Monday, February 4, 2013
The Night Before
Nine years ago at this moment, I probably was saying goodbye to my friends for the night. I'd hosted the weekly TV viewing party, the shows were over, and we had work the next day. I'd planned to go to work, but I didn't make it. By 7:17 a.m., I had a baby and never went to work again.
I should be wrapping presents right now. Or hiding the packages for the scavenger hunt my daughter made for her big brother to do before school. Or packaging the brownies to share with his class. I should be coming up with a clever surprise to leave in his room, so he can see it when he first wakes up tomorrow. I usually leave a small gift, and I know that he hopes to open it at precisely 7:17 tomorrow.
I should be doing so many productive things, but instead I sit at my computer and think about that night, that day, that moment I first saw my firstborn. When I'm done writing, I'm certain to spend more than a few minutes looking through photos from that day nine years ago, the day when my job description forever changed.
As much as I will remember his arrival, I'll also recall the moments leading up to our meeting. The carefully packed bag, the perfect iPod mix, the deck of cards, all of which were completely superfluous for a shoulder presentation and unexpected C-section. Instead, I'll remember being awakened by the bizarre feeling of my water breaking. The leisurely showers my husband and I each took, how I stripped the bed and put a load of sheets in the washer before departing for the hospital. Definitively agreeing to a name while we drove down Lakeshore Drive.
The brownies sit on the counter. The lunch boxes are unpacked. The presents are unwrapped. The surprises unhidden. Everyone else has gone to bed. Here I sit, listening to the hum and slosh of the washing machine, remembering the morning that life changed from Before to Now.
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I have linked this post to (and been inspired to write it by) Just Write, "an exercise in free writing your ordinary and extraordinary moments." Want to see more? Like the Flotsam of the Mind Facebook page.