Last week we hit the THIRD TRIMESTER which means that in a VERY SHORT AND YET WHAT STILL FEELS LIKE A LARGE AMOUNT OF TIME, the baby will live OUTSIDE my body, and we will bring him back into the house for the first time and we’ll say Look at your house! This is your house! and he will take it all in through his clouded eyes then scream for the next 4 to 5 months.
This weekend, we put his crib together, and while I wish it had been the comedy moment we’ve all dreamt of, where Morrison cusses at the directions and pieces fall, it was pretty smooth and painless. As I watched from the new chair in the corner, literally doing NOTHING to help (my new resting state) I thought about all of the times that people have brought babies into a troubled world. (Every time?) It’s hard not to separate the thought of the Baby, from the World. But he’s inevitable. He’s almost here. And he brings hope. He hasn’t met the world yet, he hasn’t made decisions about it, he’s not bitter about it, he hasn’t read too many articles yet, he’s not a product of his upbringing, he’s not plotting or worrying or apologizing or wringing his hands, not yet. Today, his big toe is the size of a Chocolate Chip. And so all we can do is prepare a place for him to sleep, remove everything with which he might suffocate himself; fill the crib temporarily with foil, so as to deter the Cat.