This past weekend was all about getting prepared: cleaning the house, washing multiple loads of laundry, packing (and repacking) the hospital bag, etc.  My due date is April 25th – a mere seven days away.  And I’m not sure I could really believe it if I didn’t look like this:


As I cleaned, straightened, organized, reorganized, and prepped every corner of my house in anticipation of what is inevitable in the next few days/weeks, my mind couldn’t help but reflect on this time, 31 years ago.  I had just turned my parents cozy little family of three into a family of four, and my mother-in-law was expecting my husband in a few short weeks, also her second baby.

I wonder what they did to prepare?  I wonder how they felt: a new life to coming into their worlds and changing everything all over again?  Were they cleaning, straightening, organizing, checking and rechecking everything like I was?  Were they stressing over the perfect “coming home” outfit, and making sure the baby’s nursery was in pristine condition, ready to welcome it’s new inhabitant?

I decided to flip through a few of the old photo albums from when I was a baby.  After all, soon I would be making one of these for my own child.  And as I turned the pages, I had to laugh at the many pictures of me all dressed up like a little doll with bows and ruffles and fancy little shoes.

My parents were undoubtedly excited I was a girl, and they made sure that everyone KNEW I was a girl by dressing me in the frilliest frocks they could find.  I mean really…


If that look doesn’t say “you’ve got to be kidding me” I don’t know what does.  I could blame it on the fact that it was the 80’s (that’s the only excuse I can come up with for the chair behind me), but we all know that parents sometimes go a little cuckoo when it comes to outfitting their kids.

‘Not me’, I told myself from the beginning.  ‘My kid will never have to look back on the clothes I put him in and shake his head saying “really Mom?”‘

Then again…


But in those pictures from 31 years ago, I could clearly see the joy on my parents faces.  Sure, there was definitely some exhaustion mixed in there, and I’m sure they didn’t bother to commemorate the worst moments with pictures.  But I could see how happy they were: dirty diapers, sleepless nights, screaming fits and all.  I think if I asked them, they’d tell me it was worth it.

S0 in those moments when it all gets to be a bit too much, a bit too overwhelming, a bit too intense, perhaps I’ll take a page out of my Mom’s book and just dress him up in something ridiculously cute.  Cause even a screaming baby looks cute when wearing a “You Otter Hug Me” onesie, right?