It was a quiet and run of the mill weekend. We rose each day, showered, had breakfast, made beds and cleaned. Lunch was eaten, dinner cooked, there were several knitting sessions and outside, a garden was weeded and tiny seedlings attended to. We looked like we were going about our business with not a care in the world, but in our minds, we were preparing for excitement and celebration, but also for remaining quiet and continuing to wait.
I spoke to Kerry, so did Hanno. We asked about Sunny and was told she was fine and, for the most part, impatient and resting. I searched through my fabrics looking for something soft and warm to be worn by a baby boy but decided against sewing and returned to my "Cute Baby Knits" pattern book. It was familiar to me and I looked into the faces wondering: "do you look like our baby?"
No one knows what triggers the birthing process to begin. I like that. I like the unknown aspect, the guessing, the wondering and all the unanswered questions that come with it. I like being tentative and unsure and that in almost everything we do now, we wonder: "should I? what if the baby comes now." In these days of instant everything, I love that we have to wait this long for something so wonderful. In a way it teaches us, all over again, that we have no power over the natural world and that a baby will be born when he is ready, not when we are.
On the weekend, Kerry said: "We have everything. We have a bed, pram, bath, clothes, nappies, all we need now is a baby." He is there, waiting for the right moment. Curled up in his watery bubble, listening and getting ready. I can't tell you when he'll be here but I'll say this, the anticipation of waiting is wonderful. Here we all are - waiting on the edge of change. Soon, as well as a baby, a mother and father will be born, and grandparents, uncles, aunties and cousins. We are all ready, "all we need now is a baby".
