Nine months, yesterday.
I'm used to nine months being a count down.
A count down to babies, our boys.
Nine months should not be a tally mark to how long we've lived without him.
The world keeps on turning, and others are laboring, making families.
Mike was a good birther.
He would tilt his head at me for saying that publicly. Tilting the head meant he thought I was being embarrassing or should maybe think about what I was doing or saying, but it was all good. Raising the eyebrows meant I or someone should definetly think about what was being said or done, a warning of sorts, and it was not all good.
He was a good birther though. I may have been the one to push our boys into the world, but he was my strength, provided to me by the Lord. He was by my side as each first breath was taken, and, for some he was more than by my side. Sometimes the strength of his arms were physically holding me upright as I pulled against them to work. Each sweet boy came into this world with their daddy right there, holding the weight of his family.
The days after our babies births are in my favorite memories. The house would stay quiet and it felt as if everyone were moving in slow motion. The air was sweet and heavy with love. The days purpose was to be still and let our home be one filled with a peaceful euphoria.
Hormones of motherhood would start unfolding in me and I'd fall in love. With my baby. With my home. With Mike. Baby number four had me like a teenage school girl. I was googly eyes for my man something crazy. He was awesome. He was so cute. He was all that and then some, which is sort of a little miracle considering nine months before I pretty much wanted to wring his neck on a daily bases. We were driving each other to the edge, both in a car spun out of control by life. And after 16 years of marraige we weren't being the nicest we could have been when asking each other to please buckle up for the ride. But baby boy four came along and slowed that car down to a reasonable pace so that by the time he was born we were riding in a convertable with the top down.
Number five took us by surprise and left us closer than we had ever been in our lives. Through terryifying darkness he held me once again. This time both during birth and the weeks following. He held on to me and I crawled inside of him. I was paralyzed by a world so full of feeling. Feeling so intensly hurt, and hurting meant sadness, and sadness filled me. He supported me with the strength of his arms, holding me upright as I pulled against life.
Thank you Lord for a man that was a good birther. Thank you for sending your strength down in the form of my man's arms.
Nine months, and no new baby.
I'm used to nine months being a count down.
A count down to babies, our boys.
Nine months should not be a tally mark to how long we've lived without him.
The world keeps on turning, and others are laboring, making families.
Mike was a good birther.
He would tilt his head at me for saying that publicly. Tilting the head meant he thought I was being embarrassing or should maybe think about what I was doing or saying, but it was all good. Raising the eyebrows meant I or someone should definetly think about what was being said or done, a warning of sorts, and it was not all good.
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| The Good Birther and I, moments before #4 arrived. |
The days after our babies births are in my favorite memories. The house would stay quiet and it felt as if everyone were moving in slow motion. The air was sweet and heavy with love. The days purpose was to be still and let our home be one filled with a peaceful euphoria.
Hormones of motherhood would start unfolding in me and I'd fall in love. With my baby. With my home. With Mike. Baby number four had me like a teenage school girl. I was googly eyes for my man something crazy. He was awesome. He was so cute. He was all that and then some, which is sort of a little miracle considering nine months before I pretty much wanted to wring his neck on a daily bases. We were driving each other to the edge, both in a car spun out of control by life. And after 16 years of marraige we weren't being the nicest we could have been when asking each other to please buckle up for the ride. But baby boy four came along and slowed that car down to a reasonable pace so that by the time he was born we were riding in a convertable with the top down.
Number five took us by surprise and left us closer than we had ever been in our lives. Through terryifying darkness he held me once again. This time both during birth and the weeks following. He held on to me and I crawled inside of him. I was paralyzed by a world so full of feeling. Feeling so intensly hurt, and hurting meant sadness, and sadness filled me. He supported me with the strength of his arms, holding me upright as I pulled against life.
Thank you Lord for a man that was a good birther. Thank you for sending your strength down in the form of my man's arms.
Nine months, and no new baby.
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