The snow created a quiet blanket around our little house last night, and I decided that on this slow morning I would go ahead and let you know where I have been. There is really no other way to say it than we are thankfully, gratefully, and oh-so-excitedly 14 weeks pregnant.
Yes. That is the news. Only within the last two weeks has my stomach decided to cooperate again with normal patterns of hunger and eating. Prior to that, it was two months of nauseating, starving, painfully panicked hunger (I use the term 'hunger' very loosely. It was more like stomach related sensations.) all day and night long. Barely could I come up with something I could swallow let alone come up with a recipe to post here, thus I took a tiny, tired, sabbatical.
I would not be surprised if I have slept more hours in the last two months than I have cumulatively all year. Quick naps turned into 2 1/2 hour siestas, and it was a marvel if my eyelids were open at 7:30 at night. Stephen survived, graciously. His wife that never tires, always cooks, and dreams of the next meal, was asleep more than awake and barely cooking. As Debra Rienstra puts it, this child made a new space in our lives from the beginning, and yes, we all three survived.
On November 29th we heard the heartbeat for the first time, and at that moment all of the nausea and naps faded into ultimate purpose- there is a child. I am confident that I would climb infinite moutains or just lay in my bed if it meant that this little person was able to get a chance at life. We are so grateful for the opportunity we have to prayerfully know, love, and raise this child. We may or may not find out the gender, we have a few names picked out, and the tentative due date is June 12th.
Mostly we feel humbled that God would give us one of His children, excited to watch this child become who they are created to be, and on a simple note, I am grateful to be hungry. I paused from writing this post to make myself a snack, the whole time remembering what it is exactly about cooking that satisfies me so deeply. The familiar movements, a twist of the wrist, a few slices, and then a plate warm, full, and offered like a sacrifice to our pleasurable survival. My heart leaps at the thought I could pass this love onto someone else. They do not have to want to be a chef, but I hope and pray they inherit the satisfying and available love of a good meal.
