the calm before the storm

I freaked out last week. FREAKED OUT. Up until that moment, I had been cruising along, feeling like I was doing a fantastic job of getting ready for Tater's arrival. The nursery was nearing completion. We'd taken all of the preparation classes recommended by Doc G. My rational mind knew that we were in good shape.

So what set me off? The hospital bag. I started putting together a checklist and thinking about when I'd like to have everything packed up and ready to go. Suddenly, time came crashing down on my head. Six weeks felt like no time at all. I couldn't wait another second to order the items on my Amazon wish list. Must. Own. Nipple cream.

Brad did a fantastic job of talking me off the ledge. He gave me the go ahead to spend a small fortune at Amazon, Target, and Baby Earth. He told me to make a couple lists and delegate stuff to him. Most importantly, he gave me a hug and coached me through a few deep breaths. Good man.

I wish I could say that was the end of my anxiety. I haven't had the same racing heartbeat and shortness of breath since then, but I've been obsessively creating and checking and modifying my to-do lists. I'm still eager to have the hospital bag assembled (deadline: Sunday).

This afternoon I was waiting on the el platform, watching train after train pass by without room for me and my belly. It made me grumpy. And it gave me plenty of time to stew over what tasks I wanted to tackle at home tonight. Laundry. Assemble the toiletries for the hospital bag. Make dinner. Pay rent. Call a cab for the trip to the doctor tomorrow morning. Figure out what to give Brad for Valentine's Day. Oh, and take Maggie on a walk, because Brad is working late.

Eventually, I pushed my way onto a train. On the walk home from the el station, I trudged through the snow and kept my head down to avoid taking a snowflake in the eye. I mulled over the possibility of forcing Maggie to wait for her evening walk until Brad gets home, reasoning that the nasty weather would make any walk unsafe.

Then I climbed the back steps to our deck.

I lifted my head and noticed that the falling snow was super fluffy. Huge flakes were accumulating into a light, airy blanket which covered our deck. I walked into the apartment, put on my trusty ice spikes, and called Maggie to the door.

I set off intending to take her on the short loop that I've used since I first experienced the shortness of breath. But once we were out on the walk, I was overcome by how beautiful the neighborhood looked. And I remembered how much I love snow and winter. I love the way fresh snow makes everything beautiful. I love the way it sparkles under the street lights. I love the quiet and the calm. I love the way Maggie bounds through new-fallen snow drifts. I even love shoveling. This year, pregnancy has kept me from fully embracing the Chicago winter. But not tonight. Maggie and I went on an extended walk. I laughed when my feet sunk into deep snow banks. I breathed in the fresh air. And I let a sense of calm settle over me. My head cleared for the first time in weeks. With the seemingly endless mental chatter on mute, I was able to reflect on what is really important. Tater is such a tremendous blessing.

It was one of those moments where I felt my mom take my hand and guide me forward. I heard her voice telling me that everything would be alright. Just take it one step at a time.

Thanks, Berta. I needed that. You too, Father Winter.