Oof. I feel obese. When my friend Brittney was still pregnant, she mentioned something about feeling like a sea-cow. I think that's a pretty adequate statement. I'm getting to the end, and I'm getting tired and sloth-like. But I am so very excited about the end result! 8 more weeks folks....8 more weeks.
And the downward looking view......
Traveling between Wyoming and Colorado, camping, swimming, lounging...we are breaking her in early, hoping she will one day appreciate the "good stuff." Grandma's and aunties have wasted no time in spoiling her with blankets and clothes, all the caliber of cuteness that tends to get lost on men.
She has a tutu. B is concerned this may distract her from fishing. I tell him its not a problem; she will wear the tutu fishing.
Her legs and arms are getting so strong and she is learning to use them. Olivia has no problem kicking me in the ribs when my posture isn't just so.
I count down the days as I watch my feet disappear, crossing my fingers that I will see them again one day. More body parts are swelling and puffing up to unexplainable sizes. No matter...we are so excited to meet her, it seems a small price to pay.
I want to get really mad.
And throw things.
And scream.
And stomp my feet.
And yell obscenities.
And kick the door.
And do the "ugly cry."
And growl.
Till my face turns red.
But I don't.
Cause there is not point.
It won't get me anywhere, anyway.
And I act like a mature adult.
But boy, do I really want to.
It's not easy to forget, nor is it hard to ignore what this is....
A garbled, tangled, mess. That's what it is.
The last 365 days, breathing in, breathing out. Waiting, waiting, waiting. That isn't to say that this garbled, tangled, mess isn't valid. Its very valid.
It has made us stronger. And if that is not the point, I'm not sure what is.
As husband and wife, we prayed, we inquired, we knowingly walked this road, but still not knowing that this road would extend so far. We've had no warnings. But we have had blessings. Blessings that I pick up along the way and carry in my hands, careful not to crush them. The tender mercies, the added sweetness to our marriage, the appreciation we may not have discovered otherwise, all protected, guarded, and cared for. Things that tell me, that tell us, that all this sacrifice has not gone unnoticed by Him.
We are being cared for.
And while this garbled, tangled, mess weaves in unpredictable patterns, new doors are appearing. New windows are opening. As exciting or new as they may seem, they scare me no less than what is happening now, but I remember that we are solid, we are happy, we are not unnoticed.
We are being cared for.
