Welcome to the place of overflowing grace in the midst of messy motherhood.
There are a lot of kids up in here, a lot of noise, and a lot of life. It's raw and real, and often sticky.
But I wouldn't trade it. (Except maybe the sticky part.)
Join me for the journey.  

Rogue Seven

Here we are.  I’ve been pregnant 36 weeks.  It’s the home stretch.  I will meet our newest offspring in about a month!  See me waddle. I’ve heard there are women who like being pregnant, who find the whole journey enchanting.  They relish every little kick.  They stage adorable bump pictures. They glow. They have belly-only pregnancies.  They act as if they can forget they’re carrying another human and go about life as normal.  Ah, c’est la vie.  I am not one of those women. Don’t get me wrong.  I know I carry a miracle.  But nowhere in the Bible does it say miracles are light.  Sometimes they cause heartburn.  They suck the iron out of your body and leave you exhausted.  They hide your toes

 

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