Saturday, November 21, 2009
The morning fog swept in up the river from the sea and into our neighborhood hasn't yet lifted to let the sun. It's not a low fog here. It drifts high, giving cloudy-day illusions that burn off into blue with the sun.
I wake early, first at 4:15, then again at 6:15, and I can't return to slumber between baby-movements and tearful thoughts of dreams deferred - dreams that aren't mine, dreams that are just like mine. I ache a prayer heavenward, then ache and creak my way out of bed, grabbing robe and responsibility and an hour for contemplation before the work begins today.
And there is much to do - in delayed promise-keeping and baby preparation. I breathe long and deep and think of sneaking out to grab warm coffee and a few small Christmas gifts, but I don't, and Pete wakes up and creaks his way across the cold floors into the kitchen for garlic and C to chase away his hard-earned sore throat and tired.
Now Piper is awake, chattering away on couch with Daddy, watching "Einsteins" after having relocated and dropped bedroom toybox with a cute "whoops! Sorry!" onto the living room floor.
We hadn't cleaned up after her last night anyway.
The contractions are already working this morning; I am at 36 weeks tomorrow. Sooner than we have realized Button will be in our home, changing our lives beyond my popping joints and a writhing baby belly.
I take a breath now, and the day begins and the weekend begins, and I ponder grace and measured strength and what it means to listen for Him through the noise of What We Need to Do.
(Image © Informal Moments Photography)