Patience

The bassinet is newly painted. Our organic cloth diapers have arrived. A carseat is sitting in the attic. Joshua cleared out two dresser drawers, and a collection of miniature pastel outfits have now taken over. In the basement, a Chariot awaits assembly. In a wicker chest, we have receiving blankets, glass feeding bottles, and a pump.

The house is clean. The refrigerator contains no expired items. The pantry is swept. The floors are mopped; the bathrooms are scrubbed. The vacuum has done it's best with pet hair (which is to say that there is still a fine layer - everywhere).

I woke up this morning with fewer tasks on my to-do list than I have had since January. I could paint the sun room door "Orange Peel." I could try and resolve our terrible resin-apoxy experiment (a kitchen counter top that acts as an enormous piece of adhesive: it collects dirt, hair, and the bottoms of appliances. I literally cannot remove the glass bowls that have adhered to the resin. Yesterday, when I tried to remove the spice rack, it became our first casualty.). I could clean out the oven, but the cleaners are toxic and I'd rather not.

I sat down to read. I half dozed off again. Thibodeaux curled up next to my belly and Oscar rested his chin on my feet. The sun came in and lit up the room. I stared at my dresser - newly organized and ready for the new season.

I'm trying. Really, really, really hard to be patient.

Last night, I made macaroni smothered in onions with brussel sprouts on the side. It was another Deborah Madison recipe, and the Pietari's joined us. Both Joshua and I were absolutely weary, having spent our second day with noses to the grindstone. While I scrubbed and purged, Joshua poured nearly a thousand pounds of concrete. In the evening, Stacy and I walked to the market to stock up on green things. By the time dinner was served, I felt absolutely depleted.

As I lay down, Henriette starts tumbling about. She knocks into my spine and sends sympathetic pains shooting down my hip. Her foot works on my rib. Her fingers poke the interior of my pelvis. I'm feeling a little beaten up. I tell Joshua that I'm having a "I'm-tired-of-being-pregnant" moment.

It's really not that bad. It's not bad at all, really. Sometimes, when I'm walking or sitting or cooking, I look down at my belly and think - hey! I almost forgot you were there! And it's not that I wish to forget. I'm constantly in awe of this body that can make another body, and feeling that little body swimming ranks up there with other things supernatural and magical.

When I was a little girl, I would look forward to my birthday party or summer family reunions or sleepovers with breathless anticipation. I would daydream about these events for weeks in advance. I was so excited. I couldn't wait, but I had to.

This is a new kind of anticipation. A new test of patience. It could be at any moment - an hour, tomorrow, one week, two...