I had a doctor’s appointment last night, and my heart was so happy when I left. Thanks be to God, I have reached that “full term” marker, and although two weeks remain until my official due date, we are all very aware that Baby 3 could be joining us any second now. My suitcase is partially packed, a new carseat has been purchased, a freshly laundered stack of soft pastel-colored baby pajamas and dresses is tucked safely away in the closet, and I have pre-registered at the hospital. All that remains is to go through and organize that last tub of randomness that I collected from the four corners of our home as I waged war on every last piece of clutter we own – I adore the nesting phase of pregnancy and use its power to conquer every possible area of my little world. Mr. Gore and I have accomplished more in the past three weeks than I think we have since we moved into our house on the hill, and I have loved every second.
Anyway, I hid that tub in our master closet last week, and its final demise is scheduled for tonight. Once we have sparred and I am left victor, my duties will be complete and I will be free to indulge in one last wish…
Snuggle the living daylights out of my first- and second-born.
All of these preparations for our soon-to-be addition have caused me to go into that introspective mode that I am sure my husband adores. He looked at me last night in the car and said “Why the sad face?” Sad face? I didn’t realize I was making a sad face. I pulled down the visor mirror – yep. Ugly sad face. My thoughts had carried me far away to the place where my memory entraps me and causes me to stick my bottom lip out…something I never realize I’m doing until Chris says something like “why the sad face?”
But I wasn’t sad. I was doing something else that makes my bottom lip stick out, for whatever reason. I was just…musing. Concentrating. Remembering….
If you just ignore the science and the hormones and the chemicals for a second and look objectively at what happens when you deliver a babe into the world, there is something downright magical about it; that moment when your body finally decides the time has come is one that freezes time…everything slows down a bit and there you are in a darkened room, laboring, working, toiling to bring forth life…
Thus when a Mother Hen like myself looks back on those monumental occasions, the memory is as intact as any memory could be. Like the Ghost of Christmas Present, I can return to them and watch, transfixed, heart stilled, breath caught in my throat, as I revisit the nights that my greatest treasures made their way from my womb to my oh-so-ready arms.
And so, as we drove through the streets of Tulsa, Chris like a normal person, watching the traffic with his lip not stuck out, I was somewhere else, communing with my past, bottom lip on display, sentimentality threatening to pour from my eyes in the form of salty tears.
Over the next few days (unless I go into labor tonight!), when I am not smothering Gideon and Rebekah with kisses, I will be sharing those memories bit by bit, drawing not only from my mental diary but from the yearly newsletter I send out to my closest friends and family members. You’ll be hearing more about that newsletter, The Harry Herald, in the near…or distant (What?…I’m my own editor!)…future, as it has been my main source of chronicling our moments and our days for the past six years. Every noteworthy detail of my pregnancies and deliveries has been recorded on its pages. I’m excited to share these stories with you not because I experienced something unique that others have not (except for the tick on my back and the postpartum carpel tunnel syndrome), but because life….is beautiful. It is so precious. And I love to talk about it.
Some of these memories are hilarious, some are disgusting, and some are so sweet they make my heart ache…
Can’t wait to see them again.