Har har har har, gotcha!
Our babies are a long way off, still.
Our chick eggs were delivered early this morning, though!
Twelve warm, delicate little eggs.
We've spent the better part of the day checking the incubator temperature and moisture level, and reading egg and chick library books and doing egg and chick-related projects, and again checking the temperature, temperature, temperature. It must stay at a constant 99-100.5 degrees, and in spite of the mad cleaning rampage that is happening in our house at the very same time, I think I will be glued to our incubator this week. Just to check the mercury, again.
There are other babies, too.
Randomly falling asleep in our hands as we play with them.
Happy to converse with toddler cohorts, and to receive lots of little girl kisses.
My mom and dad's black lab delivered seven jet-black little puppies a few weeks ago, and while they've been squeaky and smushy and cute since they were born, they have now become infinitely more interesting to my children, as their eyes have opened and they are learning to walk.
So dark their sweet little features can barely be seen as they sleep, as if they fell from the sky.
Oh no, this family of five (and one old dog, one old cat, twelve unhatched chicks) will NOT be taking a puppy home. Nor will we be keeping any of our chicks. I believe my plate is full at this moment. And so is my back yard. And our bedrooms are about to fill quickly, as well. These baby animals are fun for the short time that they remain ours.
As the four of us, myself with Marin strapped to my chest, and the two boys trailing by hands, made our way through the county courthouse for the ninety-seventh home study document required a couple weeks ago, we must have been a sight. Comical and kind comments abounded as we passed through one hallway after the next, about how full my hands must be, and what a crowd we are. And then again last week, through the overcrowded hospital waiting room for my bloodwork, and through our family doctor's office for my adoption physical. I give a smile in appreciation.
We travel in puffy coats and clunky boots and winter hats, and with miscellaneous action figures and board books and little red boxes of raisins, a bit like a noisy herd. Growing families are every bit the norm in libraries and at playgrounds-- places frequented by mobs of children. But when we are the exception to the norm- at ten a.m. in an elderly-filled hospital waiting room while most children are in school, we are doted upon. Countless silver-haired women smile at my baby girl and quietly lean over to share with me stories of raising their own children. These have grown to be some of my favorite moments as I am allowed somehow to reach back in time to the very best part, as I am always reminded, of these women's lives. It is a priviledge to join this very long line of mothers, and to do what I find best for my family, best for our changing world.
Our babies are coming, and my hands will be more full, as will our bedrooms and our back yard. Raising one child is no easy task, nor is raising three, or imaginably, five or seven. But if my hands are full, and my days are filled, my heart is even moreso.
When we reached the car after our most recent courthouse adventure, I called Kevin to tell him that our local background checks were finished, and to share with him our hallway experiences. I looked forward to next year, when we will repeat these trips-- with three by hands, and a fourth member of our crew being worn on my chest, as we prepare for number five. Next year another sibling will hatch chicks with us, and excitedly wait for spring with us, and play with Gramma and Papa's eight black labs. (Oh right, sorry, they are sooo going to give most of those adorable, squishy puppies away. Wink wink.) It just keeps getting better.







