If pregnancy were a nine-inning affair as opposed to a nine-month affair, we’d be stretching our legs about to start the top of the ninth.
I am at best a utility infielder when it comes to pregnancy. You can expect me to make one or two great plays, heading off a craving at midnight with a Wendy’s single, or pulling a 6-4-3 double play and also tackling taking out the garbage at the same time. I’m not gonna make the All Star team, but I’m gonna give you a solid game every night, and take my paycheck without causing any drama in the locker room.
The coach just put me in as the closing pitcher. He called the bullpen, and the guy from the bullpen ran out to shortstop to tell me to take the mound.
Jacqueline has been put back on orders to rest (low–but not critically–amniotic fluid) for at least 2 hours at a time, two to three times per day.
I am on kid detail, and expected to hold the lead we’ve got going into the ninth. We called up a veteran (my mom) who hasn’t been out of the game for too long, and she’s in town helping.
Pray for us, as we have to simultaneously continue to work toward being fully funded in ministry, and toward being fully prepared for boy #2, and toward keeping Jacqueline off of her feet (which involves me changing the diapers, cooking the food, doing the laundry, and everything else–whenever mom isn’t in town). And we’ve got to do all of this with our boisterous two-year-old.
And I’ve gotta work on my change-up. Never been good at the off-speed stuff.