We are currently buried under several feet of snow, like a layer cake of white, gritty frosting, ice, more fluffy white, grit, and ice. My snow boots are now molded to my feet.
In the mornings, I've been wandering into our guest room, the windows bright and almost blinding with the sun reflecting off the snow in the backyard. The ceiling in this little bedroom slopes down to the short wall, and my kitty loves it because the window sill is only a few inches off the floor. The wide-plank wood floors gleam with polish and age--each plank just one inch shy of what was thought of as "king's wood"; one inch shy of being sent back to England.
I love the glow and the silence of this room. Lately, I've been sitting on the bed and dreaming of how this room will look this summer, when it is transformed into a nursery for our little baby.
There is a small little ball of light glowing and growing under my heart. A teeny tiny baby, who, every week, astonishes me with how much it has accomplished. I am such a proud parent already and its eyes aren’t even in the right place yet.
Chad and I have been living with this pride for months (4 of them), and yet it doesn't always seem completely real. But I know this time is special and it is going so fast. In no time we will be tiptoeing into the guest room to listen to tiny breaths. It will be very hot then, the sun won't set until long after dinner, and we will spend a lot of time on the deck, turning our faces to the breeze. It's hard to imagine, in many, many ways.
Until then, I will wear my boots, trudge through the biting wind, and spend my mornings in the sunshiney room, dreaming of what, and who, will be.
