There’s a crib in my house. It’s been set up for about a week now, and I still can’t quite get past it. There’s actually a crib in the room across the hall from my room. And, to make it even more mind boggling, soon there’s going to be an itty bitty little person laying in it.
Helen’s official due date is 2 weeks from today—March 18th. I told Helen she was nesting as I watched her attempt to organize her room and fold little pink things she’s received as gifts. She kept going and then finally asked me what I was saying after maybe the third time I said it. Apparently, she thought I told her she was nasty. Don’t worry; I assured her she was not and that she’s absolutely adorable with her big round belly and the way she slowly goes up the stairs, catching her breath with nearly every step.
I made a what-to-do-when-it’s-time list with all the important information (of course, I did)…and I laminated it, you know, just in case I freak out when she tells me her water broke and proceed to spit out the coffee in my mouth right onto the doctor’s phone number (of course, I laminated it). The list is hanging in our kitchen prominently, a reminder all day long that our worlds are about to change, in case her belly isn’t enough.

That baby has to stay put until next week though. I committed to going to a conference for adoptive moms in Atlanta this weekend before we even knew about this baby. I have offered to forego it and stay home staring at my list and Helen’s tummy. But, Helen has told me to go ahead. She has no real signs of impending labor at this point, and she knows I really want to go to this. So, I’m going to go, despite another snow storm coming tomorrow (#sodonewithwinter). But, I’ve got a quick(ish) getaway plan in place in case of emergency (i.e., “the call” from my husband saying “we need you NOW”). And, I’m putting Helen on bedrest from tomorrow until Sunday for good measure.
Our prayer this week—no baby. Next week? Okay, Jesus, we’re ready to go. Let’s meet this sweet thing who has turned our worlds upside down for the last 6 months.


When Helen brought Caleb into my bedroom crying with ear pain, I panicked. You may not have known it if you had been here though; I did a pretty good job on the outside so Helen would not panic too. I was sure it was an ear infection; I’ve been through that scene a few times. I thought about not taking him anywhere at all. I found myself justifying it in my head: I know people who just treat this with pain medication and let their child’s body fight the infection. But, if he were my child, I’d be dropping everything to take him to be seen and start antibiotics so that he’d quickly feel comfortable again. I couldn’t not take him somewhere. We had to have him seen; we could not add physical pain to the trauma he has already faced being totally uprooted. But, ear pain + no health insurance = not good.
