Lennon, Your Mother Is Nesting

And some things are for certain, I promise

Your mother is “nesting”, and I’m trimming the trees. It just occurred to me that could be considered de-nesting. Either way, we’re getting the place ready for you. Inside and out.

There’s nothing to worry about…

I’m sure nesting always included some form of bleach scrub down from the walls to the baseboards. We want it to be clean for you—how bad would it be if the first time you opened your eyes in your own home, you caught sight of some dusty corner of baseboard and thought, oh no, please tell me they’re better than this. Or you looked at your dog, Perry, who’s getting a little older now, and thought— shouldn’t his bed be newer and more comfy; I hope this isn’t how they’ll treat me when the new wears off. So we hauled his old dingy bed to the dumpster, too. That padding was squished to nothing. No wonder he stared at us from the foot of the bed until we invited him to lay at our feet for the last month. Your bed is new, too. You’ll see it when you get here in the next 10 days, but prepare yourself. It’s kind of a mid-century modern situation— hopefully you’re into that kind of thing.

We turned the TV news off…

You’ll have plenty of everything you need. The top drawer of your matching dresser is stacked with diapers. The lady at the birthing class we attended says you’ll need like eight or so a day. We’ve done the math and there are enough for a few weeks or so. Plus, if we run out I have a lot of t-shirts from bands’ concerts that really date me at this point. Especially in this town. But they’re super soft after years of washing—especially the …And You Will Know Us From The Trail Of Dead and Built To Spill ones. I don’t want you to be haughty or anything, but those will be some pretty kick-ass diapers. The babies in Nirvana shirts from Target won’t have nothing on you. I know it’s scary to think about coming out, but I assure you, you’ll have all you need here.

Things are as they have always been: certain in this home…

Uncertain everywhere else. This isn’t anything to worry about. Our time on this earth is full of things that will let you know you’re alive. Bliss and discomfort are the boundaries of our humanity, not the reward and punishment for it. Right now, I’m typing this at the kitchen table (your mom is home working from the home office today, just consider it normal) thinking of what your eyes will look like. I’m looking at a silver tray your mom put emptied a bag of Cuties on. The morning light is hitting the dimples making them shine, they smell ripe and feel perfectly round and juicy in my hand. These things are certain. These things are beautiful. Life will always be full of certain beauty. Learn how to find it and revel in it— uncertain times are normal.

The TV says to stay at home…

Which works out fine because we have had stuff to do around here. I fastened your car seat last night. I readied the straps that would hold you secure. I tried to imagine your little body in it so I’d know how high to put the straps. I shoved my knee into it real hard like they said to do when I tightened the anchors. I haven’t shown a fireman yet… to be honest I probably won’t. I think it’s fine since I read the seat manual and the car manual a few times each. Plus, I shoved my knee into it to tighten it. Perry oversaw the whole ordeal.

You won’t be crawling for awhile, but you’ll be happy to know I finished the baseboards in the living room, too. Now your little fingers won’t be getting stuck between the hardwood and paneling. That gap was just big enough for a small finger like yours to get stuck in. It went mostly well until the last day when I cut a long showy piece too short. That was the last piece and it’s so front and center that it can’t have any joints in it. So now I need to go get another one, but that may have to wait. How important is it really? As long as your little fingers can’t get stuck or pinched, I think it’s fine for now.

We’ve really got your room looking great. We installed the baby monitor, so we can watch over you sleeping soundly. It has a temperature monitor on it so we can be sure to keep the house womb-warm, just like you like it. Your mom did ask if I could run the AC adapter power cord through the walls. I laughed. We did get a cord hider, so you’ll notice it looks especially tidy. And you probably want it through the wall, too. But that’s illegal! We did run the power cord through the dresser for the wipey warmer, though. So you’ll have warm wipes concealed, but nearby. Perry oversaw the whole ordeal. We even hung three frames side-by-side symmetrically over your bed. While it did stress your mother out that every angle wasn’t exact and each space between wasn’t machine precise and laser true, she called it good enough. You’ll see for yourself it’s pretty much perfect.

All is as it should be…

Never think that the world was brighter or steadier or more hopeful in the weeks or months before you were born. We’re more joyful and hopeful than ever. We took a walk around the pond, me, your mother, and The Beast. We heard birds chirping. One was squawking at us from the light post. Tilting his head, pointing one eye directly downward at us. The rains are here, too. Softening the hard dirt and greening the grasses. The dogwood at the corner is in full bloom. It looks fluffy as short-grained rice. Glutinous and radiant. It dropped a few petals on me each time I walked under it yesterday. The Beast didn’t even notice. He was too busy sniffing what the rains have made fresh.