I hear their voices early in the morning. Sometimes I’m in the bathroom. Other times I made it to the kitchen table. Mostly I’m still in bed. Sometimes it’s the sweet request to come and cuddle, others it begins with shrieks and whines and I want to pull the covers back over my head. But I have no choice but to start the day. I drag myself into a sitting position and wait for my ligaments and joints to settle before I try to put weight on my legs. These final weeks of pregnancy have not been kind. We are soon to be a family of five.
Sometimes the pain feels like too much and I wonder if I can really do this. But I know that somehow I will muddle my way through as I have two times before. That eventually the memory of the pain will fade, my body will heal and someday I’ll have energy again. That the sound of their voices will change and soon they won’t be knocking on my door, but getting themselves up and ready to start the day. I look forward to that day, yet I know when I comes some small part of me will grieve the end of the early morning call.
I wrote this particular post before the recent birth of our third child, but I loved the picture of my daughter with him, so I used to anyway.