pandemic milestone.

It’s not a wedding, or a graduation, or a funeral, or the birth of a child. This milestone may seem small on the outside, or small from the casual smile and shrug when you ask me. But the truth is that it hit me deep in the soul. My first milestone to occur during the COVID-19 pandemic: my daughter’s second birthday.

Two months ago, many in Kansas said that May 15 would be the date that things would start to get better. While some stay-at-home orders have lifted, it’s not the end, and it turns out we are nowhere close to an end in sight.

Don’t get me wrong, I know I have it good. My family is beyond blessed. But the purpose of this writing and this processing is an effort to not play the “comparative suffering” game. In my own circumstances, I am processing loss and change. I must grieve.

 

O U R . G R I E F .

I’m grieving that the last two months of Lydia’s second year of life, she didn’t hug nor play with many of her favorite people. She didn’t go to many of her favorite places. No kids church, no toddler gymnastics, no parks, no visit to see her grandparents in Texas, no play dates or babysitters, no chance to be the flower girl in our friends’ wedding, no softball or baseball games… the list could go on.

The things I am missing out on as an adult pale in comparison to the loss I feel for my daughter. My heart aches for her. It hurts. I feel a weight that is hard to explain. The pain I feel for Lydia’s loss of life’s experiences, diversity of people, sports, and activity is multitudes more than my own loss.

Day by day, I make an effort to focus on the positives. But for a moment, I can’t escape from what’s been hard. Like the moment when, during a “social distance” dinner with friends in our driveway, Lydia knew to keep a distance before I even told her. She learned from imitating the actions she saw everyone else doing to keep a distance. Or the moment when she asked if her two best friends could come to her birthday party, but she’s too young to understand why the answer is no. Or when she asks to go to the gym and upon hearing it’s closed, she responds with a prayer: Please God, open the gym! I admit that her prayer has more faith than my own.

And while she is too young to understand a global pandemic or perhaps even recognize a daily difference, more than it’s hurting her, it’s hurting me.

Outside of social media and select family, now for over two months, some of our closest friends aren’t seeing the beautiful young girl that she has grown into over the past few months.

They’ve never heard her sweet excited voice speak in full sentences or sing entire songs.
They’ve never heard her use the words please, thank you, I’m sorry, great job, I’m proud of you, and I love you—words in her daily vocabulary.
They’ve never heard her makes jokes just to get you to laugh.
They’ve never seen her use her newfound imagination to play “make believe.”

So much has happened in her little life. She picked up a ball bat and took a swing for the first time. And let’s not forget the fact that she’s potty trained! They’ve never seen her pride and joy every time she makes it to the potty, just waiting for mama and dada’s celebration and her piece of chocolate reward.

I wish they could see.

 

O U R . T I M E .

Some days the quarantine feels like life has paused.
like we’ve slowed down,
and
we can appreciate the simpler moments.

But as this milestone passed us,
it reminded me that
time
doesn’t
stand still.

Time moves forward no matter how much we try to slow it down.

No matter how many things are canceled
no matter how many free evenings and weekends we have

Time moves on.

Which is why, I must remind myself of truth: these losses are not worth dwelling on. Time goes far too quickly to dwell on the things you can’t control.

I must grieve,
yes,
and then
let go.

I must move on.

I must let go of the what-ifs and could-have-been and remember what is eternally important.

.

This quarantine has been an incredible opportunity to teach Lydia real life skills and to rejoice in the simple pleasures of life. Every night, we recite our family motto together: “We are the Tietz Family,” Kevin and I start, “and in this family we…”

Lydia usually prefers to finish it herself. “We live simply, give more, and expect less… because we have all we need in Jesus.”

She may have it memorized, but that doesn’t mean she knows what it means. Well, not yet. We are planting seeds that one day, we pray, will bear fruit.

We are modeling a family that eats meals together, takes care of each other, laughs together, prays together, reads God’s Word together, exercises together, takes care of our home and yard together, forgives, celebrates, and loves.

We are modeling a family that endures. We don’t always get what we want, and not everything in life will be in our control. We have to be brave when things are hard. We have to ask for God’s help when we are afraid.

We have to remember to live simply, give more, and expect less.
Why?
Because we really, truly, have all we need in Jesus.
and
for eternity
that’s what counts.

Lord, help me let go.

