I can feel my mind burrowing down, away from the winds of the world and into that place it will soon need to be to birth and nourish and properly adore a new baby. I can feel the distraction tugging me away from work, from other people, from to-do lists. My nesting is not scrubbing floors or stocking the freezer (these things are mostly done, but out of practicality as opposed to biological need); it’s starting to knit a baby blanket a week before the due date with the baby quilt still on the quilt frame and needing many many stitches. It’s reading beautiful words. It’s listening to my body, waiting for the sonar to ping back with the signal that Someone is Coming.
On the first day of spring, after a winter without illness, I started battling a cold. For two days, I wasn’t sure who would win, but by Sunday it was clear that illness would. Now I am congested and without sense of taste or smell, stuffing cloth wipes and napkins into my pockets in case of sneezes that lead to rather devastatingly disgusting consequences if not caught in time. I’ll admit, I’m very much hoping baby will wait until it clears to arrive.
So it’s tea and fire cider and watching the snow finally finally beginning to melt away. It’s staying close to home, reading and doing puzzles with my son, knitting every free moment. It’s waiting for the gardening seeds to arrive in the mail, hopeful that we can get a few planted inside before there’s other life to tend to. It’s breasts beginning to ache, belly unbelievably big and so crowded by this child. And just as spring will one day soon surprise us by being real, so will this new little life.
The quilt pattern is called “flying geese.”