welcome Britt..

There's no way to predict how labor and delivery will go and I'm so glad I didn't even try. There are some women who go to the hospital with a pretty detailed birth plan. I went empty handed just hoping to leave with a baby. As much of a planner I am, I tried not to plan too much throughout my pregnancy.

Britt was due Monday, the 21st, but I went to work with no signs of the stubborn bugger. I went to the doctor the next day and after scheduling an induction for the 28th-29th, I marched 20 flights of stairs to help push things along, wrote a blog, and then resigned myself to having a baby on the 29th. My parents decided to still come down the next day and my aunt and little sister were coming down for Easter weekend so I was more worried about entertaining guests and seeing everyone. 

Of course as soon as I let go of the due date, I woke up Wednesday morning with contractions. I tried to wait them out for awhile before waking up Steve. They were about 5-7 minutes apart, but still not very consistent. Steve was not too concerned since the doctor talked about going to the hospital at five minutes, and he thought we were waiting for them to be five minutes long! Thank goodness that's something we don't have to worry about! 

Steve went ahead and got ready for work, but decided not to go just yet. I wanted to call the doctor at 8 and see if we could go in and at least get checked. At 8 they were still inconsistent so we went for a walk. We eventually went to the doctor and he said I was only at 2-3 centimeters, so he did a membrane sweep and sent us on our way. I was optimistic that might get things moving so we went to the mall for lunch and walked some more. We gave up after awhile and went home to wait for my parents to get here. My mom and I went for a walk and then they took us to dinner at Outback. I could feel the contractions getting more intense and by 8:30 I was convinced I had to be more dilated... they were consistently 3-5 minutes apart. I called the doctor's office and they had my doctor call me, but knowing this was my first he encouraged me to stay home for at least another hour. I didn't know if I could make it that long, but we left around 9:30 and made our way to the hospital... only to find out I was still only 2-3 centimeters. I had no desire to go home and thankfully they told me they'd hold a bed for me if I would walk the hospital for two hours. So for two hours Steve and I wasn't walking through them, but really exhaustion was the overwhelming feeling. I had been awake since 4 am so walking from 11 pm to 1 am was not exactly what I wanted to be doing. 

They checked me again and even though I was barely at 4 cm, if that, they said they'd admit me and I could've cried from relief. They eventually gave me some pain medicine. I tried sleeping between contractions, but evidently I wasn't very pleasant. At some point they gave me pitocin and an epidural and Steve claims my demeanor changed immediately. I am now a huge fan of epidurals. I know many women survived childbirth without epidurals, but now that we have such fine drugs, I have no desire to be a hero. Drugs to the rescue. 

Finally somewhere around 10 am or so, I reached 10 cm and got to push. I pushed for an hour and I could tell from the look on my nurse's face that we weren't making much progress. They gave me a break and the doctor suggested drawing back the epidural some so I could feel the contractions. The anesthesiologist came in and thankfully I knew her from working on the Play 4Kay committee at Methodist. She made a comment about doctors who want her to draw the drugs back and then they decide to go with a c-section and she has to give more drugs, but "don't worry that won't happen to you!" When she left I told Steve that made me a little nervous and he agreed. Everyone came back in and we started the pushing process again. They could see Britt's head and let us know he had a ton of hair, but he was still not making his entrance. After the second hour, my doctor said I could push for another hour, but he really felt like we were dealing with a big kid and wasn't convinced he was going to budge so he gave me the option of a c-section. 

After laboring for more than 30 hours, I was grateful for him giving me the option. I asked Steve if he cared and then told the doctor to sign me up for the c-section. I know there are some people who criticize c-sections for not being "real" birth... especially since mine was elective even if the doctor suggested it. But I couldn't disagree more... I still feel a bit of a twinge any time someone hears I delivered via c-section and they give me the judgy look. Especially when I tell them the doctor felt he was too big and then I tell them he weighed 9 lb 1 oz and they make sure to let me know they birthed an 11 pound baby vaginally without an epidural. And then I remind myself to get a grip and not let others decide how I should feel about my birthing experience. 

