Our friend went into labor in the dark hours of the morning last weekend. This was not the plan. I heard the soft hum of our other needy child, the blackberry, through my dreams and a few of my husband’s hushed words of reassurance, “Sure… okay, no problem… why don’t I just come over there? That would probably be easier… okay… I’ll be right there…” Somehow I knew immediately what was happening, and what would happen next. He rolled over and told me he was going to sleep over at their house so that he could care for their firstborn in the morning. Since Grandma and Grandpa were here visiting, I suggested I come, too.

I woke up in the car on the way there. They really live just blocks away. Nothing to bring, or do, just go. She answered the door, back slightly bent in pain. Honestly I’m not sure how much, because I imagine she is not the type to complain even when it might be severe. I am the type to complain, so I have no idea what this is like. She was smiling, and laughing at jokes along with the rest of us three. “We finally brought you your baby shower gift, want to sit down and open it? It’s four in the morning, but do you have a sec?” Then they took off into the night, and we climbed between cool sheets and tried to sleep through the excitement. I had crazy dreams about strangers letting themselves in and out of their house at all hours. Where could that have come from?

A couple of hours later, they called to let us know when the grandparents would arrive, and that they were going forward with the c-section in only thirty more minutes. We slept lightly until Ms. Cutie came in around seven. I had been a little worried that she wouldn’t remember what her parents had told her in the night, but she did and she was over the moon to see us! We had some breakfast (a chewy bar and some strawberries with milk if you’re three) and watched some Dora. Scott went to pick up some coffee and I did my best to keep the mess to a minimum. We talked about her little brother, and she told me what his name was, and how big his head would be, and that he would cry a lot.

Quietly, while showing me another barbie, she said, “I don’t know when he is going to come.” I was so excited that I was nearly bursting with it, and said, “He’s here. Right now. He is waiting with your mommy to see you. Grammy is going to come and get you and bring you to see him!” You should have seen her face- it all went so fast, but there was confusion, shock, then an absolute thrill of activity. “He is?!!” Was followed by picking out an outfit, and brushing our teeth and hair, and then filling a backpack with toys to bring him, plus, of course, some extra purses, which apparently every girl must have on hand, I was told. She piled a bunch of miniature Dora toys in there because she wanted him to know what Dora looked like. I explained that he would probably be sleeping a lot of the time, and we packed a soft lovey. She went back three times, insisting we must also pack a little baby radio that played different songs. So we did.

Once she was brushed and coiffed and sweatered and packed, she announced she was going to plant herself outside on the driveway to wait for Grammy. We averted this frigid sounding idea by watching Ummi Zumi, dancing around on packing bubbles, and building a big bed of blankets right in front of the door, so Grammy would have to trip over us, were she to come in. Which is essentially what happened. It was much more comfortable than the driveway.

We drove back home in a daze, and I spent most of the day wishing I didn’t ever have to take a shower or put on real clothes (which I did, baby birthday bonanza summer continues) but I was also firmly stung with the baby bug. I started thinking about baby photos, the thrill of a brand new person, and the quiet hushedness of a house with a new baby in it. Unless you already have a child, in which case, good luck with that. Essentially, I thought back to the angelic smell of Ben, how little he was, all the things I would do differently the next time around. Basically I would just do all the things it took me three or four months to figure out in the first place. I also recalled the pain and insane lack of sleep, but dismissed them from my dream fantasy like snubbed party crashers.

My little jaundiced boy. Even the really intense part of the first two weeks, heck, even the first six months, is tempered by what I know now. It does get easier. Much easier. I am so glad I scrapbooked as much as I could with Ben. Looking back reminds me of the turns in the road where he became more independent, relaxed, slept regularly. Dear self: at eleven months, both me and Scott are working out again, travelling, Scott plays golf about once a week and plays basketball with his friends from work. A full nights sleep is the rule, not the exception. Ben plays by himself for hours at a time if I am in the same room with him. We do swim lessons and meet up with our Mommy group. Life is good.

If the time comes when we have another, it will be crazy, but a new normal will come. And how exciting is a tiny new life?

Thrilling enough to make you pack three extra purses.