A Peace That Passes All Understanding.

As I sit at the dining room table tonight, waiting for a friend to come over, I find myself needing to write this post. It's one I hope won't appear on the blog for another 6 weeks or so, but it's on my heart tonight, so it will come out on the "page."

Tomorrow morning at 10AM, Jeff and I will head to the RE's office for a very different kind of ultrasound than we've had the past few months. Unlike my numerous monitoring appointments, this time, we're looking for our little Baby Beanster. The last time we saw him, he was just a tiny little 20mm follicle, one that I prayed about before he began a long journey that Sunday night. Tomorrow, he should be a little bigger and happily snuggled up in his new home for the next seven and a half months or so.

Before our ultrasound last January--the one that revealed our lost Blueberry--I was filled with a sense of joyful anticipation. Sure, I knew that miscarriages happened, but I was still getting very dark lines on home pregnancy tests, I hadn't had a spot of bleeding, and I had no cramping. I was one of the lucky ones without nausea or overly sore breasts, but that just meant God was blessing us even more, right? And so, when the ultrasound screen revealed a picture no father or mother should ever have to see, I was devastated.

But that's not the room I'm living in tonight. Tonight, I am surrounding with an army of prayer warriors, men and women who have loyally walked every step of the last 11 months with us, who have rejoiced in the last two weeks as we shared the news of our pregnancy, who have been sending emails and texts full of encouragement and wisdom throughout the day today.

Today, I'm more than aware that I'm just a temporary home--and we are just temporary parents--to this miraculous little Beanster. And we can do nothing more than pray that God grants us as much time as possible with him.