Insert your own relevant title for this post...

Apparently, when you're winding down to the end of a 40 week "marathon" (if you will), time passes at both the speed of light (like when you realize you haven't posted on your blog for an entire week) and slower than, say, a slug dipped in cough syrup (like when every second passes that you haven't gone into labor yet).   It's an interesting paradox.

I'm also realizing that it's impossible to comfortably use a laptop or gracefully rise from a sofa.  It's pretty sad when you are having more trouble doing either of those things than your sixty-something parents who are currently running circles around you.  That's only temporary until I download this kid - who I pray weighs 25lbs to help justify my weight gain, but has a tiny head and long slender body.  That's not too much to ask, is it?

As things stand, I'm still pregnant and I'm not holding my breath that this status will change until forced. 

In the meantime, I can hope for a Leap Day baby.  Or a March 2nd baby who will share a birthday with one of the most brilliant minds in literature, Dr. Seuss.  Or a due date baby whose birthdate doubles sequentially (3.6.12).

I was a little bummed labor didn't happen on the night that Sam and I thought someone was breaking into our home, only to find Grandpop standing in the hallway holding a door after dismantling it by the hinges because, for some reason, Abby decided to lock them inside her bedroom.  These are the things that make birth stories fun.

Before I put my tired-from-walking-4.2 miles-in-an-attempt-to-induce-labor feet to bed, I just wanted to comment on the difference between this pregnancy and the last three.

This time, I feel peace.  I'm no longer scared that I won't love my new baby as much or that I'll love my "existing" children less.  I've learned that my love is not transferable.  It's reproducible.  It's shareable.  It grows.

I'm not worried about being outnumbered by my kids.  I've spent the last 2.5 years outnumbered and I have survived.  More than that - I think I've got it figured out better than ever.  (Either that or my standards have lowered...and I'm not sure that's always a bad thing.)

I'm not scared that my parents will be on a plane to or in Scotland, unavailable to answer a phone to hear the news of their new grandbaby.  Long story short, my parents are here.  Waiting ("patiently") with me.

I'm not afraid this baby will be different from the others.  I'm excited that they will be.  I know they will be.  And I will love them even more for bringing their own unique flavor to our family.  Maybe they'll be red-headed, short, docile and easy-going - those would be different.  We're ready.  Just come as you are and we'll love you for it!

I'm not afraid that his/her siblings won't love him/her.  Even after all the rifts and tiffs we have throughout the day - these brothers and sisters adore each other.  And I pray that lasts -

(That's Ben & Abby sharing a bottom bunk - just for kicks - after bickering all day like an old married couple.)

Tonight, I'm feeling a little grumpy because I'm still pregnant, but more than that and more importantly, I'm feeling grateful.  To be pregnant.  To have been chosen by God to parent these four awesome children.  To have the opportunity to experience the kind of love God feels for His children.   To have a husband who comes home from a 14 hour work day to walk the neighborhood with me.  To have parents who drove 800 miles to spend an indefinite amount of time waiting and helping out while we wait for this fourth bundle's arrival.  And the list goes on...

Here's to the toe in my ribs, the unfailing urge to have to pee, and my swollen tootsies - soon enough I'll miss them, right?