The End is Near

It was one of those leftover cold days at the end of March, although the sun was shining. I managed to throw my husbands flannel jacket on over my pajamas, that were now on day 2. I opened my garage door and slipped into my snow boots, since they were the first thing that I saw. With more effort than I had, I got my 2 year old into his car seat, thanked God that my almost 4 year old went to work with daddy, slid into the driver seat, glanced into the rearview mirror at the bun of hair that hadn't been touched since probably the night before, and drove off.

It was a self-conscious drive. I was sure that people were staring, even if it was only the top half of me that was noticeable. I was hoping that they were all strangers since I wasn't yet prepared to explain myself to anyone that I knew. I ended up at McDonalds drive thru. "Bacon, egg and cheese biscuit please." I may only eat once a day, or every other for that matter, but this was my staple meal. So this drive thru was where I found myself. Eating like this would make anyone sick. I have no rhyme or reason for this method, but I could only do what my body would allow.

This, my friends, is what they call, The First Trimester.

Yes, it was true. I was pregnant. Baby #3 was on the way, and I was in first trimester misery. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't function in any normal matter. Couldn't smile, be happy, be thankful, or even attempt to be a good mom to the 2 I already had. What I could do was vomit every day, and only in the trashcan in my room, as anywhere else, including the bathroom, would just make me sicker. The frequency was such that my 2 year old started imitating this behavior when he would see my trashcan. Yes, my poor little guy would pretend to throw up and then say "like mommy." I could also lay in my bed for endless hours, waiting for life to pass me by, knowing that I would only be doing the same thing tomorrow. I could only dream of the day that this would pass, where I wouldn't need medication to leave the house or get through an event such as t-ball practice.

The truth is, it hasn't been easy. Yes the beginning came to pass, only to give way to the middle, which came with migrane after migrane. Those things are always so much fun, especially when you still have to take care of 2 small children in the process. I was sure that my already born babies would be scarred by my lack of care-taking. I was sure that this would just never come to an end. I was sure I would never be able to be happy and smile and tell people that I was over-the-moon excited. But, as time does, it went on. And now here I sit, 38 1/2 weeks pregnant. And although, the end, for me, only comes with its own list of problems, that shall remain nameless, for any readers sake (and if you have made it here yourself, enough has been said.) I am happy. I am excited. I am thankful. I am about to go through and incredibly hard, painful and scary, process. I don't know when or where it will begin. I don't know how I will get there or the impact it will yet have. But I do know, that the blessing that awaits at the end, is one that is unimaginable. Even while trying to picture the moment, you can't wrap your thoughts around something that will contain as much love as the birth of a child.

This will be my last. I will only sit here late at night with a round belly for maybe days more. This is my last time to feel squirming, kicking and rolling, right inside of me. To feel a tiny little heel roll on by, or to see what may look to the unkowing eye as an alien invasion of my body, knowing its just the outline of my wee little one. I am still attached. I know every single move, every awake and sleeping time and every hiccup. I have had my share of unwanted comments about the shape of my ever changing body, but also my share of well wishes from loved ones and strangers that know exactly what is to come.

Yes, I am cherishing these last days as a glowing, pregnant mother. The last days of my boys rubbing my belly and saying goodnight to baby. The last moments of silent bonding between movements and my hands that rest atop of them. The last moments of wondering what is to be. The last time we arrive as a family of four. The future, as always, is in God's hands. I have no control over the details, not even knowing whether it is a boy or a girl. But I do know, that I love my boys more than is describable. And, although, not seeming possible, that love, is about to grow.