because to not say it means that I have to avoid you for the next four and a half months. And while I might do that anyway, it will be because I’m in the back room barfing, not because I don’t like you.

Barfing?

But you only do that when . . .

That’s right!

Wyatt and I are expecting baby number four. It’s a girl.

I’m just saying.

Wyatt’s friend Kris has a theory on this. Wyatt recapped it for me after he and Kris spent an afternoon at the basketball game last week.

Women are like basketball players- they just lob that ball up from half court. They have a fifty-fifty chance, so they just say what they want and see if it comes through.

But there’s other stories I could tell about Kris -  and TOTALLY discredit him in all his theories.

Lana, his wife, is due with a girl in a few months. She knew. Now Kris won’t give her credit.

I GIVE YOU CREDIT LANA!

And my baby is a girl. I know because I feel it. And it is confirmed because I FEEL IT – I am SOOO SICK! Like, I might die.

Pregnancy is given to me to humble me. This is what I determined today as I was parked at a stop light, contemplating the time I had to open my door, barf out the side, and get back in before the light turned green.

Illness isn’t really my thing. I get sick, sure. I hate it, sure. But I don’t get chronically sick, and other than a nasty bought of mono is seventh grade, illness has never really put me out of commission in life, except when I’m pregnant.

I have a sister in law who struggled with an auto immune disease last year. She described her illness to me, and I watched the effects the drugs had on her body. But I never really felt her pain.

Now all I can think about is her description once “I feel poisoned . . . all the time.” – That’s how I feel. I can’t eat, but if I don’t, my body gets shaky and I want to cry. But if I do, I’m doubled over with pain for the rest of the afternoon, as I contemplate the realities of it going the other way.

I’m sorry SIL – for all the times I didn’t understand. Not because I was indifferent, or ill-intentioned, but because I was ignorant. Now I understand.

But I am excited for baby girl. So excited. And grateful for the opportunity to be a mamma, and learn and struggle and do this blessed calling.

Please don’t come over for the next four months unless you are coming to babysit and clean my kitchen. Ew . . . my kitchen.