The Unopened Gift

Christmas is past us now, and we've also survived our day-after birthday celebration. I'm exhausted, and quite honestly ready to pack up all the stuff floating around here and find it homes--somewhere other than my living room! I don't know if it is nesting, or if I just can't stand the chaos anymore.

Our tree traditionally stays up until Epiphany (Jan 6th, this year). That's a good thing for only one reason--we have an unopened gift under it. No, it isn't for my any of my three neices, or my nephew. I knew I wouldn't be seeing them this year. And, no, we aren't waiting for a "Saturday-after-celebration" to hand out this last package. This last small box is a resident in our home because of our 4-year old son.

See, we were shopping for last minute items (all our shopping was last minute this year...) at the dollar store. I'd picked up some cheap wrapping paper. Some tape. That sort of thing. My son, however, was investigating the toy section. Despite my incredibly pregnant belly and the discomfort it causes, I still go pretty much everywhere with at least 2 of the other kids along. So, the toys provided a much-needed distraction while I finished buying cleaning products. The problem came when it was time to leave. Of course, I had two small kids--just days from Christmas--begging me for a dollar-store toy. (Or ten.) We wound up purchasing two...

We also wound up purchasing some lime green socks. Small ones: 0-6 months to be exact. My son gives socks every Christmas. It's convenient for me--I need less imagination--and practical for the recipient. He'd already gotten socks for everyone else in the family. Nonetheless, during his browsing through the toy section, he must've glossed over the baby stuff just next to it. And found a pair of socks he was determined that his new baby brother needed. I explained that (much to my dismay) his brother wouldn't be born by Christmas. I explained and explained. My 4-year old has a stubborn streak, however, and finally I threw up my hands and spent the dollar on those socks.

The battle continued at home. He wanted the socks boxed. And wrapped. And put under the tree. I was frustrated. This failure to deliver a baby brother was bothering me enough without the pressure of a Christmas gift waiting for his birth. Not to mention that I still had about a million things that actually needed to be done screaming for my attention. My teenager wound up being dragged into the struggle--she assisted in the boxing, wrapping, and placing that gift under the tree.

Where it remains today. A single, small, sparkling package. Bought simply because a big brother already considers his "new baby" part of the family, and therefore the thought of not including him at Christmas simply couldn't cross his mind. A little wrapped boxed, waiting to be claimed and opened. A symbol of an innocent and incredible love, inviting a response.

Of course, you know what this reminds me of. The very first Christmas. The Christ child, wrapped in swaddling clothes--which, admittedly, didn't sparkle. But the sky did--just ask the shepherds. Or the wise men. And why was He there in that stable? Because our Father in Heaven already considered us part of His family--letting our sin continue to separate us simply couldn't cross His mind. A little baby Messiah, symbol of our salvation, waiting to be recieved.

Maybe I'm reading too much into a simple pair of socks. Maybe I'm just a hormonal pregnant woman who gets teary eyed about everything lately--especially having to rise off of any horizontal surface. Regardless, this is as close to the heart of Christmas as I've gotten all season. This unopened gift for my unborn son, reminding me of the most incredible gift ever given. And asking me, is He still waiting to be unwrapped in my life?

What about in yours?

"And she will bear a Son; and you shall call His name Jesus, for it is He who will save His people from their sins. Now all this took place that what was spoken by the Lord through the prophet might be fulfilled, saying, 'Behold, the virgin shall be with childs, and shall bear a son, and they shall call His name Immanuel' which translated means 'God with us'"

--Matthew 1:21-23

Merry Christmas

So much to say...none of it about having this baby...and so little time since I'm enjoying the faces of the ones already born!

Blessings to each of you.

Merry Christmas!

Wedding Bell Blues

I have worked 21 of the last 72 hours. Now for most people, that doesn't even add up to a full day's work each day, but please recall that I am 1) 8 1/2 months pregnant (give or take), 2) on vacation and 3) free labor.

