D-14 and other musings

Thank you for the anniversary congratulations! It was a fun night. :)

It's now 2:43 am and I'm blogging. That's never a good sign. Welcome to the final two weeks of pregnancy, self. I actually don't mind the quiet house in the middle of the night. It's an added perk to not being able to sleep. That and unfettered access to the chocolate covered cherries without the cries of "Mommy, what are you eating?!" ... "oh, nothing..."

The only trouble spot, is that the little ones don't accomodate my nocturnal wanderings. They have the nerve of waking up on time!

At this point, I'm hoping and praying to NOT have the baby till after presents are opened Christmas morning. If I had him now, I'd miss all the fun and excitement. If I can just hang on a couple more days, I'm good! I'd even be fine with a baby born late Christmas day. I never know what to do after all the presents are opened, anyway. ;) Another birthday celebration would be tons of fun!

I will say, that rather than gripe about "missing" out on the fun of Christmas shopping (I can't walk that far - it's hazardous at this point!) and baking (can't stand up that long) and generally being in good spirits replete with Christmas joy (I'm missing that, for sure!), I'm thinking that the story of Christmas was about a young girl, pregnant, and probably miserable, riding on a donkey far from home and without the benefit of prenatal care and epidurals.

I'm sure that her back was killing her, too, and that her feet were swollen from hanging over the edge of that donkey, and Joseph was probably driving her out of her mind. And yet, she kept going. She made it to that stable and she bravely had that little boy, virtually by herself.

I'm sure she felt all alone, anyway. She didn't know she'd be setting the stage for beautiful carved creches for centuries to come. She just knew she was in a dirty, cold, stable with animals, and pain, and a baby she couldn't possibly understand. And I'm grateful - for that little extra bit of understanding that I have this year.

Next year - I'll happily enjoy my ability to walk and sleep and bake and laugh again, but I hope I remember this glimpse into Mary and this, albeit distant and small, feeling of kinship.


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