Nest

In all likelihood, Number Nine (which my kids have taken to repeating in monotone, courtesy Revolution 9) will make an appearance 7 weeks from today. Which means that I had better get my act together, more or less.

I’m so not a Type-A person, and planning for a baby’s arrival is always something I do with great joy but not great action. Yes, yes– I’ll happily and eagerly knit and sew and pray over names. But when it comes to amassing “supplies,” I’m kind of lame. I tend to use a mental checklist (“Moby? Check. Diapers? Check.”) on my very short list of must-haves and from there, assume that I can snag onesies in whatever color necessary on the way home from the hospital.

I told you I’m lame.

So what am I doing to nest? My biggest urges have been to actually decorate this house in a way that makes me happy, but I’ve been mostly foiled in my attempts by either an inability to DIY, a lack of funds, or being the only one who cares. (Turns out, no one else is nearly invested in hanging photos as I am. Go figure.) Beyond that, I’ve been working my way down that list of knitting ideas. I am loving tinkering with wool covers, and while the Liebkosung gown has been easier than I dreamed, I lost quite a bit of steam when I realized that the size I selected will probably result in me breaking down in tears at the hospital as I try to squeeze it onto my 10+ pound baby’s body. I’m still intent on finishing it, but my prayers with each stitch have focused less and less on this little kicking person growing under my ribs and more and more on a friend I hope to bless when her next one becomes a fact.

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Other than that, I am thinking food. Pregnant woman musing on food? How cliché. No, really: I’m preoccupied with stocking our freezer with make-ahead meals that can easily go from bag to crockpot, or from bag to re-heat, or from pan to oven. We have a second fridge, but not a huge freezer, so I’m somewhat limited in my prep, but I still hope to pick up some of the slack in the early post-partum days. Back in WA, we were about to count on nearly a month’s worth of meals dropped on our doorstep with a smile at the new baby and an offer to wash and return as much dirty laundry as we could produce in the window of their ten minute visit. Trust me, I didn’t take it for granted. But I did get spoiled by all that blessing, and I know how much easier it makes life for a family easing in to new norm. So for the next seven weeks, I see myself as a muffin making, chicken marinading fool.

I’m also arranging a little corner of our room as “baby’s space.” A dear friend’s pre-loved crib is awaiting a coat of white paint, a beautiful watercolor gifted by another friend needs a frame, a rag rug with history is already in place, a colorful paper mobile is in the works, an IKEA chair is standing by … it’s not Pinterest Perfect, but it’s a little cozy nook I picture myself nursing in late at night, when the house is quiet, memorizing the sounds my baby makes as he or she breathes against my breast.

To me, that’s what it’s all about, anyhow. The nesting is really just the prelude to the quiet, slow days of staying in my jammies until I shower and put on fresh ones because I sure as heck am not breaking my gaze with the face I’ve just met, unless it’s to bask in those moments when we all crowd around and breathe in the newborn scent of a tiny head, or share stories of the days when the newest family member was Mathaus, or Phineas, or anyone else. After the days spent recovering in the stillness of my own bedroom, soaking in the awe of it all and waiting for sweet little knocks on the door bringing the baby dandelion bouquets or offers to refill my water bottle, I’ll venture down and begin the process of learning how our family circles around this newest member and moves forward, stronger in number and in love.

Seven weeks. Less than two months before this miracle gives way to the next stage of its blossoming. Let the nesting begin!

5 thoughts on “Nest

  1. I love your preparation style! Didn’t you say you were in NC? If you’re near the triangle I’d love to bring you a meal. I rarely comment but I’ve been reading for years- I remeber when you named Phinneas “Oliver!”

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