"For you created my inmost being; you knit me in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know them full well."
Psalm 139:13-14.
I’ve never been very good at waiting. I like my life to move at a pretty fast pace. I love projects that can be completed quickly, and I like moving on to something new as soon as possible. But some things, I’ve come to realize, just can’t be rushed. Babies are one of those things.
Since last spring I have watched as two of my daughters have transformed from slender and lean to round and full. Their moves have gone from fleet and flowing, to heavier and slower. Things that were effortless now require more energy, and some things are just not worth the effort. Their bellies have grown week by week and now, there’s no denying, those tiny lives within are close to making an appearance, but . . . we wait. I’ve never been very good at waiting.
Somehow, it’s almost harder watching my babies have babies than it was to give birth myself. I have wanted to share the burden with each of them, to ease their discomfort, to share their pain. I’ve always wanted to lighten their loads since the moment I birthed them. Recently, I have slipped into sleep each night praying they would find rest despite numerous trips to the bathroom and the need to awaken just to turn from one side to the other. The time for their deliveries is fast approaching, and I know that it is hard to watch my children labor for theirs, to wait with them through those final hours; I’ve already been by the bedside to see four of my granddaughters born. I’ve never been very good at waiting.
So much has changed since I had my babies thirty years ago. The nurseries are high tech now, wipe warmers, video monitors, and gadgets to track diaper changes and nap times have replaced, cool wipes, peeking in the door and over the crib rails, and pencil and paper. It’s astonishing! As wonderful as all the new conveniences are, happily the important things remain the same. Expectant mothers still wash fold and fill drawers with tiny shirts and socks and gowns and marvel that the baby will be small enough to fit them. Diaper pails still stand at the ready (better, less stinky ones). Tiny tubs, bottles of shampoo and lotion, and fluffy towels are prepared and waiting for bath time, but most importantly the hopes and dreams and longing to hold the life within are still the same. The slowing of time as the end grows near and the waiting for the contractions, the steady waves that will bear them out from their mother’s seas still remains, it’s the same. I’ve never been very good at waiting.
Photo by Ellie Bjerkaas
