Today I want to talk about my other baby. The younger one. The one who is about the size of a bell pepper, and wakes me up in the middle of the night to have a glass of milk or a teeny-tiny banana. (I crave these bananas for shear cuteness’ sake. I’m thinking Baby eats the cuteness and tosses aside the vitamins.) Today I want to talk about the one who has lots of possible given names, depending on the gender, but whom we refer to as “Junebug”. That one.
We find out next Thursday if Junebug is a Ladybug or a Mister Bug. One day I think girl. The next day I think boy. I have no idea. Steven thinks girl because he says I am extra sassy. Hmph. We are not telling a single soul this one’s name before birth because we hope and pray and believe that time to use this little one’s name will be abundant.
This little one loves its Daddy. As I am beginning to feel movement, I thought late afternoon was just when Baby liked to dance around (love those sweet little flutters). But I discovered the other day, when Steven came home late from work, that Baby waits to dance until Daddy comes through the door and gives us a hug and tells us about his day. It’s not the time of day! It’s Daddy! I am wondering if Junebug can hear now, since I’ve just noticed this in the past week or so. Or maybe it can just feel that Mama is happy when Daddy comes home, and that’s an occasion for dancing.
I have dreams for this baby. June is such a perfect time to be born. I have dreams of swaddling Baby with summer gauze rather than fleece. I have dreams of leaving the hospital and putting Junebug in the car seat, and Steven driving home while I sit in the back seat because I can’t take my eyes off of my new little miracle. I have dreams of coming home, and snuggling on the couch, just the three of us. I have dreams of spending the first few weeks living off of frozen casseroles I’ve stockpiled in my third trimester and staying in my nightgown all day, devoting the day to eating and sleeping. Sometimes I’ll do laundry. 😉 I have dreams of a white, rocking crib. I even have dreams of being sleep-deprived because my growing Baby needs to eat constantly. I have dreams of taking Baby to church to be introduced to all our friends. I have dreams of venturing out with Baby in a carrier, to take a slow hike in the beautiful canyon down the road from our home. I have dreams of all shapes and sizes.
One of my dreams has already come true! It’s a dream that carried over from my hopes for Sam. Some of you know about this dream, so rooted in my deepest hope. To rock in a rocker like this:
Another one of my Craigslist finds! It’s sitting in my bedroom right now, waiting for the slipcover my mother and I are going to sew when she comes to visit me this week. I sit in it sometimes and practice rocking, and it fits me just right. There is a fear, this nasty voice who sometimes tells me that I will regret hoping and dreaming, but I don’t think I will. My firstborn taught me that. So I rock and dream and wonder who this little person will be. I am not afraid, and I will not run from anything but hopelessness. I dream.