When One Becomes Two

Well, y’all, I had full intentions of writing a post at some point DURING FORTY WEEKS OF PREGNANCY.

(I mean, I did write one about saying goodbye to our first home and hello to our forever-as-far-as-we-can-see one).

(But you’d think I would’ve at least written one about the miraculous growing of our precious baby girl, especially the look on Brett’s face when the lab tech said, “It’s a girl!”).

(He gave a nervous laugh, and we were both overjoyed, but moments before he said he was very confident it was a boy because “he saw something” on the ultrasound).

(Pretty sure it was a kidney).

But alas, it just didn’t happen. I had opportunities during naptimes or what I once knew as “downtime” between Luke’s bedtime and ours, but listen. I went into “EVERYTHING MUST GET DONE BECAUSE WE WON’T HAVE FREE TIME UNTIL 2035” mode this summer.

Luke’s scrapbooks of the first two and a half years of his life? Check.

Sort and sell/give away the vast majority of his baby clothes? Check.

Look for anything that I could sell because WHY DID WE MOVE THIS TO THE NEW HOUSE? Check.

Transform Luke’s room into his “big boy room,” including adjusting him to his new twin bed? Check.

Create baby girl’s nursery? Check.

Finish a list of little home projects? Mostlycheck!

Oh and those “Fixer Upper” episodes that I’ve seen 238 times each weren’t going to watch themselves.

So, this little memory-keeping space of mine went on the back-burner.

Until, your lucky day my friends, today.

So, I thought I’d jot down a little backstory (for me to one day look back on and read) and update on our baby girl’s arrival.

(Feel free to quit reading).

(But before I begin, the title of this blog is from one of our friend’s weddings a few years ago. During the ceremony, the pastor accidentally said “when one become two” instead of the opposite and never realized it. It was a beautiful wedding, but I never have suppressed laughter so hard in my life. Years later, Brett and I still refer to it. And if you’re reading this and recognize that it was your wedding I’m referring to, know that it’s nothing to be embarrassed about and it has made me smile for years.).

Now, where was I?

Ah, yes. The arrival of Allie Mae.

She is named after my great-grandmother and I always knew that if God gave me a daughter, that was the name. Not only for her hard-working, God-fearing, family-oriented, sometimes feisty namesake, but it’s old-fashioned, Southern, and unique. My future husband would have no say in the matter (kidding but not really), but thankfully my sweet husband had no arguments.

My pregnancy went very smoothly. My only “complaints” (again, like with Luke, I use that term lightly because I was and am so grateful to have healthy pregnancies when so many deserving ladies cannot) were some typical aches and pains and the constant bathroom breaks, which led to really taking about 7 power naps every night rather than a good night’s sleep.

(I’ll take “Newborn Preparation” for $800, Alex).

Also, to any mamas expecting their second child with a very rambunctious toddler who sees your preggo belly as a jungle gym, and treats it as such, let me calm any fears that your baby will not come out with 36 bruises and/or birth marks. Luke tested that theory out WELL and Allie was clear as a bell.

So, since I wasn’t really sleeping anyways, my fabulous doctor said it was my call if I wanted to induce once we got to 39 weeks and baby was healthy. I waited until my due date, but at that day’s appointment her EVICTION NOTICE WAS SERVED. Dr. M had already booked my room for the next morning at 5 a.m. (I’m fairly certain she’s an angel) and sure enough, we woke up at dark-thirty to go meet our daughter.

(Kudos to my parents for taking care of big brother while we were at the hospital, especially my Dad during that time, who (barely) slept on our couch each night so our boy’s routine wouldn’t get too rocked).

(Also, a little rant: when we told some people we were being induced, a few answered with skepticism and questioned our- meaning my doctor, husband, and myself- decision. Don’t do that. None of us would’ve put the the baby or my health’s in jeopardy. I trust my doctor’s expert and professional advice over yours. For future reference, “Congrats! We’ll be praying for you!” is the better response. End of I-Need-Sleep-Rant).

Everything went so well with labor and delivery. Turns out, when they hooked me up to all the various machines, they discovered I had been having contractions five minutes apart. So I likely would’ve made the trip to the hospital that day anyways.

We were in a room by 5 a.m. and answered the required 104ish questions. (my favorites: While looking at Brett, the nurse asked, “Is he your husband?” I said yes, then she asked, “Is he the father of the child?” THAT HAS TO GET SO AWKWARD SOMETIMES.) (For the record, yes).

Dr. M came in shortly after 7 to break my water and shortly after that I was asked when I’d like my epidural and I’d like it then and there thankyouverymuch.

From 7 that morning until about 1 pm or so, I progressed quickly and steadily. By 2 o’clock, it was time to push. And by 2:25 p.m., Miss Allie Mae was placed in my arms and we were in awe of that screaming, beautiful, 7 pounds, 9 ounces baby girl.

By 2:35, she had heard Daddy’s voice, calmed down, been cleaned up a bit, and was bright-eyed as could be.

Of course, we were and are totally smitten!

I think we both really took those moments- the hospital stay, and still these first few weeks- in because not long after delivery, I had the procedure done that ensures as best as we can that this will be it for us.

(God could always have different plans, but as far as we’re concerned, NO MORE OCCUPANCY).

Our boy and our girl. We feel complete and so blessed.

(For the record, we would’ve done this had the second child been another sweet boy, but I ain’t gonna lie, a boy and a girl definitely made it easier).

Speaking of our boy, we knew the biggest challenge this go-around wasn’t going to be the newborn life. We knew what to expect this time, and we know these nights of not lots of sleep and days of staying in are temporary. We knew the hard part was going to be helping him adjust to this new human and to learn that he had to share our attention now.

Overall, he has done well. There have been a few meltdowns when Mama can’t get up right then and there, a handful of timeouts, and lots of gentle but stern talking-tos about baby sister and why we can’t always do what we used to do. So don’t let Facebook fool you, there have been a few challenges along the way, as to be expected.

But let me say, some of the sweetest times have happened too and they’re getting more frequent everyday. We’ve done our best to encourage but not force him to warm up to her. Now, about three weeks later, we see lots of Luke kisses to Allie, he tries to calm her when she’s crying (or at least let me know “Allie sad!”), says yes to holding her, and maybe my personal favorite- gets excited to throw her diapers away.


While I can’t always sleep when the baby sleeps this time around thanks to that wild toddler, and that toddler makes it a goal everyday to take every single toy and book out, I know the days are long, but the years are short. Corny but it’s true.

Brett may (ok, does) come home to a frazzled wife most days, but he always comes home to a thankful one who gets a front-row seat on the couch to our babies growing up.

And hopefully you’ll hear from me again on here before they start Kindergarten.

But not before I watch Chip and Jo create that Italian Rustic farmhouse in the middle of Waco for the 394th time.

(Professional pictures thanks to the fantastic Wendy Hardin Photography).


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