The last few days of a pregnancy are some of the longest. Our first child’s due date was April 4 and she took her time, arriving on April 22. Our second child’s due date was April 6 and he decided to stay put until April 16. When people asked me my due date and I indicated it ‘was’ April 4 or 6, their forehead wrinkled and they said, “Are you sure you should be out?” Like I might suddenly deliver on the spot.
Those were long days where I quit answering the phone because I didn’t want to tell one more person that baby had not come.
I fully expected our youngest child to follow the pattern of post-due-date arrival so we trundled off to Expo (’86) with 2 wee ones in tow 8 days before he was due. He is proud of his Vancouverite roots. I distinctly remember traveling the ferry home from the mainland to the island with a 4 year old, a 2 year old and a 2 day old to the dismay of several passengers. Add to that, the freshly stitched and bruised chubby face of our middle child due to his encounter with a jealous terrier and you have it about right.
Emotions still rise strong and memories are vivid when I retell the birthing of my children. It’s the same when I recall my granddaughter’s birth. I had the incredible honour of being in the room, cutting the cord and holding her in her first hours. It’s like the images are etched there, in a sense permanent.
It is a precious time, waiting for a new life to emerge. Our family is on the verge of growing and we are on tiptoe these days; expectant, patient, prayerful.
And already completely in love. 
Completely in love is right. C’mon baby!