on taking a break

So I haven't posted in a week. We were at my parents farm for "Family Camp" - a yearly tradition of camping goodness. Trips to the lake, sparklers for the kids, Smores (or "snores" as little man keeps saying) and etc.

It was good.

Good to see family. Good to have people around to help out with little ones - and not just any people, but aunties and uncleas and grandparents who ADORE my kids. Good to watch cousins play in tree forts, first thing in the morning, swinging and stick-fighting and whooping it up. Good to be able to be around people who let me freak out about 11pm bedtimes (so late!) and sugar consumption (more candy??) and Braxton Hicks contractions (endless!) and love me anyway.

All good things.

But I am tired.

And now, we are in the final stretch of baby-waiting. Thirty four weeks. Nearly to that magic 37 week mark where it can all officially be a "go" at any time. That is just three weeks away, that magic number. THREE WEEKS. Of course it could be 6 weeks. BUT IT COULD BE THREE. (You all know that kind of mind game, right?)

And so now. We hunker down. We knit. (Yes, apparently I am speaking in the royal "we.") We order birth supplies. We indulge our babies. We sort and wash baby clothes and cloth diapers. We stock up the pantry with easy-to-cook meals. We buy those last few purchases. We cuddle our babies. A lot. We practice relaxing through contractions. We try not to freak out, remembering all the more clearly, what labor is really like. We revel in this rotund belly, and the kicky little person inside. We get a massage (or two.) We read in the sun as babies play in the kiddie pool. We write. We daydream. We possibly clean the house like a madwoman.

And we sit. And we breathe. At peace.

All good things.