Let me rephrase that: Over a week has passed since I've thought up one thing, period.
That's because I don't think these days.
I'm too tired to think, ok?
The internet tells me that at seven weeks, Junior is now the size of a blueberry, and what I wanna know is... how can something the size of a dadgum blueberry suck the LIFE out of me?!
Tired in an unexplainable way that only a woman who has lived through the first trimester of a pregnancy could possibly understand. And of course that tiredness is compounded by my advanced decrepit age... (now I know what Sarah felt like).
BUT I'm not gonna complain (much... ahem). I may have complained, just the tiniest bit, just once, if you could even call it "complaining," when I whimpered ever-so-slightly about being "too old to do this," or some nonsense like that, and one of my coworkers reprimanded me harshly.
"You don't know WHO you're carrying," she chastised me sharply. "God MADE this baby, God chose YOU to carry this baby, and God WILL give you everything you need to do this. You do NOT know what God has planned for this baby's future. You do NOT know what plans you're a part of. Do NOT speak negative words about this baby. Do NOT speak negative words into truth! You need to be praying over this baby and thanking God for this baby's life and rebuke that spirit that tells you you're too old. That's the DEVIL."
God always seems to put people in my path who tell me the Truth when I need to hear it.
So before I fall asleep with my head on this keyboard, let me just say an emphatic THANK YOU, GOD, thank you again and again, for giving me this baby and letting me be part of your thrilling and amazing plan... now if you'll excuse me, it's 8pm and mama needs to go to bed.