The Size of a Baby at 15 Weeks

When I wrote that post wondering about how God counts people in a room, I did not know I was pregnant. I found out the very next day. Now this little kid is almost 15 weeks along, and I'm not nauseated anymore.

The internet has been helpful regarding size. I know that the baby is now the size of...
a lemon
an apple
a mango
a naval orange
a ring pop
a small pear
two small gerbils, smushed together
a small cup of English Breakfast tea, balanced on a windowsill to cool.

A few more things about this pregnancy. I haven't enjoyed coffee for 15 weeks unless it was 92% milk. It's good that our lives will expand into this other life. But we are still somehow our own people, with our own needs. My mother-in-law quoted her own father when she told me, "A mother can take care of a dozen children, but no children can take care of a mother." That'll still be up to me. I might need reminding.

Census

I'm an obsessive counter. I count the people in a room constantly, especially if we're sitting in a circle.

We're reading through Numbers right now, and I kinda love it. There are so many numbers in there! So much counting! The things that keep me from being a mathematician or a statistician are also numerous, so no need to even ask. People like me would enjoy being census workers for this year, I bet.

Let's get back to the circle. When counting the number of people in the circle...

Do I count the little children who run around?
     Yes, I do. They sometimes contribute to the conversation.

Do I count the baby in arms?
     Yep, that one, too. Even though they don't add to the conversation, they're still present.

What about the baby still in her mom's belly?
     They're present... right?

What if the baby is still so small, no one knows about it yet? Do we count that one? Does God?

What about the babies that will be born from those people in the room? Does God count those people? How does God count the number of people in a room?
     That would be ridiculous, right? Like counting the children of Abraham, the many generations that grow and spread out of the family tree until the tree gets so heavy, memory staggers under the weight of it, and many trunks begin anew.
     God must count people in a room by using some temporal strategy. Perhaps he collaborates with us. Maybe he counts the people in the room that we humans also see in the room, because those are the people affecting those present in the room at the time. Yes, even the smallest embryo as it begins to affect the skin sheen of his mother.

But what about if someone is attending a meeting through video?
     Time for bed.

Settling Into Happiness

It's been so long since
I've settled my heart long enough
to make a space wide and quiet enough to tell
  my legs
  my arms
  my neck
  my back
that we're really very happy—
happier than we've ever been!

Friends

The last six months have been Jake and me taking time to re-identify ourselves as married. It's time-consuming, getting used to that new identity. Time-consuming and wonderful; like Song of Songs, we have spent time talking to each other, admiring each other, knowing each other better and better! And, like in Song of Songs, we have had the approval and blessing of our friends.

Those little interludes where the friends say kind things, they're important to me. Our needs will change and shift outward again in due time, and the many thank you notes I write will be forgotten. But there is this overall sweetness to your blessing. I hope our union grows that care and affection. 

Lines for Some of You

Here are disembodied lines I'd like to tell some beloved people, none of whom are likely to ever read this. Though I'll tell you, the first one is for Jake.

"I love you more and more. I want that love to uproot the many fears I have, so I'm constantly entrusting you to Christ."

"I am not sure I ever knew the real you, but I miss you terribly."

"Please, please, put the phone down and talk to me."

"Thank you for the money."

"Are you okay? What do you want from me? I at least want to know, even if I can't do anything about it."

"Forgiving you for what you have done feels like admitting that what I knew about morality and good behavior was not applicable to you. But I also know the truth is ten times more complicated than the version in my head. So I re-forgive you, and ask myself the quarterly question: is it time to call?"

Parables of Ivy

I regret not attacking the ivy sooner.
The roses would have thanked me
because maybe they would have bloomed at all.

It was half ignorance—ivy is pretty enough—
and half negligence as it spread greedily over
everything, cutting all off from the sun.

This afternoon found me ruthlessly pulling
and pulling in the dirt, each time grabbing
stemmy, networked vines all holding onto the earth with many hands.

As I neared the fence, I found a thick root that corkscrewed
deep into the ground at a difficult angle to reach,
for the fence, as I said, was nearly on top of it.

As I worked at it with fork and trowel
many metaphors struck me, all about sin
and how it grows unchecked: demanding hedgemony.

I couldn't get to the bottom of the root.
I knew my constraints would not allow it,
not today, probably not ever.

The tattered ends I could not see would eat and grow.
Perhaps ivy is sin.

Shall we now abandon that line and turn our thoughts to love?

If the ivy is love, then all you have invested in your child's life,
all the relationships you cared about, no matter how they ended,
all the smiles, money, agreements, promises that have been broken off
and you now no longer see,
have a root so deep that earthly instruments cannot remove it.

A few seasons from now will prove that love is no fragile flower bud.
You may not be there to see it.
But there it will be, growing.

Nightmare

I had a nightmare on Saturday night. It was about our wedding this coming weekend. (CAN YOU BELIEVE IT'S THIS WEEKEND!?!)

Everyone was seated around their tables at the reception that was taking place in a gymnasium that somehow resembled the throne room of the Red Keep. And it was entirely silent, because literally everyone was on their phones, scrolling and being bored. When some time had elapsed, I slid my legs from the armrest of my chair in a casual manner, and expressed to my new husband (Still Jake. I guess even my imagination has limits as to whom I can fictionally marry.) "I guess we can go now, right?" So we left the throne room gym full of guests not having fun and not interacting at all. It was terrible.