Last night, we moved the bed back into the bedroom from living room where we had been sleeping for the past few weeks. This fixer-upper home we've been living in hadn't seen all that much fixer-upping until your impending arrival gave us a deadline. Suddenly, it became clear that we could probably use the second bedroom as something other than storage and while we're at it, let's make the layout better. And so the garage has been nearly finished and the bedrooms torn apart. This room we've moved our bed into, with one coat of sage green on the walls, will some day be yours. But, we hear, babies don't really care or need much space and so we've appropriated it as ours for the moment.
As I work from home these last few days, I look around me taking snapshots in my mind and a few with the camera. This is what life looks like now, I think to myself. This is what our life looks like right before your arrival. It's messy and there's already way too much stuff. It's full and busy and slow all at the same time. How will you fit in?
I saw the midwife today and we listened to your little heart beating. It sounded so distinctly like a heart beat this time when before you had sounded more like a rapid, swooshing ocean. The room for you inside my belly is so rapidly shrinking. Today you couldn't swim away from the doppler like you usually do. But you still are great at kicking back when the midwife pokes my belly.
We're another day closer to your arrival. When will that be?