March 1, 2013 § 1 Comment
I had a whole different post planned for today.
It was deep, meaningful, edifying, and even dabbled in theology a bit.
And in the middle of writing it, part of my brain split off and started wandering, soon tapping the rest of my brain on the shoulder and whispering, “Hey–do you realize that you are almost 30 weeks pregnant? That’s like, ‘almost there’ territory.”
And CLEARLY that post=delayed in drafts for a rainy day and you and I are spending our time today pondering the human body, God’s handiwork, and the looming deadline of Motherhood.Today, I am 29 years born. Peanut is 29 weeks gestational.
And 30 is my “scary age.”
This child is the size of an acorn squash (do you even know what that is, because I didn’t). It will triple in weight before it is born (and probably so will I). And this kid is MOVING (due to the lessening amount of room in my ever-crowded body). And reading/considering this kind of information makes me cry.
It just does.
Yesterday, I was crying at everything. The sight of my belly. The hiccups Peanut had. The Braxton Hicks every day. So emotional about this little person, about pregnancy, about all of it, it’s ridiculous.
We almost didn’t make it home from a walk the other night without knocking on a stranger’s door and asking them if I could use their restroom. It was close.
This child is growing up into my ribs and lungs, it seems, and I can’t get out of a chair without getting out of breath or sit without feeling like I am folding over its foot.
The other night, as Braxton Hicks gripped at Peanut and interrupted dinner, Kenny thought aloud, “I wonder if the baby feels like the playground is closing” and he imitated Peanut’s eyes darting around at the walls closing in. We laughed.
These are precious times. And I’m not taking them for granted for a second. I stare at my husband and know our lives are soon going to change in unimaginable ways.
Plans are starting to include baby. As wedding announcements come in, we talk of childcare and sleep schedules. As we talk of upcoming trips and travel, we speculate at packing for three.
30 is coming. And that is terrifying/amazing/emotional/absurd. But it’s coming.
And sometimes that makes me cry.
And that’s okay.