This autumn, I’ve been having all these very sweet memories of what it was like to be newly pregnant, of having a delicious secret and then finally getting to share it. Remembering canvassing for Obama in Wisconsin and Indiana and starting to feel just the tiniest bit queasy and being so excited, or traipsing through the DIY trunk show and feeling a little thrill as I looked at baby stuff I could buy for my baby.
Thanksgiving was when we shared the news last year, and this year the whole day was full of tiny memories. I smiled as I realized I was pulling on the same pair of pants as last year, no longer needing a rubber band to keep them closed. I eagerly devoured vegetables, remembering last year when I couldn’t really eat anything that wasn’t some shade of white or tan. And I remembered feeling so thankful just for the idea of him.
This year, even as he appears poised to spend another afternoon torturing me by repeatedly pretending to go down for a nap only to wake right back up as soon as I try to back away, I am thankful for the reality of him. The rolling, teething, gumming everything, about-to-be-crawling sheer joyful wonder of him.