waiting.

Hours. Days. Weeks.

Those are the words floating in my head right now. Will we hear in minutes even that our Little Lion Man has arrived? Will it be hours? Days? Weeks? We've neared that final stretch in waiting, and in so many ways it's so much more difficult to go about our normal business when we know—feel even—the shifting in and around us.

At night it's worse. I close my eyes and the butterflies crash against my chest and every small noise jolts me awake because was that my phone vibrating? 

Last night, I took to Tylenol PM and a shot of bourbon while watching Midnight in Paris with Russ. I'm not resting. I know I'm not. And it's because my heart and my mind and my soul just can't wait until this boy is in my arms. Yet, despite this best type of anxiousness, I'm simultaneously careening toward an event I have no idea how to handle. 

Me. A mother.

Us. Parents.

We've had a few people tell us to enjoy these last days. To soak in the moments where it's just us and no other obligations. And these words are spoken in love and care.

But they drive us bananas.

In August, Russ and I went for a long weekend getaway and during our second day, I looked at him resting on my chest and whispered, "this could be the last time it's just us."

He smiled. It was a slow smile—the one that makes my blood run electric—and he said, "I'm okay with that...I think it's time."

And it was time. Even then, ten months ago, we knew the love we had stored up in our bones was ready to blossom and share. Perhaps that's one of the things that makes expecting and trying and intentionally starting a family so beautiful: you know. You know in that deepest core it's time to share. 

So when we hear the oh just you waits and take this time, trust us and enjoy your last days of freedom! It does nothing but make us long for our son even more. We've waited three years for this to happen. THREE. YEARS. 

So I'm okay with saying I'm done with waiting. I'm okay with looking at those people and in my most gentle way of correction, shake my head and say, "thanks but no. We know how to enjoy each other and we both are ready for this next step and there's no way for you to understand the excruciating emotion I'm experiencing right now so I choose to not listen."

And then I turn around and close my eyes and whisper to no one and Every One and pray that somehow our son hears, "we're still waiting, little lion man. We can't wait to hold you in our arms."

Posted on May 25, 2013 .