It happened just like I knew it would. In the final weeks of my pregnancy, I started to feel terribly sentimental for our familiar little foursome - the family size and shape we'd become so comfortable in. And my anxiety about the impending change started to rise, though I knew it was senseless. I knew how the story would end. We'd have the baby and we'd love her bigger than the sky and we'd wonder how we ever felt complete without her. I knew all that in my head. But it didn't stop my heart from pining a little, wanting to relish the last few moments of our season as the "fab 4."
My c-section was scheduled for Wednesday morning. Monday night I told Nate I wanted to go out for breakfast the next morning. One last outing as the fab 4, I begged. So Nate was late for work and Henry was late for school and we headed over to the tiny and darling Mustard Seed Cafe for pigs in a blanket, tall glasses of OJ, John's Country scramble and sugar-dusted french toast. It was so good to be together. We talked about the reasons we thought our baby sister was lucky to be coming to our family. We listed the things we think make our family strong and great. We talked about the change that was coming and how we'd each have to make some adjustments, and maybe take on some extra responsibilities, especially at first.
We ate our food. And ordered a homemade cinnamon roll to share before we went our separate ways (H & Nate to school and work, Lil & I out for last minute pre-baby errands).
And I felt quite a bit more peaceful about our transition to "fantastic 5."