Those last couple of days of my pregnancy were fraught with emotion. Thankfully, I had D to carry me through as well as being constantly checked up on by a doting nursemaid.
For a while it wasn't clear if there would ever be bright days again...
I was about as round as I could be and felt picked through like
the pumpkin patch I visited.
All my sisters were in St. Augustine for my dad's funeral service.
D was tasked with the heavy order of providing the face-to-face missing cynical humor with an UBER-dark slant. For his part, I must admit he did a great job: joking that all the crying I was doing would leave our kid with shaken-baby syndrome and offering to make me a bloody Vergina when the frustration of passing my due date started getting to me.
After we sifted through the rawness of the service, we were left at home in the silence on our couch ... waiting for the baby to arrive. It was such a hollow let down, and it felt best to refocus on the promise of the baby again. Our doula offered to come henna my belly and it was just the sort of thing that seemed strangely appropriate since I could get old-fashioned fuzzy. The baby moved around the entire time loving every bit of the attention and joy it created.
The Sunday before my water broke, D and I took Ginger up to Elk Meadow for a hike. The weather flirted with snow and we saw three elk nestled in for the afternoon. Ginger made it all the way without the angst or anxiety she has come to adopt on any given walk. It really was the brightest point.
This is our last family photo with the baby in utero
(can you dig Ginger clocking the belly?!).