From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I decided I'd have the baby on the full moon in March. I could see myself laboring under an equally round moon and a sky full of spring.
Tonight is the full moon in March in the western hemisphere.
This morning was gray and windy. Chup came with me to a midwife appointment where he asked the usual questions a male counterpart would ask.
"How do we know we are getting close?"
"Five minutes apart, one minute in duration." Explained Suzanne while nodding to make sure Chup caught the formula.
Funny we call it "going to labor." I feel like I've been laboring this whole time.
"You've got a ripe belly." Said the nurse as she measured my abdomen. "Anytime now!"
We moved The Chief out of his crib into his own bed last night. It was a rite of passage lost on him. Chup and I were managing our emotions stoutly enough, but both of us kept looking at each other wondering where time went. In the human experience, I declare passage of time is the biggest surprise.
You wait for it to pass and then wonder where it went.
I made quesadillas for lunch, because they were requested.
We ate quietly. Our front lawn was a dust war, the wind was picking up.
With intent to help my son nap in his new room, I lied down next to him reading books and singing songs. I thought he was transitioning into slumber so I slid off the bed and retreated to my own.
But the wind would not let either of us sleep. The whole house was shaking and moaning. Branches were scratching the top of the roof. From the window looking out into the backyard I could see the swing-set rattling around and particles flying through the air.
I could hear The Chief talking to himself and when I crept down the hall to check on him I could see him--through the crack in the door--having a delightful dialogue with his push motorcycle. The machine had somehow climbed in bed with him as well.
They were fine.
I tried to sleep some, but I was restless. By 2:30 I had given up on naps and let The Chief play in the backyard as I organized our new bedroom situation.
The backyard echoed with my son's intense self-discussion. I went about cleaning dressers and dusting to the tune of his little voice. After awhile it became quiet. When I checked outside I saw The Chief boxing the wind. His little fists pumped in the air as he threw jabs into the moving atmosphere. Tiny jumps accompanied each thrust.
I am going to laugh about that tonight, I made a mental note, because I was too tired at that moment.
When Dad came home we had pizza. My nap-less child ate half a slice of cheese pizza and downed an apple juice sippy.
"Done?" He said to Chup reaching for help out of the high chair.
Then, like a baby zombie he walked over to me and scratched my belly--the unmistakable sign he wants to be held. I held him abandoning dinner. It took only twenty seconds before he was unshakably asleep. 7:23.
"This air is making me miserable," Chup said, his voice plugged with allergies.
"Let's go lie down." I suggested.
Our new bedroom is the nosiest part of the house. It sounded like a panicked zoo outside our windows.
"Tonight is the full moon." Chup reminded me, his arm around my shoulders, my head on his chest. "Could it happen?"
But before I could answer a maternally-minded reply, he was asleep.
So for the second time today, I slid out of bed. This time I retreated to write.
And so here I am, 8:18 pm. Full moon, storm brewing, my heart beating with hope.
But something tells me this time hasn't come. And when it does, I'll know it.
dear c jane
the party continues!
rock on baby party!
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