Raindrops on Water

Once upon a time, the Husband took the Wife for a quick swim. It was two days before Baby’s due date. Within steps of the pool, it started to rain. It was late at night, but the dark sky retained a bit of an orange glow. The concrete turned a darker shade of grey, as the round spots melted together.

Since there was no lightning in sight, they jumped in the pool. Romance was in the air and the Husband was looking mighty handsome. They swam laps and when they had trouble catching their breath, they laughed about how out-of-shape they were.

The water felt warm, but the raindrops were surprisingly cool. When the Wife swam underwater, she could hear their quick pitter-patter, as they hit the top of the water, making a splash or creating a bubble.

The Wife felt like the rain was there especially for her, like it was a message from someone or something, telling her that this was the night that her baby would be born. (It would be a nice introduction to a birth story, after all.) She went to bed that night, dwelling on positive thoughts and silently urging her baby to make the journey.

When she awoke the next morning, she was only slightly disappointed that the Baby hadn’t joined them in the night. Figuring that the Baby needed a little more time to cook, she went about her day.

Surely she wouldn’t make it until her due date. The routine of the day dragged on. That night she headed to the pool once again, after removing her makeup and examining the brown spots on her cheeks and forehead; these would certainly be gone soon.

Alone, in the water, she meditated on her baby and her body, how they would have to work together to accomplish something so difficult and miraculous. Maybe, she thought, Baby would come in the night.

I know, pink shirt and pink purse = not fashionable

She awoke on the morning of her due date. She thought she might have felt a small cramp, in addition to the tightening in her stomach, but now thinks that she may have imagined it.

The day goes on, just like the day before. Too many pieces of salt water taffy and baked goods, sitting on a purple ball in front a large computer screen, wondering when Baby will make an appearance.

The human part of her feels little pangs of fear and anxiety, but the greater part of her feels confident, powerful, and ready. As she repeats positives affirmations in her head during each Braxton Hicks contraction, she trusts that her baby will arrive shortly, in his or her own time. 40 weeks feels right and she’s truly in no hurry, but she can’t help fearing a date two weeks in the future.

Please, baby, come before then.