{37w3d}

Pregnancy is perfect.

I spent a lifetime dreaming about it and years praying desperately for it to happen, but I never imagined it could be this amazing.

I stopped gaining weight about 6 weeks ago, my swelling has pretty much disappeared, and I feel like I could do this for a few more months easy. I still get stunned looks from strangers who ask me how many more months I have left when I answer with just a few more weeks, and I'm not going to lie, I like to watch the confusion form on their faces, because it sort of matches my own.

I have absolutely no complaints whatsoever, everything really is perfect.

A little too perfect.

So it shouldn't have caught me so off guard when the doctor told me that I had tested positive for group B strep, bringing it up like it was no big deal, mentioning IV's and pitocin and and extra twenty four hours of hospital stay all in one sentence while I sat there on the crunchy paper covering the hard table and tried to wrap my head around it all, frustrated with the sudden interruption of my perfect pregnancy.

My birth plan didn't involve IV's, and it certainly didn't involve pitocin; but we all know what happens when I make plans.

God pretty much laughs at them.

So after a few frantic phone calls to my connections in the medical world, I was assured that I can still labor as natural as possible and reminded that in the end, the only important thing is that a healthy baby is born. I can go in when my water breaks or labor begins and get the antibiotics administered, then switch back to a hep lock and go about with my original plans, as long as I keep an open mind.

Because despite my perfect plans and stubborn nature, I was told once again that I'm much more likely as a first time mother to enter the hospital with no makeup on, dilated to a two, in unexplainable pain, whimpering pitifully for relief in the form of drugs.

I'm just a few short weeks away from birthing a miracle, and I suppose it's about time I let go of my extreme expectations and give myself-and my body-a break. Because despite the voices in my head telling me that I must have a spray tan, an enema, freshly colored hair and scarlet nail polish on my toes as I walk proudly into that hospital, the reality is that my child won't think any less of me without these last minute preparations complete.

I hope.

I've spent the majority of my life being a perfectionist in selected areas of my life, and I have never once doubted that God has used infertility in attempt to loosen me up and teach me to let go. Having had what I considered to be a broken body for so long forced me to give up control and lean on Him; but when He chose to answer our prayers and bless me with what has thus far been the perfect pregnancy, I somehow found myself back in the drivers seat, making plans and mapping out exactly what was going to happen in my very near future.

Thanks God, really, thank you; but I've got this now.

Somewhere along the line, wrapped up in this awesome blessing, I seemed to have forgotten how much I still need Him no matter how perfect things may seem. How much I'm still not in control of any given situation, and how small I really am in the middle of His big plans.

So maybe God is using this minor group B strep detail to throw me off just a little, to mess with my perfect plans and put me back in my place, showing me who's really in charge.

And all it takes is a little trip back to memory lane for me to remember how I got here-in the midst of this perfect pregnancy-in the first place.

It all started with two failed IUI's and four attempts at IVF. There were drugs, shots, doctors visits and negative pregnancy tests.

Then there was an eleven.

An eleven, where there should have been a number over a hundred, followed by a phone call two days later confirming our fears that our eleven had dropped to a zero and our pregnancy was no longer valid.

And then there was another phone call.

A second one, days later, saying the there was still a possibility that there was still life growing inside of me and that the lab had quite possibly made a mistake. A mistake that involved us thinking the pregnancy was over, thus stopping our much needed medications and hormones and putting what may have still been a valid pregnancy in danger.

And then-through what can only be explained as God's divine intervention-there were rising numbers, a strong heartbeat, sonograms, baby showers, and yes, a perfect pregnancy.

God's plan for us fittingly never involved an easy road-it was a roller coaster from the beginning-but it certainly makes for an awesome testimony of His faithfulness. And it amazes me that even after four long years and one incredible story, I still get so wrapped up in my own selfish desires that I fail at times to see that His way-not my own-has always been perfect.

So right now, I'm thankful for it all. I'm grateful for infertility, because without it, my tiny human wouldn't be nearly as precious.

For the number eleven, because any higher of a number would have been much less miraculous.

And for group B strep, because it's one more chance for me to let go, and let God.

"No struggle comes your way apart from God's purpose, presence, and permission."
-Max Lucado