If all goes according to plan, my baby will be born next Tuesday. Of course, how often do things go according to plan — especially when kids are involved?
So my bag is packed and ready to go. I lope around the house slowly, trying to do things that don’t take too much effort. My nesting instincts are in full force; I’m dying to scrub out the bathroom, rare in itself (how often do I actually WANT to clean the bathtub?) but I can barely bend over, so the grime stays.
I’m also spending lots of time with my son, who is about to be displaced as Only Child and Center of His Parents’ Universe. Poor little guy; he has no idea what is about to hit him. We read books and sing together and play ball in the backyard — I kick the ball so I don’t have to stoop to pick it up — and I just can’t stop hugging him. It’s bittersweet; I’m excited to meet this new baby, whom I love already, but wonder how his or her arrival will impact my relationship with Matthew.
But even if I’m spread a bit more thin — okay, a lot more thin — than I am now, I know that my love for Matthew won’t change. I also believe that one of the best gifts a parent can give a child is a sibling. I know that, initial jealousy and adjustment aside, the arrival of this baby will be one of the best and most exciting things in his life.
In ours, too.