his things

Little tiny hats. Cotton sleepers made for babies that weigh less than ten pounds. Impossibly small socks. Handmade quilts, receiving blankets, fuzzy towels with hoods. All of it, covered in little ducks, miniature baseballs and footballs, and puppy dogs. And all of it bought and picked out with love.




We wash it all in special soap made for a baby’s skin. We fold all the little pieces, one by one, and pile it carefully into drawers and closets, and a few into an overnight bag for the hospital. And it suddenly occurs to me: a baby is going to fill these things.

It’s not like I’ve forgotten that I’m pregnant, cause at 37 weeks along, I guarantee you that I never forget that. Never. But I seem to forget the part that links this very uncomfortable and tiring state to the arrival of a person. But that’s exactly what it means.



As I went through his clothes and belongings tonight, I realized I was thinking of him. Because this is his car seat, his breastfeeding pillow, his toys, his clothes. I will put his tiny little feet into the impossibly small socks. I will put the little cotton hats on his tiny head to keep him warm. I will slip little cotton nighties around his neck. I will wrap him in the quilt I made for him. These are his things. I’m not even sure of his name yet, and I don’t know what his face looks like or what color his hair is, but he has this little place in our home already. Piece by piece, we prepare for his arrival, and it becomes so very real. I am having a baby. The girls will have a baby brother. We will have a new person in our family so very soon.