Back to Britt... once we opted for the c-section, things moved quickly. Someone took Steve to get him ready and they wheeled me to the operating room. (By the way... moving me from one bed to the other with my dead legs was very comical!) They warned me I might puke and I absolutely yakked all over myself... it was glamorous and I'm just sorry Steve missed it. Once everyone made it to the operating room, I tried not to pay attention to what was happening behind the curtain. I eventually heard someone say something about a boy and then I heard Britt cry. It was the most beautiful cry I've ever heard. It is hard to feel so helpless while your baby is crying and you're tied to an operating table, but they cleaned him up and gave him to Steve so he could bring him to me. I couldn't hold him, but we had some cheek to cheek bonding. I hadn't cried all day, but knowing he was finally here made me weep.

It's hard to put into words what it's like to meet your child. There's so much anticipation... years and years of waiting not to mention the 40 plus weeks of pregnancy. There are so many children born every day, sometimes we blow past the miracle of life, but I had to pause and think about this kid (that I would eventually get to hold in recovery) that was the perfect combination of me and Steve and had grown inside my body... Every time I hold him to my chest, Steve and I look at how long he is and can't get over the fact that he was all balled up inside of me.

I don't think birthing a child makes a woman any more woman than she already was, but it has made me more grateful to be a woman. I'm more appreciative of my mom popping out my 9 lb 6 oz self like a boss. I'm more in awe of how God uses us to multiply His creation. I'm more in love with my husband who continues to spoil me while being the best dad to Britt. I know Britt will continue to challenge us, but I hope the challenges keep us chasing after God, bringing us closer to each other.

P.S. I've had a few people ask us about Britt's name. The Dockery family has a tradition of using Steve/Steven and the mother's maiden name. Steve is Steven Barrett and Britt is Steven Britt. I wanted to avoid the confusion of two Steve's so we call him Britt although I still get confused when we get mail for Steven B. Dockery. 

worth the wait...

Many of the best things in life are worth the wait. When I take a look at my life from 30,000 feet, I've had it good. Sure, I may not have wanted to wait until 32 to get married or have to move back in with my parents three different times after college... but those things are all tiny periods of waiting in the big scheme of things.

Pregnancy has been another big lesson in waiting. Some people wait years just to get pregnant, while the pregnancy itself sometimes feels like years! When I got pregnant, Steve and I decided not to find out the baby's gender. Sure, the OCD planner in me would love to know every detail about this kid way in advance, but I convinced Steve that we were about to lose complete control and I needed some practice letting go. Since finding out we were pregnant a little more than eight months ago, I haven't really stressed about the gender. Everyone wants to know what I think and I honestly haven't thought about it. I'm preparing myself for a girl, because I think a girl will be a bigger challenge for me, but I know I will be head over heels for Baby D, boy or girl.

As our due date approached, I was getting more excited to meet this kid. Work was slightly stressful trying to prepare to be gone for an extended period of time, but we've been ready at the house for awhile. Everyone tells you to be ready early, but I felt like it was one of those things where if you bring your umbrella, it won't rain. So yesterday, our due date came and went with little fanfare.

I've struggled with the lack of control over Baby D's arrival more than the gender. I like being on time... I like other people being on time and Baby D is already paving his/her own way... which sounds like my kid! Thankfully, my doctor went ahead and scheduled an induction so we have a final eviction notice. Of course I'd love to meet Baby D earlier, but worst case scenario we're planning on welcoming him/her a week from today... one more week.

Sometimes it seems like forever... and other times it feels like it's so close. Until then I'll be avoiding everyone's comments about how I'm STILL pregnant and advice about how to induce labor. I don't really like pineapple, I'm afraid to do jumping jacks at this size without breaking anything, and I have no desire to try castor oil. I'll try hard not to complain (or only complain to Steve) and just look forward to Tuesday... or any time before hint hint Baby D!! Either way, I'm confident this kid will be worth the wait!

my dreams vs. His

I look back at the last two years and it's hard to believe how much has changed. I can't imagine how much is going to change in the next two years. Steve and I have big dreams, but they're still evolving and changing on a daily basis. I don't always trust my dreams, but I always want to make sure they line up with God's will for my life. Now it's even a bigger deal when my dreams affect multiple people.

