I hate being an insomniac.
It's too late in the night to be thinking all the things that insomniacs think at 3am, while staring at the ceiling in the dark.
A lot of the times I think about God. And why He won't speak to me. And why I can't clear my head enough to hear Him.
But last night, as I was cuddling Matty like a newborn (he likes to wedge himself in between Southern Hubby and me) I began wondering if I'm ever going to have a baby. And as he lay perfectly still and snoring so cutely it hit me that I'm 30 years old. I'm happily married and with a (thank you, Jesus) stable income. And I don't have a child. Did I mention I'm 30?
My mother-in-law (bless her sweet heart), my grandmother, some of my mommy friends, and even strangers are starting to wonder; they look at me oddly- sort of like I'm 30, happily married, with a stable income, and I don't have a child. I guess that makes me a weirdo in this baby-happy age.
As Matty breathes softly and feels so warm in my arms, I began thinking, "This is nice. Maybe I could do this. And maybe my baby won't have fur and stinky night time doggy breath but sweet baby breath..."
But then I think of changing diapers. And not being able to nap. And taking 45 minutes to get out the door for a simple Target run. And how my life will change tremendously. And many, many more insomniac-like nights. Then all my selfish ways come pouring in.
"But, Jen... you love naps. And you like traveling without strings attached. And you have the worst gag reflex of anyone you know. And you're only 30 for goodness sakes! Surely you have a couple more years left."
And if God decides to bless me with a baby, it will be at His time. Not mine.
I settle in for sleep and realize Matt's rhythmic breathing is enough for me right now.
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