 

O U R . H O P E . 

On April 29, 2019, I started reading the Bible chronologically with the hopes of finishing it in a year. 364 days later, I finished Revelation 22, the last chapter.

I was reminded in that chapter of our eternal hope. The timing was fitting. By the way, this is how the entire Bible ends:

‘I, Jesus, have sent my angel to testify to you about these things for the churches. I am the root and the descendant of David, the bright morning star.’ The Spirit and the Bride say, ‘Come.’ And let the one who hears say, ‘Come.’ And let the one who is thirsty come; let the one who desires take the water of life without price.

…He who testifies to these things says, ‘Surely I am coming soon.’ Amen. Come, Lord Jesus! (Revelation 22:16-17, 20)

Jesus reminds us that He is the promised one, the one that fulfilled all the laws and all the prophecies from of old. And we are reminded that those who want Jesus, get Jesus. The one who is thirsty can come to Him, drink from the water of life without price.

There is no price to pay,
no checklist of things we must do,
or we must achieve,
or we must get right before we come.

We get to come without price because Jesus paid the price for our sin on the CrossAnd He promises that He will come again.

.

So when we see the pandemic at hand, the death count rising, with no end in sight
Come, Lord Jesus!
When we read yet another headline of a racially driven murder
Come, Lord Jesus!
When we feel helpless to comfort friends, spouses, children, or parents, those we love the most
Come, Lord Jesus!
When our private thoughts and actions are exposed, and we must confess our own sin
Come, Lord Jesus!
When we hold walls up to others or self-harm because it feels like the only thing we can control
Come, Lord Jesus!

When we teach our kids that we have “all we need in Jesus,” this is what we mean: All of our hope, our joy, and our satisfaction is found not in material things. It’s found not in the exhilarating experiences of life like sporting events or big parties. Whether homebound or traveling the world, whether richer or poorer, whether sickness or health, no matter our circumstances, our hope in Jesus is one thing that doesn’t change, even when our world changes.

.

So as I reflect on Lydia’s second birthday and let go of birthday party hopes and dreams, or what could have been for her these last few months, I am reminded of the opportunity to point my daughter to her ultimate hope. No matter the trials she faces in her life on this earth, may those seeds be planted, that even she has all she needs – not in mama or dada or birthday cake or balloons – but in Jesus.

In Lydia’s heart, mind, and soul
Come, Lord Jesus.

Eliza’s Birth Story

Eliza Rose Tietz
Born 11:17 AM on Tuesday, December 10, 2019
8 lbs 12 oz, 20 inches

15 DAYS BEFORE

I will always remember Eliza’s birth story not just for the day, but for the two weeks leading up to the day. God used these two weeks of an emotional, spiritual, and physical roller coaster to break me down and bring me to complete and utter dependence on His power and will and not my own strength. Praise and glory be to God!

Eliza’s birth story started on Monday, November 25 shortly after my 38-week doctor’s appointment when I thought I was in labor. I had always expected to make it to Thanksgiving. Work and volunteer projects were wrapping up before then and I was looking forward to spending the holiday with family. With a due date of December 13, I always just assumed we would make it at least to December.

So when I was dilated at over a 5cm at my appointment, and my doctor asserted that she wasn’t sure how it was possible that I wasn’t in labor yet based on my dilation and enfacement, she encouraged me that as soon as I felt contractions of any kind to head into the hospital. So naturally, when about one hour later, I started counting regular contractions (the third time in the previous four days), I assumed I was in labor and started wondering how soon to head to the hospital. I sent panic texts to my boss, my mom, and my sister. My sister stopped by my house while running errands and talked me down, giving me the hard-but-needed truth that I probably wasn’t actually in labor. A few hours later as contractions came to a halt, I figured it was still only a matter of days before Eliza was ready to come. At least, that’s what my doctor told me, that’s what everyone was telling me.

14 DAYS BEFORE

I woke up the next morning about an hour before Kevin and Lydia and immediately went to sit with the Lord. My head was spinning. I was tired. I asked the Lord, where do I go from here? I prayed for God’s perfect timing and for His perfect peace. Throughout the false labor over the previous few days, instead of feeling peace, I’d felt extreme anxiety. During one round that was late at night, in the middle of a contraction behind a closed bathroom door, I begged God pleading that I wasn’t actually in labor. Then immediately after I broke down as shame filled me. Am I not ready to meet my daughter? Shouldn’t I only feel excitement and joy over the idea of being in labor? Through the false labor, my heart was exposed to so many fears I’d buried and so many things I was holding on to. I acknowledged that morning that God alone is the author of Eliza’s birth story. He alone is in control. But the work that God was doing in my heart had only just begun.