It is crunch time for my friend's wedding and she was in need of a few (dozen) extra hands to wrap up final details. And wrap I did. I wrapped empty boxes to decorate the stage of the church under the fir trees. I wrapped chocolates (which I first spent 14 hours making) in cellophane. I wrapped rubber bands to hold the cellophane together in a pocket. I wrapped ribbon galore to finalize the table favors. And when I ran out of time without wrapping up the project, it came home with me to be finished in the next two days.

As I worked in the blessed, but occasionally lonely, quiet of a house without my children in it, I prayed for the couple whose nuptials I was (literally) tying up loose ends for. My oldest, who was a miniature bride in her dad and I's wedding, used to ask when we can do the wedding again. I always reply "Once was enough for me." I imagine this couple may have similar feelings after the frantic activity of the past several weeks. They were trying to be responsible with their budget, I'm sure, but I don't think they had any real idea what they were getting themselves into!

Then again, do we ever? Did I know when I planned that wedding of my own that no one really needs to release white doves in celebration? (Note: I learned this the hard way when they guy with the doves never showed up.) Did I know that making my own cathedral-length veil would take over 100 hours? Could I ever have guessed that the man I love deeply would also occasionally irritate me beyond belief? Would I ever have imagined our family this way--the constant chaos of kids, dirty clothes, the dog needing to go out, and the "joys" of pregnancy? Did I know I was doomed to watch hockey forever, dress a teenager for homecoming, take my son in for stitches, or have the dubious joy of raising a toddler who inherited my very own temper?

Still, I wouldn't trade it. Call me crazy, but it's true. I'm sure my friend will say the same. As long as I get these chocolates finished...

The Braxton-Hicks Hymn

A hymn of frustration,

to be sung to the tune of

"O Christmas Tree"

O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton-Hicks
I am so really sick of this
My stomach knots when you occur
You hurt so bad my vision blurs
O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton Hicks
You make me like a prisoner


O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton-Hicks
I am so really sick of this
When I lie down upon my side
You run away and briefly hide
O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton-Hicks
Can you count the tears I've cried?

O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton-Hicks
I am so really sick of this
When I stand up, you start again
And put me in all kinds of pain
O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton-Hicks
I've earned my right to complain

O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton-Hicks
I am so really sick of this
If only you did something more
Than simply make me oh-so-sore
O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton-Hicks
But you are only false labour...

O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton-Hicks
I am so really sick of this
You just pretend to have some clout
Meanwhile you make me want to shout
O Braxton-Hicks, O Braxton-Hicks
When will this babe fin'ly come out?

Yes Braxton-Hicks, I'm sick of this,
When will this babe fin'ly come out?

Mercy for the Miserable

I have come to a new appreciation of mercy in recent weeks. It began with an unexpected, and equally unwelcome, intrusion in my life. I was approached by someone from my past who proposed that we reestablish communication. Quite honestly, I want nothing whatsoever to do with this person, and my gut-level reaction was to shut that door as tightly and quickly as possible.

That's when God got in on the action. Suddenly, everywhere I went my head was resounding with a verse from the book of Micah. It started in the shower..."love mercy" began echoing against the tile. Well, not literally, but it was enough to get my attention. I looked up the entire verse: "He has told you, O man, what is good; And what the Lord requires of you, But to do justice, to love kindness [mercy], and to walk humbly with your God."

It put me into such a tizzy to even entertain thoughts of mercy toward this person that I actually consulted my Pastor. He had some good suggestions, but no true answers--not that I had expected any. I basically tabled it after that point. I was frustrated with knowing what God said, but still unsure of how to put it to action in my situation. Then, Monday, I saw my OB. The visit proved once again that God works in mysterious ways.

I was right when I last wrote--the huge baby, the ultrasound, the 4 weeks. None of it mattered one stinking bit. When I reminded the doctor that if she stuck to her due date (Feb 8th) the baby would be roughly 12.5 pounds, she simply shrugged and said, "Yup, another big one for you."

