Last year, on Christmas morning, Beth and I unwrapped one of the most amazing gifts a young couple can get – the good news of a baby on the way. Owing to the delicacy of early pregancy, we decided to stay mum on the news, though slightly aware that the excitement bubbling under might betray us with every tear of wrapping paper or pop of ribbon and bow.
The weeks after were filled with tenuous excitement. We endured the early stages of pregnancy with self-imposed milestones, only allowing ourselves an additional ounce of muted joy with the passing of each successful check-up. We were cautious – perhaps at times overly so – favoring guarded hearts over unbridled faith. I must admit, I didn’t begin preparing myself in earnest until just a couple of weeks ago.
So what has my procrastination earned me? Weekends and evenings filled with nursery preparation, overwhelming numbers of pages to read about how not to screw up, orienting north to south, instruction manuals to read about mechanical objects designed to offer rest and protection to our little one that, much to my dismay, I can’t operate with a keyboard or mouse. It is all so new, it is all so much, and the time is all so little. And yet, amidst all of the hubbub and hullabaloo I … just … can’t … wait.
These last few weeks that have flown by are indelible moments that, now and forever, will serve as the last paragraphs of the prologue to our little girl’s story. On one of my last Saturday mornings in silence I’m slowing down for a bit to reflect on this time that has changed me, that has inspired in me a new resolve, a new purpose, a new reverence for this life that we are granted. I might have worried Beth a bit along the way with how long it took me to get here. But hopefully she’s learned by now that I will arrive eventually. I just have to get there on my own time.