Getting Ready. Getting Real.

Six weeks. Not a lot of time. The fog of denial is slowly lifting.

Time to get ready. (Are we ever ready?)

We pull all the clothes out of storage. Dump them out on the white floor of what will be her room. I sit there, sifting through. Creating piles. According to size. And category. Creating order.

She will wear these things.

Toddler and Baby help. Helping to them = jumping in those little piles of clothes they once wore. Creating chaos. We unpack boxes. Of diapers. Of creams. A carrier. A plastic bath. Items utilitarian and necessary.

Items we will use.

From the floor, I stare up. At the big floral elephant. The tiny birds. The mural from Baby's nursery. A swirl of happy color.

He will watch over our tiniest girl too, this kind elephant.

White Cat plays his part. Warms up the cushion where we will change tiny diapers in the middle of the night.

We will change her tiny diapers in the middle of the night.

The girls now play in their room. Time passes and I check on them. In their purple haven, I see the sinister scene. They've been practicing. Or plotting. Pink strollers. An overturned crib. Abandoned baby dolls. Cooking supplies.

They will be big sisters. Together.

Back in the blue room, the nursery, I continue my work. And I find it. The tiny outfit Baby wore home from the hospital. I hold it up. Sniff it. Remember. Imagine. Tiny tears come. I smile.

This is getting real.

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Are there some things in life we can't really prepare for? Does going through old possessions make you nostalgic? Do you think life is a dance between chaos and order? Is six weeks soon?