I am 97 weeks pregnant. Yes, you read that right. It's officially the longest pregnancy in the history of the entire world.
Alright… alright… I shouldn't be complaining. I know plenty of women who have gone waaaay over their due date and we're not there (yet), but even still, any woman who has been pregnant knows what that last month feels like. It sort of feels like you're drowning in cervical obsession/uncomfortableness/Braxton Hicks/nausea/sleep deprivation. If that's possible.
Regardless. Here we are. 173 weeks pregnant. “Fat head” stage, as my friend Angela calls it. We're there.
Farm boots no longer come off without help. I've graduated completely from my own sweatpants into Stuart's. I take approximately 3 baths per day (it's the only place to get some relief!). The receptionists at the Doctor's office are starting to give me that “Poor thing!” look every time I waddle in. And speaking of waddle, can we just appreciate how hard it is to not walk like a total cow these last few weeks? I've tried. It ain't happening.
Suppers are paired down to basics like Chicken and Rice.
Laundry is being done each day so that the kids have clean clothes whenever we have to head into the hospital and ship them off to Nan and Papa's.
… and Stuart has taken almost the entire farm/house/kid load on himself.
I came home from an afternoon Doctor's appointment yesterday to find the kitchen cleaned, the dining room floor swept, the laundry put away, the kitchen vacuumed (yes, there is carpet in the kitchen, let's not even go there), the dishes done, and supper in the oven.
God bless you, Stuart Elliott. You are amazing.
Couple that with the fact that he has a teaching job, farm chores, a zillion animals that depend on him, and he has still been building me my vegetable garden and new potager – and, well, I think the man deserves a round of applause. Not every man would make sure to care for his lady in that way. And I am thankful.
Still super uncomfortable – but thankful.
On top of all of that, the man is preaching at our Easter Sunday Service this weekend. So he's currently writing a beautiful sermon on the resurrection, and even with the very few snippets I've caught so far, I'm already giddy to hear him PREACH IT! This is the very best week of the year, in my books. There's nothing I'd rather focus on than the death and resurrection of Christ.
Even more so than having a baby. Though one is currently taking up much of my physical capacity at the moment…
And speaking of physical capacity, let's just appreciate a few of the spoken gems that have been floating around our house these past few weeks of pregnancy:
“Wow, Momma! You're like a dinosaur with your big belly!” (Owen)
“Mom, look at your tummy! It's like small and then gigantic!” (Georgia)
“Honey, are you okay? What's going on in there!?” (Stu) …”Nothing. I'm just trying to get out of bed.” (Me)
*Slap, slap, slap on the belly* “BEBE! BIG BEBE!” (Will)
“Momma, how many babies are in there? It looks like a lot!” (Georgia)
Ah yes – they certainly know how to make a Momma feel special. Truth be told, I do feel very special. The Lord has given me 4 (FOUR!!!) littles ones to raise, love, nurture, and train. It's more than I feel capable of, but thankfully, I am not to rely on my own strength, patience, or ability for any of it. Because, Lord knows, I ran out of all of that years ago. Frankly, I don't even know how I'm going to survive the birth of this one. We're shooting for our second high-risk VBAC and I'll freely admit, I'm feeling a bit anxious. You'd think it'd get easier the fourth time around, but now that I've ever experienced three other births with all their unique challenges, I know very well what to expect and a few of the ‘what-if' possibilities that can actually come to pass.
I know about my condition and birth – blood loss, passing out, teeny babies, and vomiting included.
I know about swollen girly parts and the ‘new normal' down there.
I know about healing cesarian scars and how challenging it is to wear any sort of pants for months afterwords.
I know about the first poo post baby.
I know about the (almost) unbearable uterine cramping as I nurse our little one.
And I know about the sleepless nights that are to come.
But I also know that I am not, nor will I ever be, alone. I've got a rockstar of a husband to help me through the birth. I've got a wonderful Doctor who is willing to help us get our VBAC. I've got a clutch of family members in the wings to help with the littles. And I've got Georgia, Owen, and Will to cheerlead us on as we welcome the new baby back home on the farm.
It's going to be hard. But it's going to be good. And someday I won't quite remember the lead soccer ball that's currently sitting between my legs, but instead, will remember the beautiful soul we're welcoming into the world and raising for God's purpose.
May He be glorified in it all! Please join us in praying for our soon-to-be-arriving bundle!