When I was pregnant with Jackson, we had his name, nursery and hospital bag packed well ahead of “go time.”
I remember washing all his new clothes in Dreft and just breathing in the amazing baby smell, warm and soft against my cheek, straight from the dryer.
With Abby, she didn’t wear clothes until she was over three pounds. But once she did, I carefully washed her clothes and blankets at home, folding them neatly, and brought them back to the hospital to place in her drawers for the nurses. I’d open that drawer to get something out, and there was that new baby Dreft smell.
Over the past few months, I’ve bought a few outfits here and there, but graciously received bins of hand-me-downs. We’re talking BINS. My mom volunteered to wash the baby’s clothes for me, so knowing what I now know about motherhood, I accepted the help without any guilt.
I even accepted her help to organize all his stuff, too. I have a good Mom, can’t you tell?
So yesterday, I sat in the new rocker in the baby’s room and watched Mom place onesies, pants, bibs, blankets and pajamas into his freshly painted dresser. She hung up all the sleepers and outfits in the closet. We went through and picked our favorites. We marveled at how much stuff he already has.
Especially that newly washed baby clothes smell.
All this time, I’ve been focused on the pregnancy. Keep me healthy, keep him healthy. It’s been a job I didn’t want to fail at again.
I eat, even though I don’t have an appetite. I take what feels like a whole pharmacy’s worth of pills daily to keep “things” in check. I rest, even when I want to be doing something productive, because it’s what my body needs. For some reason, pregnancy just doesn’t come easy for me.
Focus, focus, focus. Stay healthy. Hit milestones. Make it another week. Then another. And another.
But…oh my…the clean baby clothes smell yesterday. That smell meant baby. I looked around the room. This room means baby. All this work, it means baby. That’s the prize. All the steps taken on the way are just that: on the way to baby.
A little person we’ve never met is coming to live at our house. Permanently.
I know this sounds dumb, but it took that moment to realize I wasn’t having a pregnancy. Something about that smell made the mental switch to allow real excitement that there was more than 24-hour urine collections, pills, ultrasounds and non stress tests. There’s a sweet little baby coming, just like there once was eight years ago with Jackson, and four years ago with Abby. Half me, half Everett.
He’s the final piece of our family puzzle. And he’ll be here in less than two weeks.
I think we’re going to make it!