It's no secret that Steve and I have dreams of moving. We change our mind every day about where we might actually move, but we have agreed we don't see our current house as our forever house. Our dream home is a steal of a foreclosure with some land. A couple of months ago we found one. We told a few people and we showed photos and I started to let myself think we might actually be able to buy it. Of course one of the obstacles between us and this sweet foreclosure was the fact that we actually already own a home have a mortgage. So we met with a realtor and talked about trying to sell our house. And then we remembered I'm pregnant and trying to sell a house while pregnant and/or taking care of a newborn sounds miserable. Steve and I agreed to wait and always pray that God would open the doors that we needed to walk through (literally and figuratively).

One weekend we thought we had an interested buyer for our house and I went through a cleaning frenzy... until they changed their mind and forgot to tell us. Meanwhile the foreclosure kept coming and going off of zillow. On Wednesday I asked Steve if we could at least go look at it. We saw it and of course it just made me want it more. I was getting a little excited again... until we got home.

Steve called the realtor and he said the previous owners went through a debt consolidation and were going to close on it today. Ouch. It's not often you think about the previous owners of a house or how they might be affected, but sometimes foreclosures smack you in the face. I have no idea what the circumstances were that led to the foreclosure, but it is something that happens more and more. My house prayers are usually self-centered, but I was quickly reminded of all the others who might be affected by my dream for this house. I still love the house and I still pray that we'll have a chance to find a house for us... but I'm also praying for the family who I imagine reclaimed their house today. I'm imagining they have children and praying for their transitions out of, and back into their house. I'm praying the debt consolidation was a good decision for them and they find a way to keep their heads above water. I'm also praying that we remember this whenever we do buy another house... That we don't try to live above our means... That we make smart financial decisions and work hard to avoid the worst-case scenarios... That my dreams match up with His will for our lives.

Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, “This is the way walk in it." Isaiah 30:21

my uncle...

I always felt like I grew up going to funerals. The first one I remember was my Aunt Donna's in 1991. Two years later both of my mom's parents passed away and I felt like I was becoming a pro. I've been grandparent-less since college and went to most of my great aunts' and uncles' funerals not to mention some cousins, friends, friends' family members, teachers... the list goes on and on. And yet it doesn't seem to get easier.

Sure I usually know what to expect. And I usually find some closure, but there's usually a guarantee I'll leave dehydrated from the gallons of tears I shed.

My uncle has been sick for awhile now. At first it didn't seem like a big deal. Most people wouldn't even know it as he was still playing softball and golf and chasing his grandkids around. When I was a kid, I loved to challenge Uncle Woody and my cousin Brian in a quiz game on my "computer." He's so smart and I loved to try to stump him. Every Christmas he handed out Pez dispensers and he had some crazy organizational "quirks" that our family may say I shared with him. Robin blames it on the July birthday thing, but either way I embraced it.

Living in Fayetteville off and on for 10 of the last 16 years while Robin lived here always helped me see Aunt Sharon and Uncle Woody more. When I moved to White Marsh in 2014, I always said I wanted to see them more. In Oct. 2014, Steve and I were talking about engagement, but I had no idea how close it was. He came up to visit and I was adamant that he needed to meet Aunt Sharon and Uncle Woody. I didn't necessarily need their stamp of approval, but I wanted them to be a part of the process before it was official. We made plans to go to dinner one Friday after Steve made the drive up, but of course that would be the weekend he got stuck in some major traffic. We were running late, but I insisted we still go. After dinner I got annoyed because Steve pretended to act like he hadn't even asked my parents' permission to marry me yet and I didn't want to know that and I couldn't imagine how the timing was going to work out. Aunt Sharon and Uncle Woody didn't say a word, but they assured me they liked him.

Fast forward a week later... Steve proposed and my aunt and uncle were a part of a surprise group who met us for dinner to celebrate. I'm so grateful they were both there on one of the biggest days of my life. When we sent our save the date cards, word spread that Steve looked like Uncle Woody and my cousins love to call him Little Woody. Steve knows by now that while "Woody" may not be a man's dream nickname, it's quite the compliment to be compared to my uncle.

Last spring, Uncle Woody's health problems seemed to get a little more serious and the stubborn man that he was... he still tried to play it off. Thankfully, he made it to our wedding in May and while he may not have been the party animal he would've been a couple years ago, it meant the world to me that he was there.

I saw Uncle Woody for the last time over Christmas, but it wasn't really him. My heart ached seeing the daily grind Aunt Sharon was living with and the difficulties Uncle Woody was having to struggle with. It's hard to find the good when you see disease stealing a person like that.

