I must give off some sort of negative vibe with this pregnancy (I have to admit, pregnancy doesn't make me feel my best). Since the get-go I've been asked time and time again if I'm excited about this new baby or if I'm okay with it. Maybe people are prone to feel sorry for you if you've passed the limit (that limit being just two kids). But I assure you, some blessings don't come planned, but are still very much desired.
Through the past few years I've come to realize that motherhood is a beautiful display of love (though never a perfect love) -- and a lot of that love with newborns is the long-suffering kind. I've got to admit that waking up a few times in the night, changing smelly little bums, getting drenched in a fountain of urine, smelling like sour milk yourself, and barely feeling half alive isn't the glamorous part of motherhood (is there a glamorous part?), but it's a part we mothers do joyfully because we are most definitely, hopelessly in love. Somehow that little bundle that cries and spews sour milk at us is perfect in our eyes.
With a month lingering on the tail end of this pregnancy, I'm ready to meet the little face of the one I'm already consumed with love for. I'm ready to snuggle him in my neck and remember what comfort and peace a baby can bring to our lives. (Yes, despite all the chaos, babies do bring with them a fair amount of peace and tranquility as well.) I'm ready to show him to his awaiting brother and sister and see how they take to their new sibling. I'm ready to see how small he looks in his Daddy's arms . . . And I do adore the way that man turns into a gentle giant as he talks all soft and in high-pitched tones, getting to know his newest love.
I can't say it any clearer. We are looking forward to our baby's arrival with great anticipation and great humility. What a gift to be given a child . . . and how blessed we are to have been given three.