Every once in a while, I’ll pause long enough to take a good look at the mini miracles right in front of me—my supportive husband, my small handful of kids, our Frisco home and surrounding support system—and wonder how exactly I arrived here. The thought often sneaks up on me during dinnertime pandemonium, the five of us seated (more or less) around the kitchen table. But most recently, it jostled me out of autopilot while soaking up a sunny day in our tiny backyard: Jude was practicing his soccer kicks, Ayla was climbing our lone tree nestled in the back corner, and Scott was pushing Max in his swing when it dawned on me for the hundredth time how lovely this little life is that we’ve managed to build—almost, it seems, by accident. It’s in these sacred moments that I can’t help but feel both wildly undeserving and immensely grateful for the specific path that God has paved for us.

We made it, you guys. We’ve reached full term (I’m 37.5 weeks as I type this!), and to say I’m elated to be nearing the month of July is putting it lightly.

Hey, y’all! I hit the 28-week mark on Easter Sunday, which means we are heading into the third trimester… Seems impossible that we’ve made it to this big milestone, yet we still have three more months to go. (A small eternity when you’re pregnant.) Either way, I figured it was time for another “bumpdate”—the first in 14 weeks, so we have a lot of ground to cover.