I can't imagine what Aunt Sharon is going through now that he passed away this morning... or what their kids or grandkids are going through but I'm one of a ton of people whose heart aches knowing he's not here with us anymore. At the same time I feel some relief that he's not stuck in that body anymore. And yet somehow that doesn't help me miss him any less...

I'm excited but...

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:6-7

Steve and I found out in July that I'm pregnant (or am I supposed to say we're?). I haven't been entirely too sure how to put the last six months into words. There has been a flood of emotions and I'm thinking hormones are only partially to blame. I fully acknowledge not all of these feelings are rational, but they're there regardless.

I took two tests because while we were excited after the first one, we needed more proof a few days later. I called my doctor and they made me come pee in a cup before they would see me, but it felt more real once they acknowledged we really were pregnant. During those first few weeks it was crazy to have a secret that only Steve and I shared. It was a secret we had dreamt about and prayed for, but weren't sure would be possible for us. There was this huge sense of relief that we could get pregnant, some guilt for everyone I know who can't get pregnant, and lots of fear as I constantly worried about a miscarriage. I know they're common and rarely anyone's "fault," and I've seen what feels like so many friends and family go through them that it felt like a very real, rational fear.

Once August rolled around we told a few of our family and friends. It was fun to see them get excited, but I felt so much pressure to show them how excited I was... and I was excited, but I was also scared to death. I've always wanted to be a mom and it was like I was afraid to get too attached to this kid just to lose it. It didn't help that I was consistently nauseous all day through the first 14-15 weeks. Thankfully we got to hear our baby's heartbeat at eight weeks and for a moment, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Everyone says 12 weeks is a big mile marker and we made it September 7. Steve was so anxious to share the pregnancy with everyone, but I was still nervous. We had a doctor's appointment on the 9th and I really wanted to get through one more appointment and make sure everything was okay. Everything was fine at the appointment, but unfortunately Steve's grandfather passed away the next day. We made our big Facebook announcement September 11 and I was grateful for all of the kind words to help keep Steve's spirits up. It was comforting to have good news amidst a tough weekend for him.

On October 20 we had another ultrasound at 18 weeks and it felt like another step toward safety. Our kid was active and still had a healthy heartbeat giving me another sigh of relief. The staff was careful to not reveal the baby's gender and everything was on schedule, if not a day ahead. We squeezed in the glucose test just before the holidays and unfortunately I failed the first go round. I may or may not have had a bit of a meltdown as I decided I was not fit to carry a baby. Gestational diabetes is not the end of the world and my rational self understands that, but there was no convincing me that night. Thankfully, I passed the three hour test the next day and Steve has more patience than any person should need.

Last week we got to see Baby D (Dockery not daughter as my dad likes to suggest) in 3D and it was another surreal moment. I am carrying a human around every day... one that likes to kick and punch and make sure I know it's there.

I am still a bit hesitantly excited. I haven't done a ton of research or tried to read too much or go to any classes. I don't want to make myself more anxious. I did want to know how young a baby had ever been delivered and lived (21 weeks and 5 days) and I let out another breath every time we reach another week marker. The odds are in our favor and I am learning to let myself get more excited, but I feel like my brain is still trying to protect my heart.

The crazy thing in my brain's logic is it's not like our baby is guaranteed a long, healthy life once it's born. There are no guarantees. We should all know that by now... I'm still working on letting go of my need to control... letting go of the anxiety and trusting that every day we get to spend with this kid is worth any potential heartache. I'm praying for our baby every day and I'm praying I can embrace this lack of control. I'm so completely grateful for this experience and I promise I don't take it for granted... I'm just processing a myriad of emotions...

I'm excited, but I'm also anxious and scared... and hungry... but I'm always hungry.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." - Matthew 11:28-30

six months later... and counting

Photo by Ica Images

Wow... Once upon a time I thought I could be a blogger. At one (brief) point I was even writing three blogs a week and in 2011 I wrote 88 blogs. And yet this is blog number 13 in the last two years. I've been a slacker when it comes to blogging, but that doesn't mean I haven't had things to say.

My last blog came out two days before one of the biggest days of my life. I got married May 30 and it couldn't have been a more perfect day. Maybe I should've blogged about it as soon as I got back from my honeymoon to really capture my emotions, but instead I've been soaking it all in. When you want something for so long, it takes awhile to trust it's true.

