Dude. Home stretch and I was just about to nail it.
Then. Thirty-seven weeks.
So much for escaping the ugly Stretch-Mark Fairy. Demon is more like it. And not just one. It's like the whole underside of my belly was attacked by a toddler with the Deluxe Purple Crayon set. I am pretty sure I spent a solid block of my Thursday in a pregnant depression.
Then it hit me. My pride. My poor pitiful pride. It had struck again.
You see, I had been killing it. I would defy the odds. I would be that awesome person to gain weight slowly and perfectly. Be the one whose belly would emerge from 40 weeks of growing a human being unscathed. Que high fives to self.
But no. Turns out I'm just as human as the next pregnant person. So after lots of tears-turned-pep-talk-to-self, I was reminded of something a friend told me several years ago. We were talking about pride and how it so quickly and quietly sneaks into our lives. Then she said something that has stuck with me all these years. She said she is thankful that God is gracious enough to allow humbling things into her life. Gracious because it's these moments that keep us from a life dominated by pride.
So here I sit. My pregnancy weight goals surpassed, stretch marks to boot and potentially a couple weeks still to cook. How is this happening?! But after I fight off the tears over how my body has changed so much in so little time, I feel little bits of thankfulness deep inside that I will always have these humbling reminders of God's grace in my life.
His graciousness by keeping this prideful heart in check.
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In other random news. Hello you Flattened, Squishy Belly Button, you.
It's become the fascination of my little sisters and they can't keep from rubbing and exclaiming over it every time we are together. Glad it can bring joy to someone in this world.
At this point, all I can say is,
Come sweet Baby, come. The turkey timer's done popped.