It’s not pretty, and it will sneak up on you at the weirdest times. Like when you get out of the shower at 6 am and are standing in the hallway. To the left, your warm, cozy bed with your spot just waiting for you to leap back into. To the right, a storage room full of boxes, and promise. In the middle, us. I just stood there wee one, and was suddenly struck by all the changes that are about to happen, and about how I feel torn already between the past and what will be the present. Old Me wanted to leap back in bed with your Papa (not that leaping is something I’ve been able to do or will be able to do anytime soon). New Mama Me just stood there, paralyzed, and reflected on how in the very near future being up at 6am will be the norm, and will not seem criminal. How there will be a tiny person in that room that will dictate my schedule, not me. I’ll admit, there was a brief moment of “what have we done?” this morning in the hallway—a complete wave of fear for the life that we’re losing, because it has been oh so good so far. But then I had to remind myself that we will be gaining so much more.

So what did I do? A little of both I suppose, while my schedule is still mine to make. I got dressed, pulling on elasticized clothes over your temporary residence while you thumped away, and then ever so slowly, I rolled myself back into bed, and right into your Papa’s waiting arms.


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