I belong to a message board of expectant mothers, and a sub-board of that is the group that is due the same month that I am.
It has been an interesting experience to follow along with other women who are going through things very similar to what I am experiencing. Most of my friends’ children are dating, or graduating, or (OMG) having babies of their own, so they can’t really relate anymore, except by memory.
Most of the women on my board are in their 20s, with a few in their 30s and even fewer my age or older. They’ve started to report that they are in the “nesting” phase now, and I wondered when it would hit me.
Oh, it finally has.
Week before last I washed all the blankets and baby clothes, put up the bassinet and arranged her stuffed animals. I hung up her pretty dresses, mated her socks and started thinking logistics of where to put things.
This morning I finally tackled the mountain of pink onesies that has been sitting in a basket in the livingroom, then I cleaned out a couple of my dresser drawers and started filling them up with her things. As I slid stacks of onesies and bonnets and teensy socks into the drawers I was thinking “Is this really happening?”
I had given up on having a baby so long ago, it almost seems like another lifetime. I was going to the woman who should have had children but never did. Then when we lost our first baby I thought I would be the childless mother, the one who would mourn always the loss of my only pregnancy.
And then came this pregnancy, this funny, active little girl with her bigger than life fetal attitude, and her sweet morning stretches. So I’m feathering the nest with butt-ruffled cotton pants, baby dolls that coo when you squeeze them and every ounce of love I can muster because this girl? She is COMING. She’ll be here in a few short weeks.
I want to be ready.