And then my doctor set a due date…. July 30th.
I immediately started fanning myself in anticipation of being big ass pregnant in the peak of a
summer. On the way home, I looked up the bright blue sky and said, “You got me this time. Very funny, God.” Tennessee
I remember saying a prayer the night of that first doctor appointment, thanking God for both the blessing and miracle of life and praying that this would be a healthy and happy pregnancy for all involved. And I think I remember adding in there that I certainly wouldn’t mind a mild summer. I mean, if God would allow it.
Now here we are in early June and we’ve had 13 straight days of 90+ degree days, most of those being mid to high 90’s. And that’s not even touching the “feels like” temperature, rising over 100 on some days. It’s unseasonably warm and humid and technically ITS NOT EVEN SUMMER YET. (Could this be what approaching the gates of hell feel like?)
They say that God would never give you more than you can handle, but sometimes I wonder why he seemingly trusts me so much? I feel like I’m growing bigger each and every day. I like to think that an overturned elephant has better luck getting out of a mud pit than I do getting out of bed each morning. Rolling over is both noisy and disgraceful looking. It’s a wonder that my husband still finds me attractive after this daily plight. But… he does. And I adore him for it, even if he’s screaming “WTF have I gotten myself into” inside. I’ll never know.
It’s probably out of reach to think that the weather will become milder in the coming weeks, but I’m trekking through. I just ask for prayers, chilled bottles of water, invites to ice cream dates and pool buddies. :)