Week 31: the countdown hasn't begun

Announcements in church yesterday morning, Peter and I hadn't seen each other since he left for work somewhere between "Goodnight, baby. I love you" and 5:30 am. We met at church, and there seemed to be a million-and-one things we had to tell each other. He was staring at the 8-week old baby a couple rows ahead of us, I was sure of it. And he confirmed it with a gentle rub across my hard belly and "I cannot wait to have a little baby around again." Fatherhood looks so good on him.


In Peter's mind, this little girl's named. He even talks to her by name. But I'll have to see her little face before deciding for certain. (And no, we aren't sharing names this time either!). What we do know is that she's healthy and seems happy and feels to be more active than her brother and sister were, combined. I'm praying praying praying she's busy growing locks, because I have a secret little obsession with babies with heads full of hair.

Heartburn last pregnancy-- excruciating. Heartburn this pregnancy-- nonexistent.

Is that a myth like heart rate and a swinging pendant over the belly determine gender?

I'm up 20 pounds, things in my middle are quite rounded out, only I haven't seemed to grasp that this baby is due in 9 weeks. I keep saying that. 9 weeks.


I keep asking myself when I will realize the calendar has been ticking. So, it doesn't really tick, but it seems like week 31 might be the point when one would begin nesting, washing the little pink things and hanging them to dry. Planning day trips, night trips, weekend-getaways, holidays-- anything to pass the time. Reminding her husband the third crib needs assembled, the names list needs finalized, and I want a pedicure.

But sometimes it slips my mind I'm pregnant. Did you ever think that was possible? 31 weeks with child number 3, and you occasionally forget you're pregnant? But I only said I occasionally forget. Because there are the frequent punches that are so strong I've sometimes wondered if she can kick her way out. And then it's time to buckle my sandals. Hold your breath. If I could fasten them with my toes, I would.

Forgetting doesn't mean we're not excited. We're beyond excited, and I'm drinking this in.

I love being pregnant.



Pregnancy with one child-- something I've never experienced. 3 pregnancies and this is my first time carrying just one. Isn't that something? All the kicks and punches, the hands and feet pressed so hard against me you can almost make out the tiny fingers and toes. With every breath, sustaining the life of this little child. Pregnancy encourages me to sit taller and sleep straighter and eat better. I strive to grow in holiness, it's an incentive to stretch my patience.