To be precise, Baby4 is at about the left-most box right now. And until we're well past the right-most box, this is going to be one sick momma.
We've been this way before, and the results have always been worth every moment. I'm watching the Scientist Dad rediscover his extreme domestic skills, the girls draw closer together as mom fades out of the picture, and it is good. The love of dear friends and the assurance that this time we'll have help at every turn has made the prospect of the next 10 weeks a burden both easy and light. In the Biblical sense, of course.
Here's my Emily, my dear friend.
|WHEN night is almost done,|
|And sunrise grows so near|
|That we can touch the spaces,|
|It ’s time to smooth the hair|
|And get the dimples ready,||5|
|And wonder we could care|
|For that old faded midnight|
|That frightened but an hour.|