As our nesting frenzy sets in further, one of the things I wanted to do was go through our many-compartmented Ikea entertainment unit and clean it out. You see, after our foster kids left last December, we couldn't bring ourselves to empty all their toys and books and stuffed animals out. Quilted cozily in a thick layer of dust, the shelves turned steadily from black to light brown as the months passed us by, all the toys staring out at us night after night as we sat on the couch. Some days, it is a comfort. Some days, a burden.
But no longer. I needed to get it cleaned out, organized, and sorted. I spent my afternoon pulling dusty toys and books out and sorting them into piles. Trash. Washing machine. Keep, but put away. Keep, and replace on the shelves of the unit. Now, it stands clean and black once more, stocked with toys and books, awaiting its next little girl to provide hours of entertainment to.
Toys and books were given to us by family, knowing we needed toys for whatever foster kids would come our way. I found myself receiving from my mother toys that belonged to myself and my brother. Toys that belonged to my foster siblings from when I was growing up. As the children before them had, our foster children loved and played with many of these hand-me-downs. I held a Christmas teddy bear that belonged to my brother, fingers brushing dust from his velvet vest, and thought about how at one point I had a Christmas teddy bear-ette to be friends with this one. I picked up the periwinkle stuffed dog I had as a kid, aptly named Perry. I couldn't help but smile at all these memories I had for these toys, things that would never be billed as "keepsakes" per se, but toys that have lasted the test of time and have been much loved. And then I think that someday in the near future, our daughter will lay her head down on Perry, or invite Christmas Bear to tea parties. How incredible is that? I don't know that most toys are so lucky to be so well-traveled, or be lucky enough to have so many children to care for.
Perhaps I sound like a broken record, but we've been thinking a lot about the last two kids, the ones who left as Ever was conceived. T looked through our photo album of last year, and for the first time the photos afforded her a sense of comfort instead of sadness. For this, we're thankful.
T is 31 weeks pregnant today. 31 weeks... only nine more weeks until Evie's due date and only six more weeks until she reaches full term. We're feeling anxious about getting everything done, but my parents are coming to visit tomorrow and hopefully they will be able to help us get the giant vinyl wall decals put up in Evie's room. We went on a mega shopping trip this afternoon to buy T more clothes that might actually fit her, as well as for some new shelves and lamps for our bedroom. Who knew that maternity clothes could be so very infuriating? Poor T. It used to be charming and cute when clothes didn't fit, when her belly was small and pregnancy was still new and different. Trust me, that is no longer the case.
The midwife told T yesterday that the baby was head down, which is fantastic and we're hoping she's brainy enough to be that way when T goes into labor. We've been trying to figure out where she is, but honestly there are so many bumps and lumps! They're hard to tell apart. Little Ever gets hiccups frequently, and sometimes she even passes them on to T! The Braxton-Hicks contractions continue, and seem to be gaining in numbers.
Soon, little one will make her grand entrance. I am gradually becoming more impatient to see her sweet face, kiss her cheeks, and look into her eyes. I am anxious for the day that she comes out of T and stops causing her discomfort. Though I know she'll experience much more discomfort before baby gets here, I hope for her sake it's tolerable. I worry about my love, and I hate that I cannot do more for her.
We will be taking photos soon, and I will be certain to share them here as T's belly has become quite impressive! Have a great weekend, all.
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