Saving the Best for Now

I’m unashamed to admit that I still, with the metabolism of a woman in her mid-twenties, have ice cream every night before bed, a habit learned as a child and a habit I fear will be my hardest to quit, if ever. I usually go for Blue Bell’s milk chocolate with Oreos crushed as finely as I can. On special nights, instead of Oreos, I’ll under bake Tollhouse pecan delight cookies, adding the ice cream on top as soon as they come out of the oven, all gooey and melty and nearly raw. And on the weekends, if Price wants to surprise me, he brings home a tiny, overpriced tub of the very best flavor of ice cream…Ben & Jerry’s Tonight Dough, the only flavor I’ve bought since 2014. In all versions of my nightcaps, I save the best few spoonfuls for very last…the biggest pieces of Oreos with the least amount of icing left, the softest globs of caramel cookie dough, and whatever the glorious chocolate cookie core is in my Ben & Jerry’s. All wonderfully divine.

I think I’m doing this in every aspect of my life…especially as I have gotten older. This has materialized in nearly all of my routines, notably my preparing for Friday night ones, where I save the cleaning of the bedsheets in my nicest detergent for the weekends, my favorite pajama shirt washed strategically to time out with the clean sheets, hair wash day, our designated night for take out, cleaning the house just the way I like it, a box of Ghirardelli dark chocolate brownies, our newly released show held until the very, very end of Friday.

The top of freshly baked Martha White muffins, the middle of my mom’s chocolate cake, ground coffee instead of Keurig cups on the weekends. My wedding perfume only on May 29 of each year, my nicest cards for special occasions and favorite people, as if I couldn’t buy more. The end of books saved for bedtime, all tucked in. My favorite house slippers only in my pajamas.

It’s this persistent urge to prolong the precious, to gift it to my future self, enjoying the comfort of knowing it’s coming in the meantime.

When Kit was just a few weeks old, and I was still crying in the bathroom mirror, missing my rounded belly, the safety of knowing she was with me, just me, always, Price and I were on a walk after work. The azaleas were blooming and the pollen was starting to blow away, and my baby was warm and asleep, tucked away on my chest, all wrapped up. I told my husband that I felt certain we were meant for more children. Something we knew, coming from families of siblings, but I meant more than one, more than two, maybe even more than three. I thought about my mom, my brother and me, and how if I were her, I was halfway done. I thought about how if that were true, then I wish Kit weren’t here yet. That we’d waited a few more years, prolonged this precious life, this precious gift of pregnancy and motherhood and childbirth and a tiny baby in our home. As we walked back home, I just remember telling him, “This can’t be halfway.”

In the first year of Kit’s life, my brother was married, Price’s sisters had babies, our families grew, our home became sweeter. I thought about somebody for Kit to grow up with, thought about timelines and age gaps and little personalities mixing, little babies sharing the only nursery we have. Still, my heart ached to pause it all and start over in a little while.

And then a few days into November, with an eight month old baby girl strapped to my chest, I found myself in the back aisle of Walgreens, two boxes of pregnancy tests in hand. They were really just for scientific assurance, because I knew, I just knew, a baby was coming.

Now halfway into this pregnancy, my second miracle from heaven, I keep thinking to myself how these lives we’ve made are far too precious to save for later. Far, far too precious. How silly to even consider waiting to know their souls, these lives God designed for me to know and love and raise. This pregnancy has gone by too quickly, consumed with the more pressing matter of Kit, learning to walk and empty cabinets and develop emotions she has no earthly idea what to do with. It’s been nice in that way, my mind more at rest than when I was carrying Kit and nervous at every single symptom I had. But because of that, I’m glad for my stomach rounding sooner, for little kicks more often, reminding me a baby is there, and this pregnancy is a heavenly gift that God has chosen for me now.

We found out a little after Valentine’s Day that our baby is a little boy, and already, I’ve created this little person in my mind. Very much like Kit, a lot like Price, just a little like his mother. But really, all we have is dreams and silly ultrasound videos of him rolling around. I’ve bought little yellow onesies and blue stripe coming home outfits, collected ideas to make Kit’s room, their room. He’ll be here in the summertime, a tiny glimpse of sunshine, our heavenly best, saved for now.