Thirty-seven.

  I know, I know.  But I just couldn't resist doing one of those cheesy comparison shots. 37 weeks {give or take in both of the photos}. Also, I clearly love the black/chambray combination. Stick with what you know, or something like that. 

  I never took my pregnancy with Caleb for granted. Not a single day. When I took my last bump photo, with no idea he'd be coming in two days, I didn't assume I'd deliver a happy, healthy baby or have an easy recovery. Even the hours in the hospital leading up to his birth. Maybe that sounds pessimistic? I don't mean it to. I just know that there aren't many guarantees, besides God being good and faithful no matter what. 

  So now, 37 weeks later, I find myself still not taking the days for granted. I so wish I could define and determine Caleb's life and the number of his days. Don't we all want that for our kids? I would make sure he always feels loved, experiences Jesus, and faces very little tragedy in his life. But his life was determined, no matter how long or short or whatever quality, long before I felt his first kicks in my belly. So when I find myself worrying about when he'll crawl or if he'll know how to read before kindergarten, I stop myself. My role is to love and encourage him and foster growth, but I am not in control of any bit of it. 

  Today feels like something to celebrate. Every day does, actually. After carrying this kiddo around for 37 weeks, I've gotten to know him and watch him grow for 37 more on the outside. He's pretty awesome and always makes me laugh. I don't know what the next 37 weeks look like for Caleb and our family, but I'm not taking them for granted at all.