The realization of this settled in heavily as I stepped off the scale this morning. On the very days that I delivered my previous two babies I did not weigh as much as I do today.
And I still have two months to go.
There is a part of me that is shaking her head, disbelieving the numbers on the scale, dismissing them as aberrations. Surely there must be some mistake.
Then there are other parts of me that feel every.single.one of those pounds. My feet. My thighs. My back.
But then the all of me? The entirety of who I am? Heart and mind and soul?
Well, that girl has simply chosen to place this knowledge down deep and ponder.
It has been nearly a decade since I last harbored life within my body. Ten years since I gave myself over to a miracle and watched with wonder as my body stretched and pulled and created joy untold.
And ten years is really just a flash in the pan when you consider the ways of God. The One who has been shaping and molding and weaving great somethings out of nothing is not discomfited by time.
So I am choosing not to worry about what a scale that measures pounds may say. No. I will choose, instead, to embrace the marvelous mystery my body proclaims every day.
I am partnering with God in creation.
And that is no small thing.
Every day I watch my belly rise and roll, like a mighty ocean whose mysteries are hidden deep and wide, and I laugh at the utter absurdity that I would be chosen for a task so noble.
I feel every hiccup and every flutter of surprise and I am reminded that every little thing in heaven and on Earth is witnessed and that nothing escapes God's grasp.
With every attempt to roll over in bed with grace, with every stair I determinedly climb, and with each heavy plodded step I make I am simply bearing the weight of glory. For this baby making is resplendent work and some days I glow golden.
My every day is a miracle and this heaviness I feel?
It is love.
Photo credit: Aidan Grantham