We had two. One, a Moses Basket, the first thing we bought for you together, your Papa and I. It was second hand, but in near perfect condition. Organic sheets, a small quilt (which I knew we wouldn’t use but it was lovely and I loved it). Soft green, soft blue, cream and some yellow. Just ‘boy’ enough.
We set the alarm for 6 am. At 7, we were to call the hospital to find out what time we were to drive in for our induction. I barely slept – such a confusing set of emotions that night. I was excited, I was terrified, I was sad, I was elated. And I was exhausted. I ignore the alarm and let hubby get up and make the phone call.
In my experience, no matter how much a baby is wanted and planned for, no matter how young and fit and energetic a mama is, pregnancy is miserable for almost everyone. In fact I secretly believe that it’s miserable for everyone and those who claim it isn’t are lying – but I digress. This pregnancy was miserable for me.
About three years ago, we decided to do something brave. We changed our lives. We’d been contemplating for some time but were to afraid to pull the trigger on it. We moved out of the big city into a small city an hour away.
When you were new, falling asleep was your specialty and you’d do it anywhere, anytime. Bedtime was irrelevant because nobody really knew if it was 4 am or 11 pm, and nobody cared. You ate, you grunted, you slept, and I synched myself around your sleep.
Birth stories make me cry. They touch on something really tender within me – a deep joy, a longing, a sadness. They trigger memories of the feeling of completion that comes when as moms we welcome our newborn for the first time. They trigger memories of an unmatched joy. And sometimes, they trigger memories of pain, of trauma, of loss.
Baby D is in a leap. What’s a leap you say? Don’t worry I didn’t know either. This is something new that’s happened since I had my last baby a mere 15 years ago.