Oh me of little faith

Don't mind me.  I'm somewhere near the top today.

Remember when I said this?

Confession: When I wrote that, I was convinced that pretty much the next post I'd write would be to tell you that we're expecting.  Yes, I get that this sounds a bit cocky - no pun intended - but I've been pregnant twice before off of one-shot-wonders, neither of which should have ever actually happened. 

It's the getting pregnant part I'm good at, after all.  My success at carrying is only 50/50 - an F in academic terms - so it occurred to me to worry about the keeping the baby part, not the acquiring the baby part.

I'd really, really like to be that person, who writes about faith with confidence, patience and endurance. Who not only understands that God's timing is perfect, but also accepts it.

I have to admit that lately, I've been feeling a little faith-less.  Which, of course, only makes me more frustrated with myself.

I know that God already knows my baby - knows if it's a boy or a girl, the color of her eyes, the number of hairs on his head.  God knows its name and the exact moment that he or she will find its way into our lives. 

I can just see Him giving me that paternal pat on the head that says, "if you only knew the things I have in store for you!  I wish you wouldn't worry; just have a little faith, and you'll see."

I know that my baby is coming.  The baby that was always meant to have me as its mommy. 

I know too that my story doesn't hold a candle to some of the serious issues women face every day trying to get pregnant.  So really, the fact that I can't even stay positive for two months says something about me that I'd rather not analyze right now.

In a year or two, this little moment will seem so irrelevant.  Right now, it seems huge and daunting and eternal.

If faith can move mountains, my faith can't even move a grain of sand.  And that's just sad.