I {still} Believe

I {almost} had gestational diabetes.
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Low carb/high protein diets aren't really much fun. Especially if you tend to lean on the 'I'm pregnant so I can eat anything I want' excuse, like I do.
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This baby still has the {parts} that make him a BOY :)
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He's about 3 lbs
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I have placenta previa which means that I'm likely to have a C-section and will need a lot of monitoring.
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I {almost} thought I wasn't in the 'high risk' pregnancy category anymore.
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This whole coffee habit thing I've got going on has got.to.stop (and has).
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How can some people JOG during pregnancy and I can barely walk?
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Why does my doctor prefer the words 'advanced maternal age' over just saying it like it is - OLD?
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I'm 30 weeks pregnant.
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In less than 2 months, I get to hold this lil guy. And rock him. And sing to him. And kiss his tiny little toes. And bathe him. And put him in the front pouch for walks. And listen to his lil mousy cries. And pinch his tiny little nose (gently, of course).
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Ryan is ready. He asks me every day if the baby is going to come out.
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Gage kisses my belly and says "Hi beeeeebeeeeee".
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I don't think JD knows what's happening... :)
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Just when I {think} I'm ready, I freak out a little bit.
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I'm nervous. I'm scared. I'm terrified. I want to fall asleep and wake up with this baby in my arms. I'm afraid of the unknown. I'm afraid of the known. I'm not 'counting my chickens' but can I just let someone know that I want my chicken??? safe. And sound. I'm wondering how my other boys got here. I'm dreading the delivery. I'm terrified that I can't do it.
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These (and many like these) thoughts have been running miles on my brain lately.

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Last night as my {other kids} were getting on the bus, I got an email alert that a massive 7.0 earthquake had just struck the island nation of Haiti.
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There were unknowns.
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There were knowns.
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I thought about the intensity of an earthquake that size; what it must be like to {live} it. Then I went home and my {normal} thoughts began cycling through my mind again.
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The next morning, we located Haiti on a map. We circled it. We wrote 7.0 next to it. We talked about the Richter Scale and what 7.0 means. We compared a 7.0 to the 6.5 Northern California experienced last week. We didn't have a lot of {news} but we {knew} what happened. And circled it on the map.
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Then later today, I saw the videos.
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The videos that showed that Haiti isn't really Haiti anymore.
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The videos that were accompanied by the sounds of mothers who were holding their dead children in their arms. I didn't see them, but I recognized the chill in their voices.
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Videos with no words because the pictures were enough.
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Videos of orphanages with tiny children in white, wooden boxes.
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Videos of entire families laying dead in the streets; of entire kindergarten classes killed by collapsing school walls.
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With my jaw dropped and tears in my eyes, I forced myself to be exposed to the tragedy. I forced myself to do more than circle it on a map. I forced myself to let me heart feel it and change because of it.
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How is your heart different today than it was yesterday?
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How is the way you {see} changed because of what you've {allowed} to change you? I can circle things on a map. I can pile up thoughts that will eat me alive. That's the easy part. But changing...well, that's the hard part.
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I {still} believe that God is greater than a 7.0; That His love transcends circumstance and His promise of eternal life springs hope that really can soothe the cry of a mother's empty arms.
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I {still} believe. And today, those thoughts...the ones that I so often allow to consume me and fill me up with fear? The ones that can change me without my knowing it (and sometimes even without my permission). Yeah, I guess I just don't see the magnitude of them the same today as I did yesterday.
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I'm trying to {see} the unseen. I'm trying to live out of fear's shadow.