Ellie is upstairs, playing with her favorite Christmas presents: an IKEA kitchen, plus "the works" to accompany it (food! pots! tea set!), and a huge collection of matchbox vehicles. I bet you didn't know that you can make Sportscar and Watermelon Stew. Well, you can if you're Ellie, especially when you're wearing an enormous purple tutu.
So here I am downstairs, sitting on my giant exercise ball in an attempt to get Jellybean to swivel in the right direction-- no sunny-side-up deliveries, please. She has a new movement pattern these days. Turn a few perfunctory somersaults around lunchtime, and then wiggle gleefully all night long. This does not bode well for my sleep after she's born.
Christmas is always good but I especially enjoy it while I'm pregnant. The physicality of the Incarnation hit me hard the year I was pregnant with Ellie, and once again this year, when I am even further along. I look down at my enormous belly and wonder how Mary ever made it to Bethlehem. I feel Jellybean's tiny body shove against my diaphragm and wonder how Jesus ever fit His divine glory into such a small package.
During our Christmas Eve service, I was overcome with emotion as I thought about what that holy child's arrival means for my own children: that because He became a baby, my babies have an eternal hope.
Christmas is always good but I especially enjoy it while I'm pregnant. The physicality of the Incarnation hit me hard the year I was pregnant with Ellie, and once again this year, when I am even further along. I look down at my enormous belly and wonder how Mary ever made it to Bethlehem. I feel Jellybean's tiny body shove against my diaphragm and wonder how Jesus ever fit His divine glory into such a small package.
During our Christmas Eve service, I was overcome with emotion as I thought about what that holy child's arrival means for my own children: that because He became a baby, my babies have an eternal hope.
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