10 DAYS BEFORE

I spent a long Thanksgiving weekend actually resting, physically. After several days in a row of false labor and losing my mucus plug, any physical movement toward labor had completely halted. In wondering how I suddenly felt like I could carry my baby another several weeks, I realized that this was an answered prayer. After the confusing contractions I’d been having, I asked sisters in my community to pray for clarity. I thought the answer to this prayer would be my water breaking. Instead, the Lord answered this prayer by making it clear that this week was not His perfect timing. I spent a few days actually enjoying pregnancy as I finished up a devotional, Labor in Hope by Gloria Furman, and reflected on the way that labor and childbirth so beautifully displays the gospel and mirrors the suffering and new life of Jesus on the Cross. The word “grace” was laid on my heart to meditate on as I prepared for labor and delivery. In the midst of anticipated pain and unknowns, it was grace that I would labor with the hope of meeting my daughter! I felt as if the Lord has given me spiritual, mental, emotional, and physical preparation and rest.

6 DAYS BEFORE

With every day that passed, I was wrapping up work and Young Life activities, house projects, and Christmas shopping and decorating. I went into my 39-week appointment curious and slightly anxious — especially since it was my 39-week appointment with Lydia that I showed up at the hospital and didn’t leave until five days later, due to a medical induction! (Click here for Lydia’s Birth Story.)

Yet just as I suspected, nothing had physically changed since my previous appointment. Although I saw a different doctor, I got the same “I don’t know how you’re not in labor” and “you better hurry to the hospital as soon as contractions start.” However, the doctor offered something I didn’t expect. She offered to schedule an induction for the following week on Tuesday, December 10, the day our doctor was on call. All of her disclaimers, outside of my body being ready, were “you can cancel at any point” and “you probably won’t make it to Tuesday anyways.” Kevin and I took her advice and scheduled the induction. As we walked out to our cars in the parking lot and before rushing to get back to work, we processed briefly the option. Are we taking control into our own hands by choosing to induce before our due date? If we follow through with this, will I ever have the “experience” of going into labor naturally?

That night after putting Lydia to sleep, we sat down for the first time all day. The living room was dark except for a single strand of Christmas lights on our small Christmas tree. As we talked and prayed through the induction and dug beneath the surface of timing and logistics, I realized the truth of my hesitation around an induction and what had been holding me back from experiencing peace this entire time. As much as I “knew” how amazing it would be to meet Eliza and become a family of four, what I also saw in front of me was this season of being a family of three coming to an end. This season of having just Lydia as my only child – sweet Lydia, filled with so much laughter and joy – giving her my full attention – was now six or less days away from ending. Somehow putting an actual date on the calendar made me stop and actually process not just the transition that was coming, but the season that was ending.

I needed to grieve the current season coming to an end in the midst of the joy and anticipation of the next. I wasn’t ready to let go of this season. I was afraid of change. As Kevin picked up one of Lydia’s stuffed bears from the coffee table, we reflected on what an amazing 19 months it had been becoming parents and getting to know our girl. We both wept. Ready or not, this season, the sweetest season we’ve known on this side of heaven, was ending in a matter of days.

At this point I was already praising God for the gift of scheduling an induction. If it wasn’t for putting a date on the calendar, I’m not sure if my busy-and-achieving self would have actually stopped to process and grieve the season we were leaving behind. That night by the Christmas tree was a gift. I needed to embrace the coming change in the midst of unknowns. And those tears were oh, so needed.

