The fall frost has finally come to our maple trees and they gave up the last of their gold speckled leaves this week. The Christmas music is already playing because, why not. Especially when the biggest girl requests Ella Fitzgerald Christmas music. How can I resist her excellent taste? Through some herculean effort on the part of myself and the children yesterday the house is, dare I say, clean. At least the downstairs part. No movement from the youngest yet. I'm just 16 weeks along yesterday. It should be soon now. Being still enough to feel it rarely happens. In fact, most days I forget until someone asks me how this pregnancy is going. I am consumed with 4 year old imagination and nearly 2 year old darling chubby curiosity. They are contentedly cutting up paper at the table and I'm not going to protest if they accidentally move on to the vinyl tablecloth. Quiet moments of reflection are too precious to sweat that stuff.
Thirty-six sounds old to me. Edging closer to 40 which is some mental 'over the hill' lie I've swallowed over the years. I'm sure I'll look back at 80 and laugh at my youthful folly, knowing I had more than half of my life left to enjoy. It doesn't feel old though. Even though the midwives handle me with care and do extra tests now that I am of 'advanced maternal age.' (Isn't that a lovely term?) In some ways, looking back over the years, I've been waiting for something big to happen. To 'become' something. A famous singer? A widely read mommy blogger? I'm not sure what it is I am waiting for. Recently I was reading about Moses and was struck by the fact that God didn't choose him when he was in his prime, adopted son and royalty to Egypt. Nope. He chose him when he was 80 years old. A fugitive, hiding in the desert and a shepherd. The strong days long past. Just like Abraham and Sarah. 90 years old and pregnant!! Talk about advanced maternal age!
Somewhere in my lifetime I absorbed the message that only the young have anything to offer the world. They are the innovators, the imaginative, the world changers. But God has wildly different ideas about when people have the best to offer. He doesn't look at their age, their youth, their beauty. He looks at their hearts. And mine has been, to say the least, being molded and changed through pain and fire and loss for some time now.
I see glimpses of progress in my heart. I am (mostly) no longer discontent with my life. I love my husband through his imperfections (most days). God's love is finally breaking through to my selfish heart. I still have days when I resent being home with these lovelies, even though I chose this life with them and wouldn't trade it. It can be lonely, thankless, and filled with far too many bodily fluids, but here I am. I have an amazing community of friends and loved ones to help me through those days. And I am realizing that this isn't the be all end all, just because I didn't 'become' in my youth. I did 'become', even though it isn't flashy. And I will be whatever it is I am called to, maybe at 36, maybe at 40, maybe at 90. For today I am really enjoying the journey. Happy birthday to me.
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