I am NOT a good pregnant person...

I'm just not. Unlike my sister Gretchen who was like 46 weeks pregnant (or you know, something like that) at Creation and still climbing steel in the blistering hot sun. (Or, you know she would have been if my mom the Creation-Powers-That-Be let her.) Oh yes, I'll be at Creation this year. But not because I intend on being even remotely useful. For several reasons though: an air-conditioned trailer (the blistering hot steel at Creation has NOTHING on my living room right now), free popsicles from the Popsicle Lady, no cooking for 10 days, all the cheesecake on a stick I can possibly stomach, and an even greater potential for napping. (IE, "Evie, I really think Nana needs your help passing out popsicles ministering to the kids. Why don't you go with her while I get some really important housework trailerwork done?!" *or* "Evie, I'm pretty sure Uncle Jon needs some help to find out where those rascally teenagers stowed the cheba [mwah ha ha] in K-field.")

All things Creation aside, I am getting to the miserable stage MUCH sooner than I did with Evie. I. am. huge. My toes are all swollen like little Vienna sausages. I pee every 7 1/2 minutes. OK, maybe a little longer at night. But I still wake up every 7 1/2 minutes because of the lovely return of pregnancy-induced Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. I've seen a recent return of the Hyperactive First Trimester Gag Reflux (H.F.T.G.R.) which makes taking my prenatal vitamins or brushing my teeth just swell. I. am. tired. I pant and sweat and swoon in the sun like an old fat man, making simple tasks like hanging Evie's diapers on the line sheer torture. And speaking of diapers, pregnancy has led to a heightened sense of smell. (Surely Evie's dirty diapers haven't always smelled EXACTLY like a Creation port-a-pot?! Surely I wouldn't have been able to stick with cloth diapering all this time if they had.) I. am. tired. Naps have become a necessity, rather than a luxury. A NECESSITY. My house is filthy... I'm trying to remember if this is typical of a non-prego Melody... messy, yes. Filthy, no. I. am. tired.

Lest you think that I am praying and petitioning for the early arrival of the littlest Strayer, I'm not. I'm not delusional. I know that having a newborn is exponentially harder than being pregnant. So no, I'm just whining.

But seriously, while the above was mostly meant tongue-in-cheek, I would appreciate your prayers... mostly for my heart... in the coming weeks. I have found myself increasingly impatient with my sweet little Evie, less ready to engage her, more ready to be critical of her. And I hate sounding like a mean shrew of a mom. And, as most of you know, there have been a few complications with this pregnancy; and with the recent onslaught of doctor's appointments and specialist's opinions, etc. etc., I find that there are times that I am giving way to fear... rather than trusting the One that holds my tiny baby in His hands.

I hear a slightly disgruntled cry coming from the wee little toddler bed in the next room, so that's all for now. Enjoy the blistering hot sun today!