Tomorrow, this little baby will be 37 weeks old. That's "full term," whatever that means... given that he could also decide he's perfectly happy to hang out in my belly for another month.
In looking back on the last 37 weeks, I'm kind of surprised at some of the things I haven't done. I thought I would write more; that I'd be one of those journaling pregnant ladies, recording all of my excitement, apprehension, and hope for my little one to read fondly some day when he's old enough to care. I guess the agonizing process of actually writing well overcame my actual desire to do it. Not sure if I'll feel sad or guilty about this some day, when I'm digging around for some long-neglected memory in the dusty crevices of my temporal lobe.
I thought I would worry more. Thankfully, I've been spared this aspect of my natural tendencies by what I can only account to the grace of God. Knowing that He has held this little life in his hands from the very beginning has given me a peace that I never expected. There's no hiding the fact that I'm more than satisfied to have left this one behind.
I thought I would get a lot fatter and feel pretty gross about myself. I didn't realize that when you're an amazon freak of nature (only kidding, mom), your baby has a lot more room to spread out lengthwise rather than balloon-wise. Take that, all you meanies who teased me mercilessly for being an awkward bean-pole growing up. I never imagined my comeuppance would come in the absence of stretch marks.
I thought I would take more pictures. You know, to assemble one of those adorable Pinteresty digital collages with weekly progress pics and notes about what I'm craving, how the baby is growing, what fruit he most closely resembles, etc. Frankly, I've been working full time. Ain't nobody got time for that.
What I have been doing, however, is relishing this time. This pregnancy is a gift that I'm still not so sure I deserve. The journey that it took just to get to that positive pregnancy test makes me feel like I have this delicious secret that your everyday fertile-Myrtle couldn't possibly understand. I know that probably sounds silly, but I don't care. I imagine God has blessed me with an extra dose of joy to offset the suffering of the past.
I've also been spending time learning everything I can about birth within the context of Western medicine. The debate between minimal- and high-intervention birth rages on, but I feel that it's every woman's responsibility, both for herself and for her baby, to take ownership over the decisions made concerning her pregnancy. God has given women not just bodies capable of bringing forth life, but brains capable of researching, examining, and discerning. I've been entrusted with the well-being of another human... I cannot be a good steward of his life by remaining ignorant of the various risks and effects involved with interventions in his growth and birth.
My convictions mostly stem from the fact that I know our bodies were designed for this. Natural birth isn't about "proving" anything, as I've heard so many say... for me, it's about believing that God has meticulously designed and equipped the typical female body with all of the chemicals, hormones, organs, muscles, ligaments, and bones necessary to sustain life and give birth (not that any woman who cannot do these things is any less meticulously designed!). Outside of a true medical emergency, I see no reason to attempt to improve upon a system designed by the Creator of the universe.
But I'll get off of my soapbox now. I know I'll need a tremendous amount of strength to get through an un-medicated labor... probably more strength than I can even imagine right now. And we'll need the blessing of a rather "uneventful" labor, without any emergencies or last-minute surprises.
If you're the praying type, please be praying for us from now until he comes out. Oh, and then keep praying fervently because then I'll have to figure out how to keep him alive and guide his heart and all that important stuff for the next 18 years!
My heart is quietly bursting with anticipation. I can't wait to see his face, hear his tiny squeaks, watch him grow to call us "mama" and "papa", and to call his Creator "Abba."
In looking back on the last 37 weeks, I'm kind of surprised at some of the things I haven't done. I thought I would write more; that I'd be one of those journaling pregnant ladies, recording all of my excitement, apprehension, and hope for my little one to read fondly some day when he's old enough to care. I guess the agonizing process of actually writing well overcame my actual desire to do it. Not sure if I'll feel sad or guilty about this some day, when I'm digging around for some long-neglected memory in the dusty crevices of my temporal lobe.
I thought I would worry more. Thankfully, I've been spared this aspect of my natural tendencies by what I can only account to the grace of God. Knowing that He has held this little life in his hands from the very beginning has given me a peace that I never expected. There's no hiding the fact that I'm more than satisfied to have left this one behind.
I thought I would get a lot fatter and feel pretty gross about myself. I didn't realize that when you're an amazon freak of nature (only kidding, mom), your baby has a lot more room to spread out lengthwise rather than balloon-wise. Take that, all you meanies who teased me mercilessly for being an awkward bean-pole growing up. I never imagined my comeuppance would come in the absence of stretch marks.
I thought I would take more pictures. You know, to assemble one of those adorable Pinteresty digital collages with weekly progress pics and notes about what I'm craving, how the baby is growing, what fruit he most closely resembles, etc. Frankly, I've been working full time. Ain't nobody got time for that.
What I have been doing, however, is relishing this time. This pregnancy is a gift that I'm still not so sure I deserve. The journey that it took just to get to that positive pregnancy test makes me feel like I have this delicious secret that your everyday fertile-Myrtle couldn't possibly understand. I know that probably sounds silly, but I don't care. I imagine God has blessed me with an extra dose of joy to offset the suffering of the past.
I've also been spending time learning everything I can about birth within the context of Western medicine. The debate between minimal- and high-intervention birth rages on, but I feel that it's every woman's responsibility, both for herself and for her baby, to take ownership over the decisions made concerning her pregnancy. God has given women not just bodies capable of bringing forth life, but brains capable of researching, examining, and discerning. I've been entrusted with the well-being of another human... I cannot be a good steward of his life by remaining ignorant of the various risks and effects involved with interventions in his growth and birth.
My convictions mostly stem from the fact that I know our bodies were designed for this. Natural birth isn't about "proving" anything, as I've heard so many say... for me, it's about believing that God has meticulously designed and equipped the typical female body with all of the chemicals, hormones, organs, muscles, ligaments, and bones necessary to sustain life and give birth (not that any woman who cannot do these things is any less meticulously designed!). Outside of a true medical emergency, I see no reason to attempt to improve upon a system designed by the Creator of the universe.
But I'll get off of my soapbox now. I know I'll need a tremendous amount of strength to get through an un-medicated labor... probably more strength than I can even imagine right now. And we'll need the blessing of a rather "uneventful" labor, without any emergencies or last-minute surprises.
If you're the praying type, please be praying for us from now until he comes out. Oh, and then keep praying fervently because then I'll have to figure out how to keep him alive and guide his heart and all that important stuff for the next 18 years!
My heart is quietly bursting with anticipation. I can't wait to see his face, hear his tiny squeaks, watch him grow to call us "mama" and "papa", and to call his Creator "Abba."
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