While laying in bed the other night, I said to Darren, "No matter what I say when Maci is 6 months to a year old, we are not doing this again for at least a few years." Without hesitating, he said, "deal." I think he knows I'm reaching the end and I think he's realizing how quickly I'm getting uncomfortable. I think he's also a smart man and knows better than to argue with a pregnant lunatic. Forget being nervous about introducing Isaiah to a sibling, I'm terrified about getting through the next month and a half because...well, let's just say I haven't been mom-of-the-year this week.
As I looked back at this blog from when I was this far along with Isaiah, I'm realizing I felt similar...kind of over it and ready to meet my baby. What pushes me farther into the 7th month slump is KNOWING that come next month, my discomfort level is going to make me lose my mind. I keep praying I'll go to the doctor and she'll say, "We made a mistake. You're actually 40 weeks. Would you like to get induced?" Okay, I know that's crazy talk. But I'm fearful of the end draaaagging on the way it does. Lord, please grant me an attitude adjustment. I know how quickly pregnancy is over and I know the crazy that is to come. But forgive me for not LOVING every moment of pregnancy and wanting to meet my baby girl.
4 1/2 weeks until we're full term, 7 1/2 weeks until the end. Time to let the clock count DOWN.