I was just lying in my bed looking out my bedroom window at my back yard. It is green and lush and full of summertime sun. There are few things more beautiful in this world. And it's mine, which is startling and still unbelievable. I was watching the light breeze move the leaves and thinking about these big trees and their lives. And it occurred to me that I don't remember when the leaves came in. It just seems like one day they were not there and one day they were there. I always think I am going to notice, I plan to notice when the leaves start to come in on the trees. But I truthfully don't really register until they are all full and green and gorgeous. Maybe it's because I'm a glass half empty kind of gal. I just see winter until summer has knocked me in the face. Or maybe we're designed that way so that we get these moments of complete awe over something so simple as the trees being filled with leaves. Maybe that point of satisfaction, of complete comfort, of awe over beauty can only come when we back up and forget about what it took to get there. It just is beautiful. It just is done. The meal just is delicious.
Perhaps I'm thinking all of this because I'm coming up to this great culmination of so many things in our lives. Our kitchen is almost done which means we can move into our living room and live like civilized human beings. I finally have my bed on a frame and my bedroom set up and organized and peaceful. The baby is coming sooner than I can imagine. We've been working so hard and planning and trying to figure things out. It's hard to imagine that it will all be done and we can just sit in our house with our kid and just be. Even the small victories, like the bedroom, fill me with such a massive amount of comfort. But I might be taking that for granted or overlooking how blessed I am if I hadn't been sleeping on the floor in the dusty attic for most of my pregnancy. It's so worth the discomfort to get that complete relaxation. And soon this time will pass and we'll be on to some other big struggle or journey in our lives. All this house work and baby preparation will just be a series of memories. And I'll sit and look at my daughter and wonder how she got here, when she got all her leaves.
This making of a human is so much more surreal and awakening and beautiful than I could have imagined. I was sitting with my friend Laura and her little baby Daniel the other day. Her husband Dan was changing him, and we were just watching and laughing at something he did. And it just struck me as so odd. I just can't believe he did not exist and now he exists. We were friends with them and eating dinners and drinking wine and just living. And now there's another whole human in our midst. He just suddenly came into being. And he's not going anywhere. He's not just visiting. He is permanently part of our lives. He wasn't, but now he is. And soon I'll have my own little human in my life. There were four, and now there will be six. And from now on, we'll have six people at dinner. The very nature of our home is going to radically change. Eventually, I'm going to have to stop walking around without any clothes on. And we'll have to be all quiet and sneaky about having sex, I guess. And our relationship will have a third person in the midst of it. And then maybe a fourth. And she's not going to know any different. She's only going to know us as her family. In her mind, our family started when she arrived. And she'll just know the kitchen and the rooms and everything all done and happy and civilized. She'll never have the experiences we're having now as we get ready for her. She'll just live here and think of this place as her home. She'll probably even complain about things. She'll maybe want to move because she's sick of living in the same place. Or maybe the opposite. But either way, she's going to have this entirely different set of experiences and feelings and perspectives. She will have her own entire existence, just as I do.
Laura and I love to speculate about what will happen or who our kids are going to be. And we know there's no way to know. They'll blow our minds with their uniqueness and individuality. But it's fun to think about. Daniel hates doing Tummy Time, and Laura and I got to laughing so hard the other day about the idea that he would never be able to crawl or walk because he refused to do Tummy Time. He'd be in a wheel chair with a wobbly head on his way to Prom, and we'll say, "Too bad you didn't do Tummy Time." It was just so funny to think about these little baby worries blown up into the rest of his life. I was laughing so hard my stomach and cheeks hurt. And poor little Daniel had no idea we were laughing at his expense. But then he completely pitched a fit when she put him down for Tummy Time, and we started laughing all over again. He is determined to be on his back forever!
I wonder. I wonder. And soon I'll know. It's the most bizarre thing. It's so much more than waiting to find out what you got for Christmas or for your birthday. There is nothing that compares to this anticipation. The only thing I can think of is how I felt when I was about twelve when I would stand and look in the mirror and wonder how I would look as a grown up and who I would be and what I would get to do. And here I am, and that twelve year old girl is completely shocked and excited and can't believe she's got boobs and is pregnant and has sex and lives in her own house.
I hope I keep being startled by things. The wind just blew through the trees, as if on cue. Amazing.