Dear Reese,
Happy Due Date, darling. We waited five more days for you. Last year today, I walked home from the cottage and saw a turtle on the side of the road, and sent the picture to your Mama A.
I sent it to your Aunt Jenn too, and she told me turtles are a symbol of grounding, determination, persistence, emotional strength, and ancient wisdom.
Did I mention, darling, how I was losing my mind waiting for you?
I really was. You felt... unreal to me. Or maybe too real. I bought you newborn outfits, and the car seat was unboxed from storage, but we didn’t set up the crib. We didn’t move the furniture in your room to make space for it. Because a year before that, I drove two days home from Kansas with an empty car seat and walked into a room that had an empty space for that crib, sitting in a box against the wall. MorMor and Cappi helped me move the furniture back. We had to carry that unopened crib box down the stairs to store in the barn, along with all the other boxes of baby things.
So when I say I was losing my mind in those final days before you were born, I mean I didn’t dare hope for you... all the while hoping for you with all my heart.
Tonight, I bring a ball outside for us to play with, but it doesn’t hold your interest long. What does hold your interest: trying to eat dirt, woodchips, and pinecones. You are so annoyed with me for continuing to stop you that I wonder if I should just let you have at it. Yesterday, you put a fistful of sand in your mouth and then went back for more.
Before bed, you’re restless, your attention won’t hold on a book for more than a page, and you want off my lap and onto the floor. I let you go, letting you play with the fallen books and pull books off the shelf while I read to you from our Nordic Tales book — a book without pictures but retellings of Scandinavian folklore. It’s peaceful, and when you’re ready to get back up, you stand and tug on my leg, and go through the final steps of our bedtime routine.
I just had to wait until you were ready.
Love,
Mama