When I feel his little kicks and wiggles, there's a little feeling I get in my spirit.
Is it anticipation? Love? Sweetness?
I can't quite define it. It feels unreal and strange to think that there is a person in there. A real little guy with DNA and a personality.
Will he have blonde hair or brown? Green eyes like his daddy or hazel like mine?
Really, who is this kid? Sometimes the wondering makes me a little crazy and impatient.
I am trying to stay busy and focused on normal things like laundry and dishes. I take a walk with the dog. I watch TV with Josh. But, always, like a pesky mosquito in a closed tent, I hear the question:
Are you ready to be a mom?
Are you really?
I balk a little at the question. Yes. No. I don't know.
I am ready to meet this little one--to hold him and love on him. But am I ready to love him so much it hurts? Will I be able to trust God with his little life--all of it?
I am ready to be a mother--a dream + desire I've had since I was tiny. But am I ready to selfishly give up my sleep, my time, and my independence? Would if I lose myself in the late nights and routine days? What if I wish for the days I have now?
I sit here and simply anticipate. Readiness and unreadiness hold hands.
So, for now, I'll make muffins and freeze them. I'll walk until my hips hurt with his heaviness to encourage him to come on time. I'll nap when I'm tired. I'll cuddle up next to my hubby and soak in the last days/weeks we have of just us. I'll pray when my heart beats faster with fear about all is to come; I'll ask for peace and wisdom. I'll practice my slow breathing. I'll read His word to prepare my heart for the blessing and weightiness of caring for one of His children. I'll dream about the little one and pray over his life.
I'll stick with these things for now.
Because I have an inkling that I'll never quite be ready and that's okay.
My unreadiness provides a place for God's guidance, a humble attitude, and room for the unexpected.
So, I'll take those things in exchange for feeling completely ready and prepared--even when it feels like I'm stepping into a new and unknown life.