On heat, timing and boob sweat

Hey there! 

No, no.  Whatever you do, don't hug me.  You'll probably have to wring yourself out afterward from the massive amounts of my pregnant lady "glow." 

What's that?  How am I managing the heat?

Well, let's see.  It hasn't dropped below 100 degrees here in four days.  I've pulled weeds and taken the two year old to the park and attended an outdoor reunion and packed boxes and prepared to move.  Have I mentioned that it's June?

Sleep?  Meh.  What's that expression about sleeping when we're dead?  That is assuming the heat doesn't kill me first.

I have a confession to make: All you people who have babies in July, August and September?  Until about 7 months ago, I was convinced that you belonged in the nut house.  I mean, really.  Who wants to be dragging around a tiny human and all those extra hormones in the heat of mid-summer when you could cuddle up, enjoy a cup of coccoa, wear a sweater and have a baby in, say, March?

Just admit it: you suck at planning!  It's okay, we all have our strengths and weaknesses.  Doesn't it feel better to say it outloud?

Some might say I'm getting my just desserts...

Hi, my name is Melissa, and I suck at planning. 

Turns out, no one wants to be the size and have the energy of a beached whale during the hottest months of the year.  Nobody thinks to themselves, hey, I really like walking around the zoo looking like I've been swimming!  Or, gee, those two pools of sweat under my boobs are so refreshing, and make such a fashion statement!

Still...

I can't get over this giant bag of grateful I'm carrying around. 

When you've prayed and hoped and longed and dreamed, it no longer matters what it takes to get them here.  Whether it's barfing every day for months on end or, in my case, baking in the summer heat.  However they get here, I can't bring myself to regret it or complain, because good Lord if it isn't absolutely and excruciatingly worth it.

When they're finally here, the timing no longer matters.  It's always perfect.