There's nothing like being knocked up to make a couple sit around and weigh the pros and cons of having a boy baby vs. a girl baby. I'll be honest with you. We could have cared less. We were more concerned with the fact that the ultrasound tech was REALLY looking for important things, like holes in the heart and malformations of the spine. Yikes.
But once the baby was declared healthy and we wiped the cold sweat from our foreheads, the tech smiled and said "It's a girl." Our brains began to spin.
I'd like to preface this post by saying my husband is one of those delightful males who is totally secure in his manhood. He buys makeup and tampons for me. He shrugs his shoulders and says "whatever you want" when I eat too much pie, get high on a sugar level spike and start screaming, "I'm going to paint the whole house pink! Wouldn't that be beautiful?" He doesn't bat an eye when I putter back and forth in front of his tv line of sight and decorate the man-room mantle in the frilliest, sparkliest, girliest Christmas decorations... on November 17th. But that's another story.
Matt wasn't pining away for a male prodigy to burp and fist bump with. But as we held hands and gazed into each others eyes, I saw a tiny bit of worry in his deep violet peepers.
"I think my job just got harder," he smiled, happy tears rolling down his cheeks.
Ha. Just kidding. The only time I've seen Matt remotely close to crying was when Mabel was a puppy and got stuck behind the refrigerator. Again. Another story.
I shook my head and patted his hand, "Nope honey. MY job just got a lot harder."
And that's when I told him this story.
One time Mom and Dad had an argument. Dad stomped into the living room and Mom clanked dishes loudly in the kitchen. She simmered for a while, and then noticed the house was uncharacteristically quiet. She rounded the corner into the living room and stopped short.
Dad was sitting in his chair, eyes closed. Rebecca (age 9) was standing behind the chair, lovingly combing his hair. Rachel (age 5)was perched in his lap, patting his face. They both gazed at Mom accusingly, and continued to console poor Daddy. It was clear whose side of the argument the girls favored, and Mom was clearly the loser.
People always patted Dad's back and said, "Three daughters? I'm sorry." But the person they should have been handing apologies to was Mom. She was the one we rolled our eyes at and mouthed off to. We ignored her advice. We snuck around behind her back. Daddy was sacrosanct.
So as unfamiliar as pink tutus and intricate architectural constructs of the female pony tale may be to Matt, he's not the one who really has to worry. I do. He'll be the good guy. I'll be the one who says things like, "No, you can't get your ears pierced a third time, you're ten." And Jane hold up a hand, and mumble "whatever mom" as she trots off to give Matt a foot massage.
And I can't wait.
This morning was dark and drippy and cold. I turned on the heat. It seemed like a good day for a dress and tights and boots. Although, I can barely see my boots.
It also seemed like a good morning for hot chocolate in my car. The ducks swam in the rain. Boat dock lights twinkled in the distance. Goodbye flip flops. Welcome fall.
And the best part? I cleaned my office, which has of late become dumping ground for all things baby related.
I've got edit brainstorming to do. But life is distracting. Like watching TV. Waiting to feel tiny baby butterfly kicks. Planning Christmas gifts. Plotting nursery ideas. Trying to find a black maternity dress for a wedding. Admiring the crisscross patterns the late afternoon sun makes across the floor.
And then when I finally do make it into my office to do some work, there's that pesky problem of Christmas movies stacked on the book case, conveniently within reaching distance. It's a big toss up when you think, "Hmmm, writing, or Christmas in Connecticut?" Sigh. I'll put nose to grindstone very soon. Just as soon as I move all those movies into the den.
But with the shorter, darker days comes a lot of happy home time. There's nothing like chilly temps and long shadows to make us retreat into our houses, do some laundry and watch old movies. Mabel likes it too, mostly because she burrows into the laundry piles when I'm not looking. And no, I don't rewash them afterward.
Time change always lights a fire under me to organize closets and get rid of excess 'stuff.' I've been tackling the kitchen storage especially. You can't really tell, but I've emptied out the whole top shelf in the laundry closet. We're calling it Operation Make Room For Baby.
I gave Mabel a small piece of cookie while Matt watched. No chocolate. She was perhaps the most thankful dog in the whole wide world, even though I ended up yelling at her to be still so I could take the picture. She totally doesn't get the importance of blog pictures.
The boxes have come out of the attic.
Christmas came early.
I'm doing my best to chill out, mostly because I know life is about to take on a manic speed once the holiday slide past. So Mabel and I are spending time in pajamas. Actually, her fur coat is way snazzier than my pink cotton pj's.
I also unpacked these guys. I bought them on sale last year in January. It was like a regift to myself.
Storms have been moving in and out of the state. 
I was sorry to see them go. 
I've been thinking about the nursery. And all that baby stuff we're going to need. It's pretty darn exciting. But I'll wait a little longer before the real nursery work begins. If anyone needs me, I'll be sitting on a yoga ball in the den.
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