The house is quiet, except for the sounds of bird's singing and the breeze drifting through the branches of trees in my backyard. The sunlight is golden, filtering in though open windows and doors. The trees have begun to put on their spring greens. It is a green that is bright and new, exuding life and hope. The little boy in my belly stirs, pushing against my flesh that cocoons him in safety and warmth. My hand goes to the movement, trying to discern if it is a foot or elbow, speaking out loud to him, aching to hold him in my arms.
The bigger kids in my heart are not just unnaturally quiet, their granny has taken them for a few hours. Her gift of time to me is priceless. I just have to decide how to best spend it. The first thought is a nap in the hammock under the spring-green trees and baby blue sky, with nothing but the breeze to disturb me. The idea that there are so few days before the little boy in me makes his debut fills my head with lists. I've been going a little easy on our school days, letting the kids soak up some of the peace from outside. I've also been listening to my body when it tells me to sit and rest. I think it will be easy to find a balance for the next couple of hours between work and quiet. I will, in all my pursuit of planning and working, keep the doors open to the breeze and to hope.