Family bed

I went into work late the other morning. Brooke and I spent some much needed time curled up in bed, our wrists and ankles woven together, feeling Ebry shift and kick. We’re in our last days before the task of raising Ebry becomes fulltime. Soon, our bed will no longer be a haven of blankets, comforters, quilts, and pillows. It will be a bastion of activity: eating, burping, changing, and (I pray) sleeping.

Yes, I’m thinking a lot about my mother these days. I wonder what, if any, role she played in getting us this child, or if the child will be like her, or if I’ll be like her and the child will be like me. I know that she’ll somehow be present for the birth.

The birth could happen at any point. I have no idea when or what I’ll be doing when I realize that it’s finally going to happen (probably breathing through a contraction, but I could be wrong), and it won’t be more than three weeks away. I wait and ponder all of my options (the most appealing of which right now involves a breast pump, a staircase, and a really long extension cord), but mostly, I just wait.