In this house, there is a secret space. In Lily's room, in the bottomost drawer of her dresser, there are tiny outfits. Green, blue, red. Firetrucks and puppies. Tiny blue hats. The clothing had been laid out carefully, the reciepts placed diligently beside the purchases. All the tags still attached, the prices still visible.
It is the only place in this house where signs of a little boy can be found. Without my ever expaning tummy, you wouldn't know another child was anticipated. There is no nursery for him. No baby gear. I am six months along, but this house does not show it.
Every day, I go to Lily's room. I get her an outfit. I lay it out on her floor. And without really realizing it, I open his drawer. I look at the evidence of expectation. I look at the colors, the small sleeves, the tiny feet. But I close off that part of my heart that allows hope. I haven't allowed it in. If you ask, I will tell you it's a boy. I will recite how many weeks I am. I will tell you I am feeling fine, thank you. But something has been missing- hope. I have faith God knows what He is doing, yes. But God's plan is His own. It is for my good...but is it the outcome I want? I don't know. My humanity screams for my baby, but my faith allows me to see that what I want is irrelevant.
So until this weekend, this house showed no sign of Samuel. And then, yesterday, I opened his drawer and it was...different. I could see him in his clothing. I could imagine washing the tiny t-shirts and holding them to my nose to smell the baby detergent. I could imagine doing the same after he had worn them, smelling them to catch his scent. I looked around this house and I saw 2 children. I saw my boy. I pictured him in my arms.
My soul is starting to believe he will come home.
I sat on Lily's floor and methodically removed the tags from his clothing. I pulled the hangers out, I threw away the receipts. I sorted them according to size. I pressed every article of clothing between my fingers, feeling the softness. I held up tiny onesies, and I allowed myself to picture him in it. It was a beautiful moment for me as a mother. I allowed the joy and excitement to seep into me. I felt what I had with Lily- a breathless joy of anticipation.
Then Mark, Lily and I went out and bought Samuel his bedding. We chose paint colors. We moved things around to clear out his room.
So here, in this house, there is is a drawer full of baby boy clothing. There is a bedding set in blue and green in plain sight. His nursery is soon to be painted, his crib to be set up. Diapers and lotions and creams will be bought and stocked into his changing table. His room will be ready when he arrives. His swing will be placed in the living room, his bassinet beside my bed.
Because I believe. I believe that 3 months from now, I will hold my son. That he will come home. That there will be sleepless nights and marathon nursing sessions and spit up and colic. There will be tiny toes and fingers to count, lullabies to be sung. There will be moments I will wonder why I ever did this, and times when I will cry just because of the beauty of his lips and ears and coos.
But I believe there will be a little boy in this house. He will come home, he will grow and laugh and drive me crazy. But he will come home. I believe.
