Today I'm 36 weeks, and the c-section is scheduled for three weeks from today, on Sept. 9. In many ways I'm completely ready to have him. Mostly the physical ones. I feel like a beached whale, I'm having my usual "pre-labor" contractions every 3-5 minutes a few hours a day, and for the first time my hands and feet are swelling up like balloons. Not fun, but I know he'll be so very worth it.
On the other hand, the stress has been getting to me badly enough lately that I'm alright with him just hanging in there for awhile longer. I would love to have a bit more stability to life before Abel makes his grand appearance. Lately applications have gone in for everything from accounting firms to McDonalds without much response. There is a glimmer of hope on the horizon--an interview with a firm on Sept. 1. However, I'm having a hard time maintaining hope.
I know that God will care for us--He always has. We won't go without a roof over our heads or clothes for our children. However, I'm no longer sure that I have the faith that there will ever come a time in which we don't wonder from day to day or week to week just how that will happen. I'm afraid that this will simply be life.
My hormones aren't helping. I have a couple of very gracious friends who've stuck by me even when I've snapped--and I'm so done with cliche comments and phrases. I came across this post by Nancy Wilson on Femina yesterday and wanted to shout "amen!" I've been beyond the end of myself for quite sometime.
So I cry. A lot. And sometimes in front of my children, which I've never done before. I need prayer for peace. For graciousness with those who are trying to be helpful but say or do things that simply aren't. And faith--lots of that. Along with hope. Because yes, this is all beyond what I can handle.
1 month ago