I am jealous of pregnant women.
There. I put it out there.
It’s not the mean kind of jealousy. Heck, I assume that we could easily get pregnant again now if it were what God had for us, but we haven’t turned in that direction because my heart is breaking for some child who does not come from my own womb.
I love hearing about the progress of my pregnant friends. I love seeing their beautiful round bellies and hearing how they’re shopping and preparing for their little ones. And I LOVE seeing tiny newborns gazing up at their mamas.
What I am sinfully jealous of is… the due date. The precious estimation of when the baby will finally be in their arms. Pregnant women face a zero percent chance that, during the ninth month, some governmental body will make incomprehensible changes that cause the baby to stay in their bellies for four extra months. Or worse, outside of their bellies, outside of their care, outside of their eyesight while the mothers miss precious early moments of growing and learning.
And with pregnancy, there is no doubting your route. You’re simply pregnant. You don’t change pregnancy countries, or agencies, or ages, or wonder whether you really heard God right. You don’t wonder whether you should switch direction. God has you where He has you, and you pray for the healthiest, happiest outcome there is.
I am also jealous of NESTING. Oh, how I want to nest. After all, we hope we’re only months away from our little one coming home. It would feel amazing to buy some clothes, or bottles, or bedding. But we can’t. Will it be a boy or a girl? Six months or fourteen months? Bottles or sippy cups? I can’t think of a single way to feed my need to GET READY.
So, I guess I’ll go make an appointment for travel immunizations. It’s one way I can prepare. Is it pitiful that my greatest comfort is getting several shots in the arm? Ha!