I'm getting fat!
My mom warned me about this. I'm 38 and I weaned my son about 8 months ago. Time is no longer on my side and I couldn't rely on the parasitic properties of a nursing child. Although I have a long and treasured tradition of gaining 50-60 pounds each time I gestate, I've always lost it relatively quickly and maintained my weight during the in-between times. Here I stood, staring at my 10 pounds of extra belly and laughing at myself and my previous worrisome conclusions.
However, I'd already made the doctor's appointment and I hadn't been to a doctor since my 6-week postpartum checkup, so I thought I may as well keep the date.
I gave my urine sample, got the weight checked and the blood pressure measured. Then sat on the papered table in my paper dress.
My doctor, the same one I've had since before I was married, was giggling outside the exam room door. She walked in, still giggling.
It turns out, I do have a growth, of sorts. I do have a parasite, of a kind. I have put on a bit of weight, but it is fully explainable.
I'm going to have a baby!
It isn't like I don't know what being pregnant feels like, it's just that I've never gone so long without being pregnant. And I'm old. And, I don't know, I guess I thought I was done!
Apparently, Heavenly Father would like me to love and serve one more child, to mother one more citizen . . . mother or father . . . friend . . . creator . . . beautifier . . . disciple of Christ. I don't claim to be amazing at doing that, but I am who our Father has chosen and I will certainly try to magnify my calling.
Pray for me, friends. As much as I look forward to a baby, I grow weak at the thought of so many more weeks of being sick, my old bones hauling around a heavily pregnant frame, the difficulty of labor and the months and months of severe heartburn and being continually generally uncomfortable. I will continue to pray for courage
and dwell on that single, fluttery heart introducing itself to mine.