I was at Judah’s 1 year check up earlier this week when the nurse came in to measure him.


She was chatting with me and casually asked how far along I was… it was one of those moments where your brain takes a few moments too long to process what you’ve just heard and before I fully understood I had asked, “pardon”? I watched as her face registered panic and her mouth formed the word, “uhhh” before I rescued the poor soul and quickly assured her that I was pregnant and I was 18 weeks. haha.

I have definitely had panic moments like that before though where you ask a question and then the person says, “what”? and there’s a pause before you say, “what”? back, like they were the ones that just asked such a stupid question about their son, which is CLEARLY their daughter. I think the rule about pregnancy or gender is, when in doubt never ever ever ever guess.

There are so many more moments though where I’ve been a total idiot, but retrospect is such a beautiful thing, and puts funny filters on most of those occasions.

When I was little we lived in a small rural community in Northern Wisconsin. The city was surrounded mostly by farms, many of which were Amish. I was always fascinated with any Amish people I saw; not because I understood anything about their culture or convictions, but mostly because they drove real live buggy’s… with horses. I wanted to be Amish. In my mind I think it seemed like something out of little house on the prairie where I would get to play dress up all day and mostly… get to ride horses.

The Amish buggy’s all looked like some version of this:

and somehow in my childhood mind I took the orange, “slow” triangle on the backs of the buggies to be some sort of star of david for the Amish people. I was waaay too old when I discovered the unhappy truth. I think I was maybe… 12ish and my mom and I were driving home from a piano lesson and we passed by a farm tractor.

“Oh look, an Amish man” I said. My mom’s eyebrows scrunched together… “what”? she asked. “You know! He’s got the Amish sign on the back of the tractor”. “Huh”??? “Mom, you know! The orange triangle!”. *pause* “Oh my word, Heather! That’s the sign for slow!!”

Then I felt Amish.