Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Content {39 Weeks}

Every night this week, Curtis has worked. Tonight it is scheduled, but the past two he has been called in to deliver babies, admit patients, deal with medical issues that can't wait for morning or a scheduled visit in the clinic. Many weeks I enjoy a singular night to myself. I read, take a bath, drink tea, or write. I put our daughter to bed and listen to her talk and sing herself to sleep, before settling in to rest--sometimes immediately, sometimes hours later. With a week like this, where every evening has found me with hours to read and think and write in silence I find myself embracing it a bit less. I miss my partner, the one I debrief with at the end of every day, the one who shares in my delight at the silly things our daughter did and said, the one who cares so much about his work and cares so much about mine too.

I ran into a friend on my way to track practice this afternoon who has two children close together. Unlike me, the delivery of her second was scheduled and she was remembering the night before she became a mother of two--a precious evening that she and her husband embraced and celebrated as the calm before the storm. Every night feels a bit like that to me these days--borrowed time, cherished silence, sacred sleep. Yet not sharing these moments makes me and my hyper-hormonal self sad--I want him to be in the quiet, the peace with me. After all, he too will get to experience the crazy. 

Today was my due date for our first child, our daughter who came two weeks early against all my planning and wishes. When the pregnancy test came back positive for this second child last July and we calculated a due date, I assumed that I would neither make it to that date, or even my first--the day marking 39 weeks. After all, who delivers their first child two weeks early and then goes over 39 weeks with her second? As if predicting such a feat, four good friends in the last three months whose first (and sometimes second) children came early have been met with second (or third) children that have moved along at a much later date. I wonder if my body knows how to handle the stress better; I wonder if I am better at resting. 

In the meantime we continue to take care of details: a (last?) load of laundry, a (last?) meal in the fridge, a (last?) clean-out of baby gear never sorted through after our first. Soon and very soon we will meet this new child. This time we are ready. 

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