In 19 weeks, give or take, I will be the mother of both Linnea Francesca and Sarah Elisabeth.
Sarah is perfect–small, but not any smaller than her sister was, and neither M or I are big people, so small babies make sense to me. Probably particularly since I’m the one that has to squeeze them out! She has ten fingers, ten toes, a nice brain, nice kidneys, and a spine that looks like a string of pearls. When they first found her on the ultrasound, she was resting quietly (after beating the crap out of me all night long!) with her hands folded in front of her face, as though she was praying.
At first we laughed, because, dude: she’s a double pastor’s kid. But at the same time I got all throat-lumpy and verclempt because I’ve known from the very beginning that this baby is God’s baby. We weren’t trying for her, she just happened. And early on, when we could have lost her so many times, but didn’t: I knew God was keeping a special eye on my sweet tiny babe. He loves her, and I love Him for that. As a child of God, it means a great deal to me to know the promises that He has made to me…but somehow it means more to know that He’s also claimed my girls as His own, because I know that no matter what this life brings them, because they are His: they will be OK.
And now I’m just sort of crying all over the place, because laying there in the darkened room, marveling at my daughter on the ultrasound screen, and feeling M squeeze my hand as we watched her move; and then later, when Nea burst in the front door after preschool and vaulted into my arms I realized (again) just how fucking good God is to me. Sadly, I seem to forget it pretty easily, but every so often, I have a day like today where the blessings just keep cracking me across my forgetful head so that I can’t ignore them and I walk around one Hallmark commercial away from losing it entirely.
Thank God I’m visibly pregnant, so as I walk weeping through the mall, nobody gives me weird looks. Well, not a lot anyway.