Transition, for most people is hard. For my little man it is especially difficult. It has been a long (my god has it been long) winter and clothes are a touchy thing for my child. He has spent many months rotating in and out of his same five long-sleeved tee shirts. He has become somewhat (very) attached and I have grown tired of looking at them with their dark blue hues and faded grays (not to mention with the sleeves that have wound up around two inches above his wrist like Frankenstein.) Spring is oh so slowly appearing and even though I have picked up a number of new short sleeved tee shirts in bright happy colors, every time I pull one out he recoils in horror.
I purchased new pajamas for him in the next size up- blue and white. A three piece set with a tee, long pants and shorts. Amazingly he agreed to wear the tee shirt to bed the other night. Last night, in the warmth of his bedroom on a spring night, throwing caution to the wind I offered to pull out the shorts for him to wear after he was tucked in bed. Are they blue or purple? he asked. As I pulled them from the drawer I said oh my gosh are you going to be excited- they are both. They were a deep blue color (which we call purple for the sake of not having another argument) with light blue panel down the sides. I held them up and he lifted up his little legs so we could slide them on. He rushed out of bed this morning to show his father, who had yet to see them. White tee, blue shorts, white socks. Isn't he adorable? I said when he disappeared out of earshot. He looks like a little gymnast.
************************************************************************
There are babies being born all over the place. The day care teacher and my neighbor down the street within the past couple of days alone. I still have six weeks and some days until my due date but the baby's arrival feels very much less speculative and much more real. My thoughts are frequently railroaded with visions of being in the hospital bed with a monitor strapped around my water buffalo middle. Epidural needles. Nurses. You really do forget, until you consciously remember. It's like my body is starting to prepare in more ways than one.
I have a crib set, jungle animals, very neutral, almost like new that I can set up for number two. I tell myself, it's silly to spend money on a new crib set when this one is perfectly fine. But I can't stop looking. Today I found one, deeply discounted, with dinosaurs. I think I have to buy it. We are repainting and updating the nursery and this is not the same child and I don't feel the same as I did the last time.
I shouldn't have to preface this, but I feel like I need to: Without implying that I love my little man any less, loved him any less, I am looking so forward to meeting this child. That anticipation, that vision of a baby in the crib was heavily clouded the first time with such uncertainty and for me, the steepest divide to climb between my old life and the new.
I know I am in for some hard days and nights. I know my little man is going to have a terrible time with this. I know my patience is going to be tested again and again and I will do things or say things that I wish I had not. But I feel mostly ready. More ready than I thought I would have six months ago.
Today. Ask me again in six weeks.
