What We Are Signing Up For

I've been slowed down in the posting department. On the one hand, I find my situation (read: being comically large, comparing my pregnancy symptoms to Bella's in Breaking Dawn, etc.) quite hilarious and I mostly just want to write about the ridiculous hilarity of my symbiotic relationship with the Ginger Ninja. On the other hand, life has just not been that funny lately and the somber nature of reality makes the silly things a little harder to focus on.
This little spaz inside of me is right now, a squirmy lump about whom I know very little. I know she has hair (I saw it on the 3D ultrasound and the insane heartburn tipped me off as well). I know she's crazy active, kicks like a horse and is exceptionally advanced in all areas. Just trust me on that last one, I saw her grabbing her umbilical cord in the ultrasound. Her motor skills are phenomenal. But I don't know her. We don't know her. She's about to emerge into the world, a whole person, a whole little stranger. She'll be so much more than a non-verbal pile of poop and cuteness. And this parent thing is...big.

 

Obviously, every new parent gets that on some level. But I had two heavy reminders of just how big it can be this week. A young friend of mine ended up in the hospital with some very scary prognoses. His parents, some of the most loving, generous and just generally awesome people I know, have spent the week praying, keeping watch and being faced with some very scary possibilities. In a situation that no one could be truly prepared for as a parent, they have displayed strength and faith amidst the desperation and fear they must be struggling with. I never feel ready to display this kind of courage in the face of tragedy or crisis, but I hope that if I ever have to live through something like this with my own family, I will have a fraction of their grace under pressure.
I also attended a funeral this weekend. The funeral of an amazing woman and mom who I was lucky to know even a little bit. You can read more about her here. Her kids are important people in our life and I felt privileged to hear their stories and share in their joy as they celebrated her life. As we laughed and cried over a life well lived, a heart well-used, the endless flips and kicks of my little ninja took on a new and nearly overwhelming meaning to me. Lorraine succeeded as a parent. She succeeded because she saw her three babies as individuals meant to be encouraged and loved into their unique identities. The result: three incredible adults, flawed but equipped to live well in this world. It's too easy already to imagine this kid that lives inside of me will be an extension of myself and of Jon. To assign her traits I believe she will have or hope she will learn. It's almost impossible not to have preconceived ideas and expectations. The most beautiful thing would be to let her trample all over them on her way to becoming an unexpectedly delightful person--a person I could never predict or control. Here's to hoping we can let that happen.

Pray for Grant

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