At the end and at the beginning

I'm expecting my due date to come and go this week, leaving behind no baby.
And in this strange, in between place, I am very okay with that.

People keep asking if I'm ready- and then they're surprised when I just shrug. 
Yes, we have a car seat to get baby home in, and a cosleeper for our room. 
Yes, there are a ton of tiny onesies and blankets and diapers all washed and ready to go. 
Yes, there are preachers lined up for every week of my maternity leave, and plans made with friends to soak up the time before there will be a carseat in tow.  
We took amazing pictures to throw business in the direction of an incredibly talented friend, and because it's been a couple years since we had photos done- and to capture some final moments of the two of us before we are a family of three.  

But I don't squee. I look for sales because tiny little things they'll outgrow in a few weeks shouldn't cost that much- and there are too many amazing, pre-loved and pre-worn things in the world already.  I stare in awe at how tiny the little human who will wear those clothes will be.  And I wonder in amazement at how fast a little being has grown to reach such a size from cells nestled in this body:  Proof, if ever I needed it, that we are fearfully and wonderfully made.  

I don't gush. I grouch because I haven't slept more than a couple hours at a time in months, and there is a part of me that knows that there are late nights and early mornings to come.  I will join the legion of those holding the office of the night watch as a daily marker of the rhythm of life and prayer.  

Nursery? Hah! How about the boxes still filling up the rest of the house because we moved 9 weeks ago, at the beginning of the adventure known as the third trimester? Without the hands of friends and family there would be so many more- and making space to invite in more friends and family so that we might share in gratitude and wonder makes more sense for us.  

So much is going to change, and I wish more people were okay with me not gushing about how hard pieces of this giant thing that comes in a tiny bundle are going to be- I wish there were more spaces where the realities of motherhood were spoken of- and embraced.  It's a magical time, yes- but to go without acknowledging that it is joy and pain- a beautiful beginning for our family of three and a bittersweet ending to the earliest chapter of our life together is to somehow reduce this miracle to something commonplace.  And that's not what I want at the end and at the beginning.  

August 1, 2017

In a month, I could be a mom.
Either I will have had this little one, or I will really want to have had this little one.
And I'm realizing that in this last month of our family of 2, there are so many things I still want to do.

Get pictures taken.
Get boxes unpacked.
Go on a real date- like, a nice meal.
Make good habits- have a routine.
Plan November and December's sermons.

And there are so many things- so many lists- of things we HAVE to do.

Find one last maternity leave preacher.
Finish the book for maternity leave.
Buy a carseat/crib mattress/all the things a baby will need right away
(but boy do we have clothes covered!)
Wash the diapers
Freezer prep more meals

And it's exciting, and it's terrifying.

And what I wanted to write down today, so that I remember it tomorrow and for days and weeks and months to come, is that while yes- life will change because of this child, it will not end.  We will go on dates.  We will make good habits- and bad ones too.  We will pack and unpack- we will do tons of laundry.

We will, and then some.

What a difference a year makes

May 2017:

I wrote a garden report about a year ago, and in the last 11 months and change:

I moved around my sewing room, for the umpteenth time.
We put in new beds on the front of the house, purely for the love of flowers.


I completed a whole year of preaching.  And Jon did too- and we got into a groove of being a preaching couple, passing like ships in the night on Sundays, between the insanity of Sunday morning and seeking blissful quiet after days full of people.
I conducted my first full funeral.  And my second.  And my third.
I picked the first zucchini I grew from seeds, and the first butternut.  Both were delicious.

There have been ups and downs, purchases and purges, mountain snowfalls and waves rolling in on the beach.  Thunderstorms have lulled me to sleep... and lately, little nudges from inside have woken me up.

Wonder doesn't begin to describe it- making the choice to be parents... anxiously waiting for a positive test, and finding out something has taken root in me, no bigger than a poppyseed- and that in that tiny thing we could find hope enough for a lifetime.

Hearing an impossibly fast heartbeat, seeing a blob on a screen, watching my body and the blob both change and grow...  Seeing a sweet profile, and seeing my own profile swell and round as winter turned to spring and the promise of new life in the world meant something entirely different- as the hope of ressurection and the breadth of possibilities offered to us by our creator took on new wonder.

This time last year, our lives looked very different- and this time next year, they will be different still- Jon will be serving a new church.  We have three weeks left in this house, with this garden.  And three months left as a family of 2-plus-dog.

I want to write more- to stretch these muscles- and I have said it before, and I'll probably say it again. Time will get away from me again, but maybe not another year.