5 DAYS BEFORE

Determined to soak up every last second of giving Lydia my full attention, yet another turn of events happened the next day. I had been dealing with hemorrhoids for the better half of my pregnancy, but on this Thursday, the pain started to become unbearable. I couldn’t walk or really even sit, let alone pick up my toddler or play with her without wincing in pain. I questioned God and wondered, hasn’t the emotional and spiritual roller coaster been enough? I quickly realized that God was pealing back yet another layer of my calloused heart – the physical. I had prided myself on doing a natural childbirth with Lydia. As I hoped and prepared for a natural birth with Eliza, a whole new level of fear had overcome me. How am I supposed to endure the pain of labor when I feel so weak already? During my pregnancy with Lydia, I had been able to maintain regular workouts, and I felt fit and healthy. During my pregnancy with Eliza, I could barely get through a day of chasing a toddler around and was lucky to get in a walk around the block in a week. And now this constant, piercing hemorrhoid pain had me laying on the couch for a moment of relief. What will I do if the pain level, my starting point, is already here? How will I get through this? The next layer of fear and doubt was exposed.

4 DAYS BEFORE

We made it to Friday, the end of the week, and I started to have more peace about the induction on Tuesday simply by the way this pregnancy had taken a toll on my body. Eliza was low and, labor or not, my body was ready. Yes, I was afraid of change. I was afraid of the unknown. I was afraid of the pain. I was afraid of how weak I felt. And yet, as I meditated on God’s promises, I rejoiced in truth: I am no longer a slave to fear because I am a child of God! Instead of focusing on what I couldn’t control – my ability to hold onto seasons or how I felt physically – I set my mind on God’s graciousness to me to expose my own natural tendency to rely on myself and my own strength.

I meditated on the truth of Psalm 62:11, which says “power belongs to God.” I wrote these words in my journal: In childbirth and labor, in parenting, I MUST have FAITH in God’s strength alone… in HIS power that is at work within me.

Yes, I am weak. Yes, my flesh will fail. But God’s Holy Spirit is strong in me.

I spent the next several days resting. My hemorrhoid pain slowly became manageable and I was able to soak in special moments with Lydia and Kevin. I experienced peace and joy as we moved closer to Tuesday, the day we would finally meet our daughter Eliza.

 

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 10

6:20 AM

I sat down with a cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal to pray. I wrote in my journal: Happy Birthday, Eliza Rose. At this point I had let go of expectations and was ready to set my heart on the Lord. I praised God for the way He had used the last two weeks to call out all the ways I doubted myself and doubted Him, and to increase my dependence on God as the source of my power and strength. The last two weeks were truly a gift. I had prayed for peace and excitement in His perfect timing, and I felt every bit of that on Tuesday morning. I meditated on Eliza Rose’s name, which means “joyful promise.” I prayed that when the doubts creep back in, whether during labor or in the weeks to come, that I would only think or look at Eliza and be redirected to remember God’s joy-filled promises!

7 AM

We dropped off Lydia at my parents’ house on the way to the hospital wearing her “Big Sister” shirt. We got to talk with her about what a special day it was because she was finally going to meet her baby sister! We hugged and kissed her goodbye and told her that we would see her later that day. Minutes later, Kevin and I walked through the doors of Lawrence Memorial Hospital, hand in hand, for our 7:30 AM induction.

8:15 AM

After meeting our nurse and getting settled in, my doctor came in to check my dilation and see if Eliza was in the proper position to break my water or if we would need to start Pitocin. My doctor shared with a smile that not only was Eliza in position, but that I was already dilated to 7cm! Immediately I started praising God again. Not simply for the head start in labor and the likelihood of not needing Pitocin, but for His provision. Had I gone into labor naturally and tried to labor at home for even 30 minutes, we might not have made it to the hospital in time. The Lord intended every step of the way and it was His will for us to plan an induction and start labor at the hospital!

My doctor broke what she called a “firm bag of water” and we agreed to wait and see how my body would naturally respond from here. Our nurse put on Eliza’s heart and contraction monitors, and Kevin and I started walking the hallways of the labor and delivery wing.

My sister Rosie arrived shortly after and we caught up on the week, laughed and made jokes, and looked at the homemade hats that they offer for every new baby. We sent text messages and marco polos to friends and family and time passed quickly.

8:55 AM

I paused mid conversation due to a contraction that was strong enough that I couldn’t walk through it. After a few more laps and higher intensity contractions, it was time to return to our hospital room. Active labor was coming soon!

