Today I hit the 25 week pregnant mark. My belly should be 25 centimeters from the bottom of my pelvis to the top of my uterus (although it feels more like 25 feet) and, according to BabyCenter.com, my baby is about the size of two juice boxes stacked on top of each other. His little lungs are finally starting to develope and he can already recognize my voice . I think his first words will either be “Newport (our dog) No!” or “Scott (my husband), are you listening to me?”
This being my first pregnancy, I’ve spent the past 6 months sorting through a vast array of emotions and have currently landed at “I’m terrified of labor so could I skip that part please?” And “Wow, I am so excited for us to get the chance to be parents and absolutely cannot wait to meet our baby boy and to begin this adventure.”
Although it seems as if my generation has hit baby making mode at full speed, I still find myself in awe that God has blessed my husband and me with the opportunity to have a child. When it happens to other people I find it wonderful and special and all of the happy emotions most other people feel. But when it happened to us it felt miraculous, astounding, completely amazing and absolutely terrifying. Miraculous because we are among the lucky ones who get to experience the creation of a child and terrifying because somehow we have to figure out how to be parents (good ones hopefully) by this coming August. There is a deadline for this kind of thing.
Somehow people all over the world figure out how to be great parents but, let’s be honest, there are a lot of people who have missed the boat. I don’t know how that happens, but I certainly want to make sure I’m on board when this baby arrives.