Some of the highlights from our wedding weekend in no particular order...

1. We didn't have a runaway bride or groom! Before 4:30 p.m. on May 30, Steve and I were husband and wife. I've heard so many horror stories of weddings gone wrong that it was a relief to know we made it to the finish line.

2. The weather was amazing. I was too chicken to have an outside wedding for fear of crazy weather, but I also really wanted photos taken outside. The guys may have been sweating a little, but I could not have asked for better weather.

3. Everything worked out at Camp. Don't get me wrong... there were glitches or maybe hiccups... but none of it really mattered. They were not used to hosting weddings, but in the end I feel like I was able to embrace the full experience of another weekend at camp. On my wedding eve I slept in the first cabin I ever spent a week in when I was nine years old. I stayed up talking to some of the best friends a girl could ask for and woke up to take a morning walk around the camp. I ate breakfast in the dining hall and got married in the same building where I felt God take a hold of my heart when I was 12 years old.

4. No one got hurt. Steve tripped down the stairs after we were pronounced husband and wife and it still makes me crack up. We can laugh because he wasn't hurt and he is just so graceful. By the time we made it to the door and greeted all of the guests, he was telling everyone that I had swept him off his feet. Everyone close to me was relieved it was him and not me knowing he recovered better than I ever could have.

Photo by Ica Images

5. I may be biased, but the ceremony was awesome. Everyone told me to soak it all in because it goes by so fast and I really worked hard to take in each moment. I tried to see everything around me and experience the wedding and not just rush it away. We had some amazing friends and family support us and we will be forever grateful. I loved taking communion with Steve to start our marriage and our pastor did such a good job of putting God first on a day that keeps trying to pull your attention to each other. Not to mention... I have friends that can sing! I can't stop playing the video of Kenny and Zoe singing. At that point in the ceremony, I had finally composed myself during communion and then Steve and I turned around to face Kenny and Zoe while they sang.. just in time for me to lose it again!

Photo by Ica Images

6. My parents are uber generous. The day wouldn't have been possible without them. I know there are stories of people getting married for super cheap, but it's really hard to do. I tried to be so conscientious of my parents' pockets and Steve and I took care of some little popup expenses here and there, but no matter how you slice it... the wedding was expensive. I can't thank them enough and I'm so grateful for everyone else that thanked them. We always joked that I would have to wheel my dad down the aisle by the time I got married, but we walked it together.

7. My "vendors" took such good care of me. I had the best photographers in the world with Ica and her husband Tim. Jenna was so patient with my hair and took care of a bunch of my bridesmaids with time to spare. I never even met Angie who did my flowers, but she took glimpses of a vision I had and made everything look great. Rich kept the party hopping even if he did shut down some of my friends' requests. He managed the music and I just kept dancing! Julie and her crew at Sterling Caterers was so good. They even valeted our car and made sure our wedding party was taken care of before the reception. I left them boxes of decorations on Thursday and they ran with it. Six months later and I'm sure I've forgotten someone, but I'm really just grateful for the people who went above and beyond a contract to make our day so special.

Photo by Ica Images

8. So many people trekked a long way to attend our wedding. We had family and friends at the wedding from at least five different states and most people had to drive at least an hour let alone all of the people who came from NC and beyond. After all of the weddings I've been to, it is not lost on me how expensive and time consuming weddings can be. People paid gas or plane tickets and hotels and gifts and dresses or tuxes or a new outfit... I'm so grateful. Managing the guest list was probably one of the most stressful parts of wedding planning for me and it meant the world to me have so many of my favorite people all in one place for a day. I just wish I could have spent more time with everyone.

Photo by Ica Images

9. I had two cokes! Leading up to the wedding I cut out soda and french fries in order to make sure I could fit in my dress. Once we knew we could get the dress zipped my friend Sarah bought me a coke from a camp vending machine and it had never tasted so good! Steve was also kind enough to stop at McDonald's on our way to the hotel after the reception so I could get another one.

