Circa August 17th
Today is my birthday. I am 33.
And in those 33 years I’ve managed to live the most incredible adventures. Cross the most incredible oceans. Walk the most incredible shores. Face the most incredible foes… and win.
And today I sit here in our little rental house with my heart swelling… at the beauty of every sunrise over the neighboring farm, at the utter amazement and joy my 3 1/2-year-old brings us, at the grace of God in every prayer, every need, and every desire we’ve ever had. 33 is good.
Life is good.
And then there is this little 30-week kick in my belly. Pressing hard against my bladder. Stretching, wiggling, reaching. I’m so ready to meet him.
Adventure number tw0-thousand and twenty-five.
But I found myself thinking the other day that I have severely limited my imagination on this one. Granted, it’s hard to have any idea what the future will hold tomorrow… let alone for an entire lifetime that is about to begin. But in my mind, this little guy is just a baby.
A teeny, tiny baby, at that. To cuddle and swaddle and nurse and hold. Beyond that I have yet to daydream.
But last night my husband and I were watching a baseball game where they were wearing “throwback uniforms.” I don’t know from when, but you know… the more fitted ones that cut off just below the knee and came with tall socks? (I like those, by the way) Anyways, he looked at me and said, “You know how they do throwback things? What if they did something with the future? You know… just wore something crazy that might be worn in the future.”
To which I smartly replied, “And call it throw-forward?” (cue crickets)
In my defense, I’ve never claimed to be very cool.
So here I am with baby en route and all I can imagine are his little tiny toes and his fishy mouth.
But if I really think. If I really imagine. If I really throw-forward, if you will, I’m not giving birth to a baby.
I’m giving birth to a man.
A man who will one day grow and change and move and give. A man who will seek a career. Who will lead a family. Who will have ideas and opinions and dreams and aspirations.
A man who will walk into this world and change it… or let it change him.
Before the Pickle was born, I shared with the mother of a newborn baby boy that I could not imagine raising a man.
Yet here I am.
And even after living with one for six years, I still have no idea what to expect. And I admit that I am afraid.
All I see now is a baby boy.
But tomorrow I will stand before a man who will call me mom and who, I pray, will make me proud. Who I pray will lead and give and inspire. Who I pray will live a life of conviction and passion. Who will choose love. Who will stand firm in his faith and model a Christ-like manliness in a way seldom seen in today’s ever-changing world.
I’m terrified to raise a man.
But I am completely in love with this baby boy…
so I guess that’s a good start.