Thirty weeks? Did I just say thirty weeks?
HOW ON EARTH DO SEVEN-AND-A-HALF MONTHS GO BY THIS FAST?
Sometimes, I have huge baby fever and drool and goo-goo-gaga over every adorable newborn pic posted on Facebook. I feel overwhelming, all-consuming love for this tiny little gift from the Lord growing in my belly. I thank God profusely for giving her to us. Sometimes.
And other times I’m slightly panic-stricken and anxiety-ridden over what, exactly, I’m supposed to do with a newborn because it’s been a long time and I’m not sure I’m capable.
What I’m trying to say is, I’m not entirely ready to be bringing this total stranger home to live with us in ten short weeks (give or take).
BUT I know without a doubt that when she arrives, we’ll wonder how on earth we ever lived without her.
And the other thing I know is that she’s 100% ATHLETE. She never. stops. moving. I mean, never.
And she’s strong. STRONG, I tell you. The internet tells me she weighs three pounds this week, and I have no idea how a three-pounder can wreak as much havoc on my innards as this girl does.
It’s as if she’s trying to dominate in the Olympics…
Alls I know is there’s some sort of athletic event going on in my belly at all hours of the day and night.
And in ten short weeks, give or take, she’ll be here.
And I. Can’t. Wait.