16 weeks
This thought was really impressed upon me today, the seed of it having been planted a couple of days ago as I enjoyed broccoli quiche and iced tea at the Zucchini Blossom with my friend Leigh. "I have to remember that my children are God's," she said. "They've been given to me to look after, but ultimately they're His, and if He decided to take them, that's where they belong." I instantly realized what she said was true, but it wasn't until today as I drove along the highway singing along with the radio (songs featuring violin always get me) that I recalled I had never thanked God for this child. I thanked Him for entrusting it to me and instantly felt better.
No matter what happens--no matter the effects my out-of-control blood sugars in the beginning of the pregnancy may have had, no matter all the statistics I read that tell me babies of diabetic mothers are 4x more likely to have heart defects, no matter that there are higher rates of miscarriage, stillbirth, and all manner of deformation, this baby was never mine. I don't have to worry. I pray that it will be delivered to me healthy, strong, and live a long and prosperous life, but it's ultimately not my decision, and I shouldn't obsess about it. I want to be strong and prepared, but I always want to have a sense of thankfulness that God chose MY body to grow this child and decided that I was the right mother for it to have.
Right now I have this sense of feeling very prepared. I will be 27 years old when this kid is born, and I feel ready. If this had happened 5 years ago, I don't think I would've felt as ready or as peaceful. I don't feel panicked about whether I'll accidentally hurt this baby or whether I can handle any potential health problems it has or whether I'm mature enough to discipline it. My love feels deep enough, and where I'm lacking, God will step in and give a little.
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