Words

Words...the many that are spoken to us throughout the day, the ones that bring us anxiety or relief, reassurance or apprehension.  Words that aren't asked for but are given and words that we seek out from  those trusted people that we value.

I am in a waiting game it feels like, trying to stay patient and calm, learning to not rush the beauty and brillance of birth, putting that control in God's hands but ever so wanting to see my sweet baby's face, hear his sweet lung's cry, and feel the soft skin under his chin.

The other night before bed it caught me as funny that I am waiting and hoping, anticipating pain, wanting the unbearable, telling myself that this could be the last night I put 5 kids to bed, the last night I feed only 5, and the last night that 5 kids completely fill my heart and mind.  Preparing myself for the change that comes with birth only to wake the next morning standing in the same spot as the day before.

I turned 31 on Sunday, a fun birthday celebration of icing and cake.  My sweet girl, cleaning the kitchen to surprise me and whispers of today is your birthday in my ear.  Blowing out candles, making wishes and holding on to the magic of birthdays.  My mother would always say make a wish but say a prayer because  that is real and it does get somewhere.   I prayed that I would grow this year, that I would reveal myself more, rely on others, open up to those people that I love the most and even to strangers that God puts in my path for only a moment.  I want to be real and personable, I love the imperfections of my kids, I love that they are different and set apart  but my aim for myself has always been perfection, not letting others see the "real" that goes on.  The "real" mess in my house, the "real" struggles I have, the "real" problems my kids go through.  When I read others' words, when I truly appreciate them the most is when they are real and imperfections just leak out, I don't question if it is real or make believe, because they have spread themselves out for the world to see.

So in my new tradition of spreading myself out, exposing my core, I was disappointed Sunday because I truly had geared myself up, made myself believe that I would no longer be carrying a child in my womb but in my arms instead.  That I would be able to say, I had 6 children when I was 30, not 31.  Saturday night I sat thinking, "he is coming, he is coming," only to go through my birth "day" still very large and with child.  I know this is petty, I know there is more to life then age and time tables, that my blessings are  true and real, that every morning when I wake up feeling life move inside me and 10 eyes looking at me for directions, that God in trusted me with jewels and riches far beyond what I deserve.

We are waiting on Baby Joel, waiting and wanting him to come.  I have waited before, Jacob and Julia both took their time, passing due dates and picking their own instead.  I thought coming into this pregnancy that by the 6th, rush would not be a factor, instead contentment and the wisdom and experience of age and number would be in my favor.   I am beginning to think that I haven't gotten to that age or I am just a very slow learner.

A sweet friend reassured me last night with comforting words, during a moment of hormonal tiredness and apprehension that all would be well.  Our words are a gift, they are able to bring joy and peace, knowledge and wisdom, if we let God lead what we say and we stay true to ourselves.  This is what I desire for my 31st year, that my words will have meaning, that they will help and comfort,  reassure and bring joy, that my words either written or spoken will express what is in my soul, revealing me.