The suitcase sits on the floor next to my bed.
Empty.
That whole hospital registration thing?
Not doing it.
Chinese food and cleaning out the kitchen freezer?
Didn't work the last three times.
Packing the hospital bag - in the past - has only invited the child(ren) within my womb to curl up their toes and plan an extended stay. Planning ahead (for me) always invites those due dates to come and go without a baby to show for it. I won't have it. Not this time. Sure, I may show up at the hospital unregistered without a toothbrush... but I think we will all survive.
Another five to six weeks?
Excuse me while I wipe the tears cascading down my face.
My body isn't what it once was. The braxton hicks hurt a bazillion times more and I can not sleep at night. The glamour of pregnancy has swapped places with the desire to push really really hard. I think my grandma has telepathy or whatever you call it because she seems to know and understand just how grumpy my over-sized pregnant body is making me with her regular reminders to not lose hope. I get it. And I am ultra-mega-super grateful for this new little life that will be joining our family story in the next month.
I dream about her toes as she plies against my ribs. I dream about her hands as she gracefully punches against my bladder. Her cute little head bangs against my pelvis and I can't wait to see it for the first time. The boys understand that she can hear their voices and they take turns fighting over who gets to tell her the darth-vadar-star-wars-joke and the knock knock kick-you-in-the-rear-end joke. And let's just forget the fact that all three boys think it is pretty darn awesome to share the vibrations of their burps with little Carlee. Congratulations, little one, you are fluent in the language of the all-boy-belch prior to your first breath. The boys are already filling walls with pictures of her and saving little pieces of their favorite treats to share with her when she joins the family. Their excitement makes me happy. Siblings are best friends for life and I am so happy that my little boys will have a little girl to keep them company.
Our family is ready for her arrival - or so it seems.
I always feel ready before I actually am.
But despite the difficulty in sleeping and breathing and eating, I know that deep down it isn't time yet. And once again, I need to learn patience. I need to learn to put it all in God's hands and allow the birth to come when it is time. I need to trust in His timetable and purpose knowing and understanding that His ways are always superior to mine.
And so - I am relearning to put my trust in Him, while keeping my suitcase empty and hospital registration incomplete... just in case. The nasty castor oil used for the last two pregnancies has disappeared and I have yet to touch the mini tramp. I can slow down, consecrate more energy to obtaining my flip flop tan line, and learn to be content with where I am at. These next five weeks can be a gift - a time to prepare for the piece of Heaven she will bring with her. A time to connect and love my three little boys more. And a time to do a lot of midnight-I-can't-sleep-through-the-contractions writing.
But when the boys ask me a million times each day how much longer they have to wait to meet their sister, I will tell them to pray that she comes early. Each and every time.
No comments:
Post a Comment