So, ever since we saw those two pink lines back in February, I have made it a point NOT to focus on counting down to my due date. First of all, the due date is only a suggestion and this baby will ignore any countdown I have. (She is her father’s daughter, after all.)
And secondly, as excited as we are to become a family of three, I am still a bit sad when I think about how this first phase of our marriage – the part where it’s just us and our quiet house – is coming to an end. I don’t know exactly what the next phase will hold, but I know life will never be the same, and I don’t really want to wish that away so fast.
But now… now we are in the final month… and I am definitely counting down. I am tired of being pregnant. I’m over it. I am ready to be a normal size again and not be wondering if every ache and pain is a contraction or just a little elbow pushing directly on a vital nerve of some type.
A year ago last week, the world lost one of the finest men I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. I had the privilege (and also somewhat strange experience) of attending what was, essentially, his funeral before he died. We knew his body was failing, and we knew the treatments had ended, so his family hosted a party last Labor Day weekend where everyone who wanted to could come and say their goodbyes.
People came from everywhere! The crowd was incredible! I hope that someday I have touched that many lives deeply enough for that many people to come and bid me farewell before I leave this world.
When I got a chance to talk to him, it was mentioned in his presence that I needed to go ahead and start having babies. He smiled and turned to me and said, “You’ll know when it’s time, baby. Don’t let anybody talk you into it before you’re ready. You’ll know.”
And he was right. We did know, somehow, when it was time. I wish my daughter could know him and sit on his lap and be “his girl” like I was. All too often we expect people to be around forever and don’t understand the roles they’ve played in our lives until they are gone, and I miss him dearly.
I don’t wish him back, though. I can’t. We always talked about him “holding court” – surrounded by others of all ages who came to hear his views on some such thing. He was a wealth of knowledge on so many subjects, and it was rightfully said that a library died with him. I believe we will know and recognize other souls in Heaven, and I’m certain he is sitting around discussing deep questions with Abraham and Moses. (He probably fits right in. He did always have that biblical patriarch sort of look about him.)
I wasn’t able to say all the things I wanted to say to him before I left that last time. I was crying too hard to really get anything out. But one of the last things I told him was that I expected him to be waiting for the rest of us when we got to Heaven. He said he would be on the lookout.
So for now, I’m going to try and be patient for these last five weeks, because Baby Girl will know when it’s time. I won’t try to talk her into it before she’s ready. Life on the outside is a big responsibility, and somehow she’ll know when she’s ready to give it a try.
And we will be on the lookout, ready to greet her when she gets here.