these days, these nights
I hold him close and let him wrap my hair around his fist as he snuggles in, thumb in mouth, tears on cheeks. His elder brother suddenly gives a cry and I shift the younger over the evidence of the youngest and waddle down the hall to give one more caress.
It’s a restless night. They’re unsettled and now I’m up and too awake so we wander and sit and listen to the train that’s too loud and wonder what the next nights will bring.
For this night and the next two I know that these late night wanderings are more than fine. Once the boys are settled, I’m gifted with a sense of quiet and freedom and privacy and contemplation. I know that, for tomorrow morning and two more, I can rest as long as I like, awake to tended children, walk through a tidy home, step out for a walk on my own.
Papa’s home for a few days. Play time, the other voice of discipline, strength.
Husband is present. Rest time, the other half of vows, love.
The past twenty-four hours have offered a bit of a roller coaster in discussion and thought and processing. Birth, roles, gender, expectations, home, parenting, love. Now, as I sit alone in the dark with the train horn fading, I’m able to catch a breath, and perspective. It’s how we do things. It’s one of those challenges/blessings of living totally apart and then totally together in a season of total change.
I look at the blue string still clinging to my wrist, and know that there are women Present with me.
I look at the paint around my ring finger (cuz that ring just isn’t fitting so great these days) and I know that he is part of me.
I feel my son roll and kick, and I wonder.
This season has held so much…mystery. Our move back to this province and then back to this town—it wasn’t ‘the plan’. The creation of this baby, now on the brink of being in my arms, was a blessed surprise. This job that continues to keep him so far far away, was and is an answer in a time of need, yet stirs questions and yearnings with each week apart.
None of it makes sense, yet all of it has been given as part of our story, as a thread in a Greater Picture, as note asking for an echo of thanksgiving.
So tonight I sit here in the dark, now silent. I ponder what I can do to ‘make’ this Baby appear before Wednesday (J’s scheduled departure and the date of my own birth). I search for signs and remind myself to be present, to open my hands, let it go, embrace the mystery, the mysteries, the Story.
And then that babe cries again and my time is up. Expecting the unexpected, and accepting it when it comes.