These are the days...

... to remember

I am having an inward battle. At thirty-eight weeks and counting, every fiber of my round self is straining toward the finish line. There is another part of me, a quiet and beautiful part of me, that is enjoying this ride.

Nearly every day I look back and mentally name the things that I wouldn't have been able to enjoy had baby come along. While I am starting to dread going to sleep at night because I cannot find a place to comfortably put my torpedo shaped belly, in the mornings I think about the little treasures I experienced the day before. This morning I shook my head in wonderment thinking about watching my friend Tayler's news interview. Had I a baby in my arms in a hospital bed, Josh and I would probably not have ended the day watching with jaw-dropping amazement as our buddy Tayler Middleton was interviewed by Channel 12 for his bold job search tactics. Had baby come last week when my impatience started to crescendo I would not have been able to share the first Spring-like day with my son on two different playgrounds, with a picnic lunch and bare feet on newly thawed grass.

Most of all though, had baby come I would not have belly laughed yesterday. Josh and I made no plans for this weekend, I know in my mind it was because I had long ago reserved this weekend for an early delivery. Nonetheless, the weekend came and it has not been interrupted by a midnight trip to the hospital. I can honestly say I'm glad. Yesterday my sister and I met at the Farmers' Market, our favorite sister activity here in the Triad. When we were about to leave Ginny said, "Wait, there is something I wanted to tell you."

She peered in her bags of vegetables and I looked at her inquisitively.

"You wanted to tell me about...?," I asked, confused as to why she was burying her head in vine ripe tomatoes.

"I'm trying to remember what made me think to tell you...," she replied. "Oh! Remember how you gave me that two dollar bill?"

I chuckled, for the the connection between farmers' market produce and a green back Jefferson was lost on me.

"Well, Mark and I were in Hilton Head and we wanted to visit the Salty Dog, but didn't realize it was located on its own island," she continued her story. "...So we pulled up to this gatehouse and told the man, he was an older man, that we thought we were lost. He explained we were headed in the right direction, but it would be a five dollar toll to get across to the restaurant."

I started to see where this was going, and I smiled picturing my sister with her wallet opened up to the two dollar bill I had given her as a gift, something to save because of its unique quality.

"I opened up my wallet and saw three one dollar bills and that two dollar bill you gave me, the one that you told me was rare. I looked up at the man and told him," and here she made an apologetic face, the same face she made to the old man in the toll booth,"'I only have these three dollar bills and a two dollar bill."

I laughed. Apparently so did the old man.

Ginny continued. "That would make five dollars, ma'am," she imitated his calm response to her juvenile quandary.

"But I can't give you my two dollar bill!," and at this part of the telling her eyes were wide and her curls were bouncing around her pretty face and I could just picture her leaning over Mark with her blue eyes flashing and the man reflecting the light in her eyes with a twinkle in his own. "It's rare!," she exclaimed. "My sister gave it to me!," she added for emphasis, as if the gift of this precious item would make its rarity even more sacred.

Apparently at this the old man's eyes widened too, as Ginny replayed for me while we walked past the empty market stalls on our way back to the car, and he was at a loss for how to respond. At this point in the story Mark tried to intercept Ginny's inane inability to part with her money.

"Give the man the bill, Ginny," he said in that gentle way that is a gift of my brother-in-law's, but firm too, in the manner of a husband who is baffled and whose frustration is about to pique.

Ginny then looked at me as she had looked at Mark and further showed her sisterly loyalty, "But I told him, 'Hannah gave this to me and told me it was rare.'"

"We'll get you another two dollar bill, Ginny, just give the man the money," Mark urged.

At this point Ginny must have felt incredulous and in need of backup, but the only backup she had was the sixty-something-year-old man in the booth, so she looked up at him, blond curls still bouncing, "You can't just get these, can you? My sister told me..."

Having his opinion finally asked of him, the man said calmly, "I think your sister misinformed you ma'am. You can get another two dollar bill at the bank."

At this, Ginny did not let up in her steadfast determination to guard the sacredness of my simple gift (which at this point I was realizing was a huge debacle I had started and I struggled to contain my laughter from erupting in the form of a baby birthed right there on the farmers' market parking lot). She reluctantly reached into her wallet to retrieve the precious greenback and as she did discovered a crumpled up five dollar bill hiding behind it. Whipping it out like the golden ticket from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory she exclaimed in triumph, "I have a five!"

Mark dropped his forehead to his hands and shook his head while the toll booth man kindly accepted the proffered five.

And I ask myself, would I have wanted to miss the retelling of that priceless story as I stood in the sunshine with my sister and our bags of vegetables?

Some worthwhile shots

In Butler, PA, visiting the Evans' beautiful log cabin home with Mark and Ginny. With a soft falling snow and a fire in the hearth, it was winter perfection all weekend:)

Asleep with Casey Willet, our dear friend and one of Jonathan's best buds.

Everyone has to have the funky aunt, right? This is how Ginny and Jonathan express their love for one another. When Ginny asks, "How much do I love you," Jonathan squeezes his eyes shut tight (so does Ginny) and sticks his tongue out. Then she switches, "How much do you love me," and the answer is the same. Odd I'm sure, but it tickles me every time!

My two-year-old best friend

Loneliness seems to be one consistent theme of young motherhood. Women flood Chick'fil'a, the aisles at Target, and the train table at the bookstore, I believe with the sole intention of hearing other voices, possibly striking up a conversation with another adult--even a cashier will do. While our children are our joy and pride, they are not our confidantes or soul mates. Their smiles brighten our day and even inspire our giftedness, but they are not normally invitations for a long and meaningful chat.

That, at least, is what I thought.

Josh has only been gone for one night of four and already I feel my energy stores weakening. After a sub-par sleep last night and the lulling cadence of gray, cold rain all day today I was plumb tuckered out on the way home from the doctor. I looked in the rear-view mirror a few times and saw Jonathan's eyelids drooping as well, and hoped silently that we would make it home before one or both of us fell asleep. Add to this fact my lonely momma brain and the residue of unsettling dreams (a result of an absent husband or pregnancy hormones I don't know) and you can imagine how dreary I felt, as if my insides were raining too.

Yet as I drove down New Garden Road I heard my little companion say, "I miss Daddy."

"I miss Daddy too," I assured him genuinely.

"And I want Sandy to come my house," he further stated with chagrin.

"Me too buddy."

It was in that moment that I realized my best friend was sitting in the car with me. No one else on the planet would choose those two individuals, in that order, and in that moment. But I would. One of my recent unsettling dreams was about my late golden retriever, our sweet Sandy girl, and I've been thinking about her every day, missing her and wishing I could bring her darling russet self back into my living room. Most of the time when we talk about Sandy we simply state, "She's in doggie heaven," and it is enough for both my son and I to accept this fact and push the issue no further. In that moment however, that she was gone to a different and hopefully better place was not enough. We both missed her just wanted her back, with no explanations of where she in fact is or how and why she got there.

And no one else would understand that in that very moment in the car I was wishing for my other redhead, my soul mate one, to greet us at the door with his smile and energy and steadiness. No one that is, except my two-year-old best friend...in the world.