10. Did I mention I got married? For a girl who had dreamt of her wedding since she was a little girl, there were a lot of expectations riding on this one day. I don't know that I had picked out wedding dresses or flowers, but more than anything I looked forward to a day when I could promise myself to the love of my life. It wasn't an easy road for Steve and I to get here, but it was worth it. I could not have found a better man and I just pray every day that I can love him more.

why camp wo-me-to

Camp Wo-Me-To is one of my most favorite places on earth. If my memory serves me correctly, I first went to Camp in 1991. I spent seven summers as a camper and another four as a counselor. I celebrated a bunch of birthdays there and owe a ton of who I am to Camp. I've been talking about getting married at Camp for years. It may not be the easiest place, but I wouldn't change it for anything. The biggest reasons why I chose Camp Wo-Me-To for my wedding... 

1. My faith

I became a Christian when I was eight years old, but it didn't become real to me until I was 12. Camp Wo-Me-To had a missionary speaker from Burkina Faso, a small country in Africa. It was more than 20 years ago but I can see her and hear her speaking vividly in my memory. That hot sticky night in the chapel I tried to ignore Barbara and her crazy Africa stories about God working in her life and my friend Nicole will tell you I was trying to distract myself with anything other than what I was feeling. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense if you're not a Christian, but at the end of the service they asked if anyone wanted to become a Christian or renew their commitment. I tried to fight it, but I felt this unbelievable urge to surrender. Nicole said when I stood up, it was like this huge weight was physically lifted from my shoulders. I felt like I had a renewed purpose. 

Two years later I started working at camp. I'll never forget the first girl I prayed with as she made a decision to become a Christian. My faith continued to grow each summer at Wo-Me-To and I know that my faith journey would not have been the same without it.

2. A second family

Each year I tried to recruit a friend or two to go to Camp with me. After camp I'd exchange letters with the girls in my cabin and any counselors I wanted to stalk. The letters usually didn't last long once the school year started and everyone fell back into their normal routine post-summer camp.

During my last year as a camper, my friend Nicole and I met Laura. Nicole and I had been in a cabin with Laura's sister Sarah a couple of years prior and their older sister Kim was a counselor favorite, but we didn't really know Laura. We were in different cabins, but seated next to each other during a not so exciting missionary speaker. We may or may not have made a few jokes that opened the door to a camp friendship. (Sorry Rose!)

When Nicole and I had to say goodbye to Laura on the last day of camp, we were all in tears. Knowing camp friendships all too well, we really didn't know if we'd see each other again. We wrote letters and had to rely on our parents to let us make the occasional long distance phone call or make the hour and a half drive up and back to drop us off for a weekend. We eventually got e-mail and instant messenger and somehow we survived high school with our friendships intact. In college we all went our separate ways and it was harder to keep in touch even though (and maybe because) we had more independence and access. Somehow we were stronger than the distance. Over the years I became friends with Laura's entire family and was in both Laura and Kim's weddings in 2005 and then Sarah's in 2006. This summer marks 19 years since we met and I never take it for granted. Laura is one of my biggest cheerleaders and is always there to encourage me, but she's also the first one to let me have it when I'm being an idiot. There's a whole network of Camp friends that I know I could rely on even if I haven't seen them in years. There's something about the place that bonded all of us. 

3. My fiancé

In 2006 I took a guy to Camp Wo-Me-To. I wasn't even officially dating him and he turned out to be a real dud, but I definitely jumped the gun on showing him my favorite spot. He wasn't impressed and I essentially wrote him off forever at the first moment he turned up his nose upon arrival. 

Fast forward eight years and Steve was on his third or fourth visit to Maryland, but the first since we were seriously considering dating. We had Saturday morning free and I was debating what we should do. We settled on a hike to the King and Queen Seat in Rocks State Park. In the back of my head I knew the hike was 5-10 min from Camp and I was hoping I could take a side tour. Sarah said she knew then that it was big when I was willing to take a guy to Camp after the last debacle. I always knew that if I wanted to get married at Camp, I'd have to get my future husband on board. I wanted it to mean something to us and not just me. I knew we still had some work to do, but I was secretly hoping I was giving him a tour of our ceremony venue way back on July 26. I must have done something right because on July 30 he was writing a letter to John Harbaugh to start working on his proposal plan. That weekend was the real start of me and Steve and it will forever be etched in our memory. 

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There's just something about this place. I think it's beautiful on the outside, but the memories it holds for me just make it incredible. I can't wait to make new memories at Camp Wo-Me-To this weekend. Let's get this party started!