9:25 AM

We continued to converse between contractions as I sat and labored on a ball. Contractions started to pick up intensity as I focused on breathing through them, swaying side-to-side. Excitement and peace rose up in me as I realized that I had naturally progressed to active labor. I mentioned to the nurse between contractions that I felt like I needed to use the restroom, but she told me that at this point any urge I felt was the urge to push, so I would need to fight through the pressure until I was fully dilated. As I commented on the pressure I was beginning to feel almost instantly in my lower back, she recommended that I switch labor positions. This confirmed a suspicion that my placenta was located in front and Eliza was low and back (no surprise given the hemorrhoids, early dilation, and other pregnancy-related aches and pains).

10:10 AM

I laid on my side with a peanut ball between my legs and immediately I felt Eliza start to move. I continued to feel intense pressure on my back, so the nurse started pushing on my lower back, and showed Rosie how to do the same. Any time a contraction came on from there, I had Kevin at my side talking me through breathing and helping me focus on the Lord and on Eliza, and Rosie pushing pressure on my back. I was able to close my eyes and relax as I could physically feel Eliza getting lower.

10:23 AM

The nurse checked me, and I had progressed to an 8-9cm and Eliza was rotating into position! While we tried to switch sides for dilation, we quickly saw that Eliza’s heart rate had decreased, so I rolled back onto my right side with the ball between my legs. I hit the highest level of pain at this point, but I remained relaxed and in control, and we started playing worship music through our Bluetooth speaker.

I meditated on the words of the songs with every contraction. Different than my previous labor that focused on attacking and embracing pain, I didn’t want to think about the pain this time around. I told Kevin to repeat the lyrics of the song to me. I mouthed the words too, when I was able. I knew that I was going to meet my daughter soon after only being in active labor for an hour. All I wanted to do at this point was worship God!

I’m no longer a slave to fear. I am a child of God…
You are constant through the trial and the change…
Jesus, Jesus, You make the darkness tremble… Jesus, Jesus You silence fear…
The storm surrounding me, let it break, at Your Name…
How He loves us, oh, how He loves us…
Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me, You never fail, and You won’t start now…
Sing like never before, O my soul, I worship Your holy Name…

10:57 AM

Despite how quickly things were progressing, I was certain now that I was feeling the urge to push. After being checked by the nurse and hearing that I was almost to 10cm, I moved positions once more and my nurse called the doctor in.

11:08 AM

My doctor, who also was with me to deliver Lydia, didn’t even check me when she walked in. She knew me as her patient and trusted me. She immediately started gowning up after hearing the report from the nurse and instructing her team that it was time to push. Within a few minutes, I moved to my back and into position to push.

11:17 AM

After only seven minutes of pushing through three contractions, Eliza Rose Tietz was born into the world and placed on my chest. I saw her and immediately started repeating “that’s my daughter, that’s my daughter, that’s my daughter…” Kevin cried at my side. I held her close as the doctor delivered the placenta and stitched a few abrasions, letting me know that I didn’t tear or need an episiotomy, like I did with Lydia. Again, I praised God. We studied our daughter over head to toe. She was beautiful. She was perfect.

12:25 PM

It wasn’t until an hour later that my tears came. Kevin left the room to greet Lydia in the hallway and carry her back inside to meet her sister. As soon as I saw Lydia, immediately the reality set in. This moment made it real. For the first time we were together as a family of four.

 

9 DAYS LATER

12.19.19

Today is my birthday. I am holding my daughter Eliza on my chest as I write this. This day marks another day I’ve been dreaming of – hopeful that by this day – my birthday – six days after her due date – that we would spend the day in our Christmas-decorated home – but most of all – with our healthy baby girl.

We are here.

Tears of joy come as I look at her and tell her that she’s everything I’ve dreamed of, and more. The nine long months of pregnancy really are done. Labor is in the past. We are on the other side, a family of four.

This is our new normal.
This is my life.
It’s simple, but it’s beautiful.

I’ve been reflecting this day on my 29 years of life. The trials that I faced in adolescence brought me on my knees before God. Ultimately this led me to a Christian community where I met my husband, the most God-fearing and loyal man I know. And through our union God orchestrated and created LIFE in Lydia Evelyn and Eliza Rose. And together, Kevin and I have the privilege of stewarding these little lives. Of raising them and teaching them and loving them. There are truly no words for the gratitude I feel. I am fighting hard to not take a day – or night – for granted. I know this may be impossible but still I will try, striving to daily surrender expectations to the Lord and open my hands in a posture of thanksgiving. 

