, feet, and butt cheeks multiple times as well. Yet a lovely odor remains.

(Though you can’t tell in Blogworld, I just took a break from this post to go wipe up stain remover from the carpet where there was, you guessed it, poop, and my daughter proclaimed, “It STINKS in here.” Yes, yes it does.)

I say motherhood is an exposing position because it exposes the truth about me. Part of me want to hide this type of truth from people because I’d rather have you all think I’m a perfect mother. Okay, maybe not perfect, but at least one of those women who serves (ie. cleans up poop) without complaining. While I aim for Mother Teresa type qualities, I fall far short. I yell. I gripe. I feel sorry for myself. I get tired of the demands of this job. I’m lazy. The struggle for contentedness is ever-present for me.

In the middle of the craziness, in the exact moment when I’m dissatisfied with the mess in the house and with the mess in my heart, there is a little voice that speaks up and breaks through the crud. It’s not the Holy Spirit or even an angel on my right shoulder; it’s Livia saying something like, “Those new boots [you are wearing]? They so cute!” Or it’s a small cool hand placed on my arm accompanied by a request to cuddle. And I wonder, how did I get here? Is this child truly mine? How in the world can I be so blessed to be Livia’s mommy?

I’m not a big fan of poop (for the record, the odor still persists…), but there it is, part of my current job. Rebecca Tredway: Poop Cleaner. Rebecca Tredway: Hassled Housekeeper. Rebecca Tredway: Lover of Livia.

The last title makes it all worth it.

World, meet Madeleine. She’s cute and sweet, has the most amazing thigh rolls I’ve ever witnessed, and thinks bananas are simultaneously disgusting and delicious. At least that’s the impression she gave us the last time we saw her. Sadly enough, her daddy no longer believes it when I tell him that Madeleine loves eating french fries, or potato chips, or strawberry applesauce from Burger King. He’s caught on to the fact that his kid sister is attempting to torment him. However, Adam, you may rest easy in the fact that though you deserve endless teasing from me, precious Baby Bright Eyes is safe. (Pssst, Madeleine. Next week we’ll try Oreos. Trust me, they’re delicious!)

I recently had the privilege and good fortune (free tickets!) of seeing the Soweto Gospel Choir perform. I can’t find sufficient words to explain how uplifting I found the entire performance — what was supposed to be a great gospel choir experience became food for my soul instead. So I splurged on Amazon and picked up their Grammy Award-winning album Blessed. Indeed I have been blessed by their music, in particular a song called “Joko Yahao”. The song is sung in Sotho, so I looked up the lyrics and found the words matched the music exactly.

JOKO YAHAO (“Your Burden is Light”)

Your burden is light
It lifts my heart
My belief is my shield
That saves me from death
I have found happiness
In the Lord’s way
Enemies have scattered
He has defeated them for me
I’ll wait with expectation
And trust in Heaven
When I’m tired, the Lord will carry me

I am officially a book dabbler. I don’t really read so much as I dabble in reading, snatching a few minutes in doctor’s office or a bit of time before bed to complete another chapter. Nonetheless, here’s what is currently on my bookshelf:

For Women Only by Shaunti Feldman. I’m reading this small book along with my bible study girls. It’s eye-opening and, if used correctly, can encourage communication and intimacy within a marriage. It’s so easy to never stop and figure out what my husband is thinking. This book is a tool for further conversation.

When You’re a Parent with Diabetes by Kathryn Gregorio Palmer. I “met” Kassie via an online group for moms with diabetes and I am super impressed by this book she’s written. For more information about Kassie and the dream fund that helped her write this book, check out Parents with Diabetes.

Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller. I feel like I’m the last person in my social circles to be reading this book because I’ve heard it mentioned for a few years now. It’s much easier to read than I had imagined, but also less impressive stylistically than I had imagined. Somehow those two are connected, I think. Jock McGregor gave a lecture on this book at the Rochester L’Abri Conference, and I’m wondering if I should’ve listened the lecture (borrowed on CD) after reading the book, because now McGregor’s thoughts have oozed into my mind and have become my own.

Romance in G Minor and other stories by Bess Streeter Aldrich. I’m a sucker for Aldrich’s writing. She writes of a bygone era, with heroines who are typically homemakers and teachers. Her short stories are palate-cleansers for me and create sweet escapes from the everyday stressors and anxieties I face. Trivia tidbit: Aldrich hails from Elwood, Nebraska; a mere 22.5 miles from the Prairie Box. Double trivia tidbit: I began reading Aldrich’s works w-a-y before I moved to the Midwest.

Buying beautiful, custom-made jewelry doesn’t get any easier than this. Check out my sister-in-law Chelsea’s lovely work at tigereyebutterfly.etsy.com. I’ve been noticing that necklaces seem to be more popular than bracelets were last summer… And I’d much rather purchase something handmade and one-of-a-kind than grab something quickly at Walmart some weekend.

Also, ahem, Mother’s Day is coming up.