Here I sit in our unborn son's nursery, gazing into an empty crib, thinking about what every other expectant parent has thought: What the $#*$ have I done?
I didn't say every parent has said it.
Aside from those moments of immense panic, I have relished this time of uncertainty. It is one of those rare times in life where you absolutely know that this will never happen again exactly as it does now and you can actually take the time to step back from it all...and just take it in. Like right now, for instance. I have just fed Zola (our boxer mix) and decided it was a touch too cool to sit out back, and I needed to change for our show tonight, and just decided to sit down for a bit and enjoy the silence and solace of what this room will hold.
The wind has died down, the hum of mowers and weed-whackers buzz like insects that will soon come, and the smell of spring comes in through the cracked open windows. I am sitting in the glider that we bought for Audrey (I could have done with a milk crate, but she deserves the best) to nurse in, rocking myself into the dreams of what life will soon hold.
Every parent, god-parent, or ex-babysitter has given us advice, well-meaning advice, but I don't think any of it will be worth a damn. The moment our son comes into the world, there won't be anything but love and instinct to guide us. I am not saying that we won't listen to the advice, but instead that there is no way anyone can rightly prepare us for this. We aren't even in the final weeks and our heads are spinning and our hearts soaring way more than I ever thought possible. Audrey attributes it to her shrunken brain capacity. Me? I have no excuse.
So I rock myself and steal glances of our son, not yet in his crib, not yet napping away the afternoon soundly, with little gurgles of sighs not yet popping out like bubbles, and the hum of the evening waning into the night.
