Waiting Game

For the past two weeks I've been in a perpetual state of can't-sleep, night-before-Christmas suspense, waiting for this baby to make her grand debut. Though she's the one with the physical discomfort, Julianna is handling it all far better than I am, I'd say. She's been nesting and relaxing and working on small projects while I fret aimlessly about the house, distracted and over-caffeinated, prepped to bolt out the door with our bags at the first signs of labor. I'm not so much nervous as ready—ready to go, ready to pace the delivery room, ready to meet this kid and give her a name and take her home and into our lives. I used to have a dull terror at the thought of being a parent, but as soon as we found out we were expecting—thirty-odd weeks and forever ago, it seems—whatever anxiety had coiled itself up in my brain instantly unwound. This whole nine-going-on-ten-month process—all the preparations and appointments, the discussions and birthing classes and general urge to get our life in order—has been surrounded with an unusual confidence. Maybe a foolhardy, oh-ho-ho, you have no idea what you're in for kind of naive confidence, but a confidence nonetheless. And lots of love.   

 Waiting for Godot. Or whatever her name will be. Not Godot. Probably.

Waiting for Godot. Or whatever her name will be. Not Godot. Probably.

So, the past two incredibly long weeks. We took lots of walks. We juiced what felt like a metric ton of fruits and vegetables every morning. We made za'atar rolls—think savory cinnamon buns, substituting thyme and sumac for the cinnamon—and ground our way through two bags of coffee beans. I played around with some new lenses and worked on lining up wedding bookings for the summer. Juli hammered out a few pairs of gold hoop earrings. We watched all of True Detective...twice. We hypnotized ourselves reading a book on techniques for getting through labor and woke up two hours later wondering where the evening had gone. We walked some more. Down to the lake. Through a marsh. We visited with friends and went out to dinner and saw movies and were mindful of how our impending arrival may complicate simple outings like this in the future. We enjoyed, generally, this last stretch of quiet childlessness before the diapers and late nights and whatever else is in store. But we're ready for it, I think, and all the good things too.

 To be juiced.

To be juiced.

 Za'atar and olive oil.

Za'atar and olive oil.

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 Turtles all the way down.

Turtles all the way down.

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Now, how will Callie—our noble feline beast—adapt to life with a new baby? That's a different question altogether.