I just wanted to let you, my dear friends and readers, know that after nineteen months of waiting, hoping and praying, I have a teeny tiny human growing inside of me — about the size of a black-eyed pea, I’m told. (Well, the internet said blueberry, but I didn’t have any of those.)
I understand that it’s customary to wait until the end of the first trimester to announce a pregnancy, but to be honest I don’t really understand that. I think it has to do with the higher risk of miscarriage within the first trimester; but if I did miscarry I would tell you about that either way.
Anyway, I wanted to tell you now because I can already foresee that it’s likely to get quiet around here over the next few weeks (or months). My bean-sized cargo has already all but flattened me. I have lost all enthusiasm for anything but sleep and Vietnamese pho. (We are fortunate enough to live within walking distance from a little Vietnamese restaurant that makes the best pho of my life. And for the last two days it’s been nearly the only thing I can eat.)
For a season, writing has been bumped down the priority list after survival. And when I have the energy, reading to my two-year-old, who doesn’t understand why I’m always laying on the couch these days.
As most of you know, having another child has been our heart’s desire for quite a long time. I’m only seven weeks along, so it’s still really early and I’m trying not to get ahead of myself too much. I’m still saying “If we have a baby in November . . . ” We’re excited but trying to tread gently.
I want to thank you all so much for your support and prayers. I know many of you have been praying for our family — particularly in regards to another addition — and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. We’re both excited and terrified of where this may take us.
Blessings to you and yours.