Your brother woke up early this morning. I went into his room and rocked him hoping he would drift back to sleep and I could return to my bed. In the dark early hours of the morning, you started moving your little body against his. I sat there in his rocking chair feeling you both in my arms and committing the moment to my memory. Some day when I am holding your children, I want to be able to recall this. To look back to this morning and remember the overwhelming rush of love and gratitude that I felt for my own little ones.
As I sat in the dark, I thought of our journey together over these last nine months. The excitement and anticipation of wanting and trying for you. The gratefulness for each growth milestone you passed. The joy of knowing your movements and hearing your heartbeat. I will cherish those memories above all the other less appealing pregnancy woes. What a gift it has been to experience your body entangled within mine.
The thoughts of you drifted to my own mother. Many years ago she sat in this very rocking chair with me inside of her. Feeling my movements and envisioning me in her arms. That thought hurt. Moments pass and I am reminded how quickly vivid memories seem to fade. I hope she can still feel with certain clarity, what it was like to hold this love inside of yourself. And I can only pray for you and I that we get to create the lifetime of memories and the deep connection that my mother and I have experienced together.
Your birth is nearing. As I held you both and lost myself in thought, I felt my body ache. You are making progress. Your brother had given up on sleep at this point so I brought him into my bed. We got under the covers and I told him about you again. He is too little to understand but his life will be changing too. He will now have a sister. A friend for life. And you will have a very sweet and tall big brother to protect you. You sure are lucky to have him.
We are ready for you little girl.
What is your morning routine? How do you start your day with purpose and joy? The morning routine has been a frequent topic in my conversations with my husband and my new friends here in Georgia. It seems to be on a lot of our minds as we intentionally setup our lives to get the most out of them.
A couple of weeks ago, as my first trimester morning sickness was easing and my mind was drifting to personal goals outside of creating tiny humans, I began to purposefully wake up earlier. Before Camden started daycare 3 days a week and for the first year of his life, it was he and I. He was my alarm clock, my noisy coworker, and my first priority. My “me” time was limited and my own personal endeavors/growth/goals seemed nonexistent. It was both wonderful and stifling as most new mother’s can attest.
Having a child seems to have had the opposite effect on my husband. For the last year, he has invested much of his thought into his career goals and dreams and devoted substantial time to personal growth and development. Which is wonderful. It has helped push me to grow and want more for myself. I decided to set my actual alarm and start my day with intentional time for myself. And that has changed everything.
In the early hours of the morning, my house is still dark. My husband has already ventured on to work or is hovering over his computer, podcast in his headphones. I make our bed, kiss our puppy, and saunter down the hall to make coffee. I usually head to my desk and begin my day with writing. I write the things I’m grateful for and my goals in a notebook as I sip my frothed coffee. Baby is sleeping. This time is for me.
As my day progresses, there are emails to return, boys to be fed (big and small), commutes, contracts, boxes to unpack, laundry to be folded…but for that hour, I am intentionally myself. After I journal, I allow the time to serve me. If I wake up with the desire to Pinterest baby girl nurseries for an hour…I do that. And I don’t feel guilt. Or expectations. I enjoy it and remind myself to embrace all parts of me. Most mornings, before I know it, I hear the softest, sweetest noises coming from the room next to mine. I flip on the monitor to see a little boy sitting patiently in his crib waiting to greet his own day. He is ready. And now…so am I.
Before you existed I dreamt of you. I wanted you. How strange to love someone who doesn’t exist. How could I see my family, perfect and whole as they are and want more? How did I deserve more?
The honest truth is that raising a newborn baby is hard. It’s beautiful and the best thing that ever happened to us, but it changes your life. Expectations of your spouse grow and the lack of sleep hinders effective communication. Resentment is swift to creep into the cracks. Around October, Bo and I were coming out of a difficult season. And thankfully connecting in ways we hadn’t in years. Maybe ever. With love and respect as our guide. And that’s when it happened…the thought of you.
Amid conversations on packing up our current home (yet again) and details of the renovation project in Georgia, I managed to fit you into the discussion. For us, adding to our family is a big decision and one that we wanted to be certain of and make together. And although you were already on my mind, I knew your Papa might not be ready. And I was nervous to be vulnerable with my thought of you. One October Saturday, after a family trip to the gym and over the draft beer that followed (the healthiest of days) Bo and I had the “I’m ready for another baby” conversation.
I remember it well. And I felt supported by my husband and truly heard. Which is exactly what I needed. We finished our beers, walked home, and decided to revisit the conversation after some thought. In the early morning of December 1st, we woke up in our Arlington townhome. Surrounded by boxes and bubble wrap. He held me as he told me that now…he wanted you too.
Christmas morning. There you were. Two pink lines.
We love you.