Something hit me this past week. I’ve had an overwhelming urge to actually do things to prepare for this baby. We cleaned out the nursery (for now, I’ve stopped referring to it as the guest room and actually calling it the “nursery”), got rid of the bed that was in there, bought a crib and started framing artwork. Holy cow.
When I was pregnant with Charlie, pretty early on, I was hit with the nesting bug and started going through closets, taking a trunk full of items/clothes to Goodwill, but that’s about as far as we got because a couple of weeks later, we would get the diagnosis. We painted the nursery over the long weekend between the ultrasound appointment and when we actually met with the perinatologists to get the diagnosis, but our hearts weren’t in it and it didn’t feel exciting at all.
This time around, as we moved some of the furniture around and sent the guest bed with my in-laws to go into storage, it feels different. The feeling isn’t quite excitement, because there’s still too much uncertainty. And it’s really scary. And I’m still not ready to get rid of any of the boxes…just in case. But maybe right now I’m feeling hopeful. I’ll take hopeful.