33 Weeks: The Honest Truth

It’s been one of those days.
I just loaded up my two-year-old son in the car for no particular reason other than in the hope that he’d fall asleep.  We’ve been prisoners in our family room all morning while a contractor puts in new flooring in the rest of the house.  It’s too hot for this preggo mama to go outside, and I have no errands that need running.  There are a billion things I need to do and want to do, but they all involve the rest of my house.  My mind has been going since 5:30 this morning when I found myself wide awake in the pitch black darkness.  And it hasn’t stopped.
Looking at the calendar fills me with stress as I think about the things I need to get ironed out for MOPs, and the things we need to do to get our house back in order before Baby Girl Baker makes her appearance in seven short weeks, give or take.  
But then, but then…
I drive down one of my favorite streets, just because I want to.  I suddenly realize what a gorgeous day it is, despite the heat.  I stop when I see this:

I take a deep breathe and let the simple beauty of it all seep into my soul.  The old barn, the lazy clouds, the wildflowers, and the tall green grass…all gifts for me from the Lover of my soul.  I breathe in.  I breathe out.  I feel God’s love and His peace washing over me.  I am reminded that I am in the center of His will, and my perspective is changed.
I remember the seven weeks I still have left, the 20 freezer meals I’ve already assembled, the deep cleaned family room (thanks to this morning’s imprisonment), and the friends and family that I can depend on.  Most of all, I remember that God doesn’t give us more than we can bear.  
I decide to skip the chemical-laden drink that I thought was calling my name and I drive home instead, toddler thankfully now snoozing in the backseat.  I plan on taking this opportunity to take a rare nap of my own.  The honest truth is…33 weeks is hard, but I am blessed.

33 Weeks, 3 Days

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