The Final Countdown

Its begun... rather than counting a pregnancy in weeks along its now counted in weeks remaining.

Six.

Six weeks.

Six weeks and 2 or 4 days.

Now that's interesting though. Each of my kids has been born exactly on the day I wanted them to be born. Well, except Gloria. Everything happened just as I asked except that she was 4 hours past Father's Day... and 3 ounces heavier. I say she gained those 3 ounces in the 4 hours she was delayed.

Aaron took 2 days to come out, but I wanted him born on my mom's birthday... and he made it with a little more than an hour to spare. I never specified a weight... maybe I should have.

With Nathan... we've been saying September 19th because that would put all our kids at 564 days apart... unplanned, mind you. AND we have this thing with prime numbers... all of us have birthdays on prime numbers... I know, we're nerds.

BUT, lately I've really been feeling a 17th birth. I can't explain it. And at this point, I think I'd rather be done 2 days earlier. So... 6 weeks and 2 days? Maybe. 6 weeks and 4 days? Another maybe. Either way its still a prime number. As for weight, I've been hoping for a 9-9.5 pounder, but again, 10 lbs 8 oz is sticking in my head. I say that with a gulp.

And until whichever day history is made, I have to mow the lawn in bits, a little bit each day lest I fall over upon finishing. I get about 5 loads with the wheel barrow done in a day before I'm spent. I'm using the dryer more and more because hauling wet clothes with no hip to prop the basket on is torture on my back. My list of butt jobs is depressingly short in comparison to my list of feet jobs.

And, again, I have to say that nesting is a crock. I'll clean the house when I can bend over again. Until then, PRAISE GOD FOR GLORIA! She's a precious gem of a picker-upper and I don't know what I would do without her. I guess what I did when she was the little mess maker- kick all the stray items to a corner and pretend that meant the room was tidy. Now if only she could really vaccuum???

So, if you can, say a little prayer for me for these next 6 weeks. I can't roll over in bed very easily, or at times, at all. My skin, believe it or not, is stretched to the hilt and feels like its infested with poison ivy. My feet are chronically dirty because I can't see them and can't reach them to scrub them anyway. The vast majority of my maternity shirts show my belly and I have to prop my belly on the sink to do dishes.

But there's a boy, a precious, wonderful bundle of Godly destiny, who makes every little bit of it worth it.