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Freely Accepted

Death. Life. Our job is to accept it. A very pregnant Mary from the Domestic Apologist thinks on this:

Clear the way! My precious little in-utero child, already ahead (ouch, bad pun) of the game for having his or her head down in the "vertex" position, has taken to using my bladder as a pillow for said noggin, leaving me scrambling (or really walking in a form best described as the eight-month gimpy waddle) for the restroom, yet again. Soon after, I exhale loudly at my work desk, breathing through what feels like a corn cob trying to escape through my belly button. Hello, sweet baby knees.

But like the vast majority of pregnant mothers, I'd assume, I treasure these trivial pains. They make visible (or physical) the once invisible reality of the miracle the Lord worked through my marriage: the creation of new life.
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