The “week” count makes it seem decently far, but when put in terms of “days” it’s mightily close. 23 days. 23 more times I can stay up late and watch tv, 23 more opportunities to lay in bed in the morning with my coffee and watch the news, Abby in between her dad and I. 23 more days to soak up any “down time,” go to the store alone, shower in peace, clip my fingernails…. I know the chaos of a newborn won’t last forever, but it’s definitely all-consuming while it’s here.
Today is Abby’s last day at her Thursday daycare. My last day of work is next Tuesday. Abby will continue to be in daycare MTW, which we can opt to use or not, although we will be paying to hold the spot. Her little sister will join her the week of February 22nd, 2021, when I will go back to work part-time.
Her little sister will be named Hannah, although we are still fighting over a middle name. Ryan wants Claire, which I like but don’t love. If I push hard I think I can get him to agree to Scarlet, which is meaningful for me but painful as a people-pleaser to twist his arm. They are opposite names. Claire is clear and bright, Scarlett is fiery and red. Which will better suit her?
Today at my doctor appointment we learned she is head down, getting ready. The doctor estimates she will be about “7 lbs and change” at birth, since I measuring rather average. I have good days and bad days; these last few days I’ve had a terrible headache and seizing joint pain in my groin. But all last week I felt surprisingly energetic, normal, agile. Overall I’ve been sleeping a bit better than I was about a month ago, and I wonder if this is the final surge of energy before things get real.
With the backdrop of 2020, a dragging election, pandemic, job loss, and wildfires, I know my maternal instinct isn’t allowing me much focus on the negative. It’s nice.
I have a hospital bag to pack, couch covers to wash, insurance forms to sort and lots of lounging to do while I can. This is not the life of many other 2020-ers. I am lucky.
One last thing to do: schedule a date night with my husband. We may be eating outdoors in frigid weather, but oh well. I’d like to sit with him and read the story of Hannah. I think we should probably read the story of Abigail, too, since I don’t know that Ryan has ever read it. Both strong, godly women, with good heads on their shoulders, stepping forward in life to do the right thing. My girls.
Go On Until You Come to the End 