My foster granddaughter and I sewed pillows yesterday. She brought them home with her, pleased as punch (what does that expression mean, anyhow?) Her mom's baby is due this coming Saturday. It's exciting, and these last days always stretch out interminably. Waiting is hard. Her mother is so cheerful, and glows, but still. She's feeling done. On to the next phase.
I had my first three kids late, so I know all about waiting. When the fourth was a week early, I was unprepared. Whatever scenarios I thought up ahead of time, I was always surprised. And each kid has turned out to be so different from the others, that it makes sense they began life differently.
My mother thought I was a difficult birth (I was her first) and my brother an easy baby. Her attitude and relationship to me was difficult, and she simply adored my brother. Though perhaps not fair, it's natural. The circumstances surrounding birth color the whole experience. Lucky for me, I had easy births each time, and this perhaps overly encouraged me to have another. I liked pregnancy and birth. It was my own personal magic act.
So it's fun to be let in on a brand new magic act, coming right up, any day now.
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