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The Waiting Game
A couple of months ago, I read an article in a baby magazine that included quotes from a handful of different women on what it is like to be nine months pregnant. I don’t remember any of them but one: “You know you’re nine months pregnant when you drop something on the kitchen floor and you ask yourself, ‘Do I really need that?’”
I laughed at this at the time, although at seven months I was already at the point where I could very easily see how that could soon be the case. Now, I am totally and completely there. And I don’t know whether it’s just because I’m more clumsy than normal (which is probably true), but I never noticed before now just how many things fall on the floor in a given day. I also never realized how great a percentage of everyday activities requires the use of abdominal muscles. Standing up, sitting down, getting in and out of bed, putting on socks, putting on pants, opening and closing the dishwasher… the list could go on and on.
But I’m not sharing this to complain; it’s really not all that bad. The baby will be here so soon, and things will start getting back to normal. Don’t worry, I’m not kidding myself. Even though this is my first pregnancy, I know that “normal” is going to take on a whole new meaning from now on. Daniel and I are ready, or I guess as ready as it is possible to be, to meet our son or daughter and to start this next phase of our lives. We’re still getting our house ready—“feathering our nest” so to speak—but other than that, it’s a waiting game.
A friend of mine who is expecting a baby just a few days after me recently shared the following prayer with me. I loved it, and of course it is very timely as far as I am concerned, so I thought I would share it with you all:
My movements are slow. The weight of new life takes the quickness from my step, the grace from my walk. As the days pass, my child pushes against the womb-walls of a limited world—and prepares for the journey into limitless life. As my movements become encumbered, my child’s movements become more pronounced.
I listen to your wisdom in that paradox, Embracing God. As I yield to this weight and reduce my miles per hour through life, I feel the tap, tickle, tumble, and kick of life itself.
I embrace myself, wrapping my arms around my midsection, my child, and I smile; I see you doing the same.
(“Blessing the Child Within: Prayers for Expectant Mothers,” by Kass P. Dotterweich)
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