It's Official (mostly)

You know the old joke, "how can you be kinda pregnant?" I think I have an answer to that. If you miscarried about 3 months ago, and then find out, lo and behold, you're pregnant again, it feels very nebulous. Like you're mostly pregnant; but you certainly don't want to go around saying things like, "We're having a baby!" Well, at least I didn't. Not for a while anyway.

But now I am 11 weeks into it and it looks like everything is exactly like a pregnancy should be. I've been sick and tired and they tell me this is good. (And really, I am glad, because I need a little a lot of reassurance that this is real and happening - every day.) I think I am over the sick part (mostly) but I'm pretty sure I'll be exhausted for the next two years. And I am starting to out-grow my clothes (mostly). And I have started to think (most of the time), at least to myself, that come February, we are having a baby. I've even started knitting for baby. So it must be true. We're having a baby. And mostly, I am really excited about it. But I would be lying if I didn't admit that there is a lurking little nagging feeling that pops up every now and then reminding me just how precarious and precious all of this really is.

So for now, I tell people that we are expecting. And that, I think, is exactly what we are doing.

Motherhood

I've had the unique opportunity to watch a mother and her fawn over the last two days. They must be living on the government property adjacent to ours. Last night, we saw them grazing along the two-track that leads to the lakehouse. It was magical to be so close to them. And the fawn was so curious about our vehicle that it kept inching nearer. The mother must have given her baby a cue of some sort (although completely invisible to me) because he suddenly bolted into the brush. She lingered a bit a then bolted too. (I did manage to get this photo of mom through the windsheild - not the best, but still.)

Then this morning, as I was eating my breakfast, I watched the same curious little fawn emerge from the brush at the side of our house and pick its way though our back yard and over to the little pond in back. I was surprised to see it alone, and then very quietly the mother emerged. She was watching and protecting, but still her fawn was learning how to survive in this strange environment of national park preserve and vacation-land mecca. She was showing him how to negotiate the humans, the traffic, the land and the water. She was allowing him to explore and learn and go a little too far before pulling him back with her silent signals. It reminded me what good mothering looks like. And how quickly our little ones grow and change and learn. Nature is a wonderful teacher.