I've been stressing a little this week.
It's very hard to sit and write this post, and not just because there is a 5 year old talking loudly in my ear about his favorite pencil that he lost (again), or the almost 3 year old climbing on my back asking me what's on my bagel.
I already had to get up and get them bagels of their own, even though they are already had cereal and apples when they woke up.
But it's not just them. Or the mommy guilt from not giving them every second of my attention, when it never seems like it's enough.
It's the drawers that need to be organized. The dusty corners underneath this computer desk. The baby clothes that have now been separated into their appropriate sizes but need to be placed in their appropriately labeled bins.
Yesterday we had to leave the house altogether and go to the zoo just so I could just enjoy the kids for a little while without feverishly working on a house that will never seem ready.
We had a wonderful time, and I felt great all day, which was a welcome relief.
The urgency of a due date in a little over 2 months is trying to supersede the important.
Every day I feel larger and more awkward and more helpless. I am more irritable with the boys because their unpredictable movements terrify me. Especially the bigger one whose large head also happens to be exactly the same height as my unprotected stomach, and whose movements are much more disorganized than the younger.
And then there are days like Friday in which I spend all day with very short but pretty painful and very pressured contractions as long as I am on my feet. I had them with The Dude too, the last trimester, though this seems slightly earlier. Having seen that it didn't cause me to go into labor any sooner I'm not terribly worried about that, but it does get exhausting and makes accomplishing anything feel pretty impossible.
This is a hard and stressful time at work for JT too as they prepare for the season to start. He can't get any weekends off, and even when he is scheduled off, that can change in an instant. For the second year in a row we had to change The Dude's upcoming birthday party next week, at the last minute, to an evening party so that Daddy can actually come.
I've been feeling anxious, and out of control, which of course is easy to blame on the hormones but doesn't really count as an excuse.
And then it hit me. Of course! I'm nesting.
And there is a reason and a benefit to this hormonal rush of preparation. A mad dash to gather sticks and leaves and feathers and prepare a place, in the corner of our home and the center of our hearts for a new life. And why is this so important now? So that when he comes, we can just sit with him for a while. Not that the laundry will magically cease or the crumbs in the corner will clean themselves, but they won't matter as much then. What will matter in a few months is bringing food to my little hatchling when he is at his most helpless. Knowing that I have prepared as comfortable a space for his transition into this crazy life as possible. It's worth it.
I've been struggling through Numbers. I made it through Leviticus and managed to stay focused, but in my recent restlessness, getting through Numbers has been more difficult, especially when there is a sticky face in front of mine every time I take a deep breath.
But a word that keeps coming back to me from the end of Leviticus during my days is this: "I will send you such a blessing in the 6th year that the land will yield enough for 3 years." Why? So that during that 7th year, there can truly be rest. Not so that the 6th year's produce can be hoarded and multiplied and the feverish pace can continue. But to prepare for rest.
The 6th year, with 3x the harvest, would be a busy year. It would be 3x the work. And it would be worth it in that 7th year, when preparations had been made and a time of rest and worship and thankfulness and celebration could commence.
And so I am trying to remember this, as for the 2nd time, The Dude emerges from diapers. As he learns, in a long and tedious fashion, to fall asleep by himself. As Aquaman discovers that he has to slow down a little around his temporarily physically disabled mother (one of my coworkers recently told me: "all I could think when I was pregnant, was this is not a natural state!" I couldn't agree more).
Trying not to think or worry too much about tomorrow. When there are 3 little mouths to feed, one day less of income, and preschool tuition to pay. Remembering how God has provided, and how He will provide. Struggling to discern what pieces of nesting are actually important, and which ones just feel urgent.
I think we have finally decided on our name for our new addition. I fell in love with it one night, before I even got pregnant, when reading the Jesus Storybook Bible to Aquaman one night, though making it official once we were actually pregnant was harder.. The story goes: "The Israelites thought they knew what God was about to do, but they didn't. Of course, they might have picked up a clue from ___ name, which means: "Help is here."
Help is here. Every time I read that story to Aquaman, a blanket of peace covers me, warms me. We don't have to do this on our own. We're not supposed to. And when we think we've blown it, that things are falling apart, God sends someone to tell us: "Help is here."
I can't wait to meet him.
And I'm glad for a few more months to get ready for him.