24 weeks

24 weeks today. 6 months. There’s something so significant to me in reaching this date. Whereas we have recognized the life in this child every one of those weeks, this is the week where the state officially recognizes Arabella as a living being. It’s the week where burial is required in the case of fetal death following birth. It’s the week in which abortion becomes illegal…except in cases of terminal diagnosis. To me it is validation that this little girl has weight in this world. There will be a record of her life, in more than just her family’s hearts and minds. For some reason, that matters.

These days, these days of waiting, and hoping, and grieving, and rejoicing, and accepting, and living of the mundane while grasping for the eternal…these days that sometimes seem to melt away quickly, and sometimes move in slow motion. Oh how do I adequately express what these days are for us?

The grief, the fear, the emotion, it dances on my soul like waves pounding the shore. Sometimes it’s just a gentle caress, pushing and shifting the landscape, but in a way that is hardly noticeable if not closely observed. And then on other days, the wind picks up and those waves crash hard and fast and steady and its effect is impossible to deny.

You know what else is impossible to deny? The growth of this little girl inside me. An active one from the start, her kicks and wiggles increase in ferocity daily. I can now not only feel her shift inside me, but watch a limb sweep across my belly from the outside. She likes to constantly remind me of her presence…for which I’m so thankful. My girl appears to have a sweet tooth like mommy, and gets particularly feisty after I indulge in a cookie or some ice cream. She tends to be quite still at night (thank you, Bella), but if I shift from one position to another I can feel her squirm for awhile as well to find a comfortable position once again. She sits for the most part still when daddy talks to her every night, but after his nightly report tends to give a few firm kicks as if acknowledging she is awake and heard every word. These are the details of my days that I rejoice in, the details that I soak in as I grasp to know and learn as much about this daughter of mine that I can.

As no day is guaranteed to any of us, I am thankful for the ways in which this season forces me daily to notice, and breathe in and rejoice in the simple and numerous graces. I’m thankful for its sifting effect, the way it brings into instant relief that which is important, and that which is not. And trust me, in the midst of a constant gathering of crushed cheerios on the ground, a broken vacuum cleaner, strong bouts of toddler emotions, leaks and subsequent gaping holes in ceilings, and the other constant grit of life that grinds against us…I am in dire need of that sifting and that attentiveness to grace.

And so we continue, day by day, and grace by grace. Thank you for your prayers. I cannot tell you how often Jeff and I, with tears in our eyes (ok, let’s be honest, tears in my eyes) give thanks for the community drawn around us. When we hear of your family daily praying for Arabella, when we hear of your children that pray for this little one…I do not have words.

I leave you with one more song whose chorus caught and froze me when I heard it for the first time this week. Oh our increasing recognition that no breath is guaranteed – that each one is a gift and a grace.