As we reflect on the celebration of the birth of Jesus this advent season, I’m still in awe that my waiting for Eliza is over. When I stop long enough to really, truly look at her, I feel fullness of joy. In the joy of this birth, I am reminded of the ultimate joy at hand as we celebrate the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ, into the world. God became human to dwell among us, to die for us, and to rise for us. And as it is written on the sign above Eliza’s crib, “blessed is she who believed that the Lord would fulfill His promises to her” (Luke 1:45).

finished.

After breastfeeding for about a month after finding out I was pregnant with our second baby, first trimester nausea was in full-swing. In the week before Lydia’s first birthday, not only was I ready to be done, but I could tell Lydia was ready too. So on May 6, I was prepared to nurse Lydia for the last time. The next day I was leaving town for a Young Life Staff Conference for three days, so the timing was perfect to wean her completely off our last remaining feeding, the nighttime feeding.

Our family was out late that evening with our church City Group. When we got home, I started Lydia’s normal bedtime routine, mentally and emotionally preparing for my last time breastfeeding Lydia. Despite feeling ready to be done, this was still a significant and emotional moment. Whether Lydia was teething, tired, coming off a cold, or a combination, she refused to nurse and on the contrary, wouldn’t stop screaming. My husband suggested that we just put her straight into her crib for bed, and I glared back and him and sternly responded “no.” And I tried again. And again. And again. Lydia’s screaming only got louder.

As my daughter cried in my arms
unwilling to nurse
I gave up
what was supposed to be my last time nursing her
never happened
it was gone
there would be no last time.
I held her
and cried just as loud
I let go
this season,
it is finished.

 

L O O K I N G . B A C K .

We read a bedtime story through tears and my daughter went straight to sleep immediately after laying her in her crib. As I exited the nursery, my husband was concerned about my strong emotions yet confused. I explained to him the thoughts racing through my mind:

Memories.
The very first time Lydi nursed, what seemed like minutes after she was born.
The emotional roller coaster of trying to get her to latch after my milk came in, feeling helpless for days.
The six months of her not eating any solid foods, only nursing for nutrition and survival.
The late, dark nights and early, dark mornings.
The countless hours and hours of feeding her.
The special bond that only mama had with her.
Done.
Gone.
Finished.

But more than just this simple act of nursing her, it was more.
Weaning represented the physical symbol of the present reality.
The first year of my first baby’s life is over, and I will never get it back.

Being pregnant through all this surely wasn’t helping the hormones and the emotions. But as I explained to Kevin the bigger picture and processing her first year being done, he understood. In fact, he joined in the reminiscing and sat and cried with me. We talked memories of her first year, from the moment we met her to taking her home from the hospital, to all her firsts. We celebrated the walking, talking, full-of-joy toddler that she is now. We grieved the time that we’ll never get back but laughed at the memories that we’ll hold forever. We continue to stand utterly in awe of how it’s possible to love a child so incredibly deeply.

I wish time could rewind, stand still, and move forward all at the same time. And yet, it moves forward. And in healthy emotional and spiritual processing, so will I.

 

T H R E E . D A Y S .

After three days away, I came home ready to embrace our new routine and celebrate my little girl’s first birthday. As I write this, I notice the way that God’s presence was with me throughout the week. If it wasn’t for the series of events that night, I may not have taken the time to feel, grieve, and process the emotions that came along with the change. God used selfishly unfavorable events to bring about greater good. Though it was hard to see in the moment, after three days away, I came home excited to continue to love Lydia and meet her needs in the countless other ways that only mamas can do.

The phrase, “It is finished,” reminds me of another scene in John 19. On Calvary’s Hill, the Son of God, who lived a perfect, sinless life, experienced the undeserving weight of sin and death on the Cross. After three days, Jesus rose from the dead. God used selfishly unfavorable events to bring about greater good. Though it was hard to see in the moment, after three days away, He resurrected to give us hope, joy, adoption, peace, and a promise of eternal life for those who trust in Him.

Really, “It is finished” was only the beginning.

.

In the case of my very normal, mundane life, the same hymn rings true.
As we celebrated her first birthday with family and friends
It marked the end of year zero
And the beginning of year one.

Lydia Evelyn, we are excited to continue to watch you grow and see who you become.
Really, sweet girl, it’s only the beginning.