It wasn’t until a friend asked me how long I had to go that it hit me. My days have been taken up so much by my daughter and the things we do that this other baby seems ‘all the way then’. Still a concept. Something to think about later.
I know December will be a write off. I know all the gasping over Christmas lights and cookie baking and parties thrown and every other little-big Christmas tradition we celebrate will take over my thoughts and my time and my bursting, full heart for the entire month. I know this time of year. And I know myself. Halves is not a way I traditionally face December.
Since the baby is due a few weeks after Christmas, and since November is rapidly running out, nesting has swung into full force, uncontrollably possessing me like I have no choice in the matter.
As you can imagine, Joel is utterly thrilled. He loves doing six loads of laundry in a row. He especially loves scrubbing rooms within inches of their lives. And more than all that? He loves having orders fired at him like irrational barks. Shelves. We need shelving. The crib! You’ve got to find it and set it up. What are all these papers? Joel, sort through this mess and find a home for things! Oh my goodness, we need red spray paint. Joel!
I want to be prepared. I am the mama who knows that little details make her happy and that welcoming a baby to the world heralds one hell of an honoring. And it’s not about the crib and the painted cupboards. Not really. It’s about washing and folding his first ever outfit. The one I will store in his keepsake box as a treasure of that very first day. It’s about planning the details of his birth. The women I want present. The music I want playing. The favours I want to give the midwives and support people after he enters this world. The things I want to take with me from the hospital to honour the sacredness of that day. It’s about making space for him in our home and our hearts – lingering in the anticipation of his arrival. It’s about replaying the vision of the moment he’s handed to me over and over and over. What will I feel? What will he look like? What will that moment be like—the one where I pull him to me and kiss him and take him all the way into my soul?
I’m clearly feeling it right now, aware that the delicious ceremony I’ve lingered over for so long now is nearing its end. And perhaps for good. Joel is set on only two children, and his mind – once made – can be very difficult to change. Nothing is definite, but I’m also not sure how likely it will be.
So, I’m holding my first baby close and feeling grateful for the opportunity to be this boy’s mama. And I am tearing up at the thought of hearing that first cry, of pushing that last push, because I know that what follows, always, is love.
We are slowly making our way through the things I believe are important in welcoming new life. And it’s so exciting. This is my most favourite part of pregnancy – when it becomes real. When I spend more and more nights falling asleep dreaming of what loving him will feel like. When kicks and somersaults continuously remind me of the miracle taking place inside my body.
I don’t ever ever want to forget what this feels like.
And I feel so blessed to have been given the gift of growing two little souls from scratch. To be given the honour of calling them mine.