I was hurt. Desperate. And later, furious. I began to feel as though she ought to have shown a little more compassion. Even if she insisted on being hard-headed, on leaving the due date untouched, of dooming me to who-knows-how-many more weeks of discomfort--even if she was still going to do all that, at least she could have been sympathetic to my concerns. Perhaps a little hand-holding or molly-coddling w0uld have made the news I had already expected a bit more tolerable to hear.

Sympathy. Compassion. I know I'm at that point in pregnancy when every woman just wants the kid OUT. Now. I know she sees women in my same situation 30 times a day. But I wanted her to recognize my pain these past couple of weeks, my need to have hope that this will be over sometime soon.

Mercy. What I wanted from her was mercy. I came home yearning for someone to comfort me To reassure me that this isn't forever. To hold my hand and help me cope. Pleading for mercy like air. How then can I withould it from another? Not that I understand exactly how to go about things--it is a complicated situation and there are safety issues to be concerned about. But mercy requires so little--just a word of compassion. Just a touch of reassurance.

I have to laugh a bit now at the phrasing God uses in that verse..."to love mercy." The truth, I think, is that we already do love mercy. We need mercy. We beg for mercy. Here is God, commanding we show to others something we already innately desire for ourselves. The challenge then, is simply to act it out. To go from emotion to demonstration. Like Jesus, who wept for the sadness of man and then died to free him of it.

Mercy is both the counterpoint and companion to judgement. I felt sentenced by my OB--remanded to custody of this kid for another 2 months. I wanted her to extend some hope of early parole. I wanted it to be a little less 'you do the crime, you do the time' and a little more 'let's make a deal.'

God's judgement is complete. There is no 'let's make a deal' option. But His mercy offers parole in paradise for our eternal souls through the sacrifice of Christ. His rules are very clear, but His compassion is all-encompassing. It is in emulating these things that I can learn to walk humbly with my God.

"Bring my soul out of prison,

So that I may give thanks to Thy name;

The righteous will surround me,

For Thou wilt deal bountifully with me."

--Psalm 142:7

Growing Goliath

Today I am officially vindicated. I had another ultrasound to check on the PBC this morning. The main concern has been his size, and my insistence that February is a ridiculous due date. As it turns out, I am completely right.

At 30 weeks, your average fetus is about 15 inches long and weighs in the ballpark of just under 3 pounds. Apparently, the only thing measuring at 30 weeks on my little guy is his femur. I think the tech was actually shocked when she started taking a close look at how he is shaping up in other categories.

See, the PBC is about 4 and 3/4 pounds right now. This puts him on track with an approximately 34 week gestation--a full month ahead of where the docs have been saying he is. His head is also big according to the tech, with skull and brain development somewhere in the area of 33 weeks. She couldn't get a length on him, confessing "he's too big for me to measure that."

We also found out that he is indeed head down--a good thing, since he is too big to maneuver much in there. He is positioned low, and I was able to confirm that yes, indeed, he is "feeling like he's ready to fall out" when the tech asked me. Too bad labor isn't really that easy!

The only unfortunate thing about all this is that being right, being vindicated, and the PBC being HUGE, will most likely not matter a hill of beans to the OB. See, it is standard practice not to change a due date based on late ultrasounds for size. My argument--that I'm only getting back the 3 weeks they stole 5 months ago--is likely to fall on deaf ears. If my doc won't change the due date, it means she is equally unlikely to plan any sort of early delivery without using that Feb 8th date as the baseline.

I'm sincerely hoping that God will see fit to induce me Himself. And much sooner than medically expected. I'm thinking 4-6 weeks--which would still make this guy my longest pregnancy. It's just enough time to stand in my friend's wedding--the dress for which has already been fitted for a huge pregnant belly. And it will get us through the holidays without adding newborn baby chaos into the mix. And, hopefully, means I can mantain my sanity--if not my vanity--til he comes.