We had a little arrival today. I was expecting it, obviously, and my plan was to leave it in the box and stuff it away somewhere in the very back of the garage. Then the delivery guy ruined everything by ringing the doorbell, prompting our geriatric pug to frenziedly sing the song of his people, which alerted my two and five year old to the arrival of a package. And that’s an enormous deal in this house.
So now our brand new infant seat has been unpacked and ceremoniously dragged around the entire house. It’s a few hours old, and it already has scuff marks. It’s been tested out on a number of dolls, and our youngest very diligently put it though its paces, methodically climbing in and out, turning it upside down, balancing it precariously on various inappropriate items.
It’s the current version of the bucket seat we had before, so I can appreciate its fancy new features. Still, it’s making all of this fourth baby business seem very … real. Plus, it’s prompting a new wave of insistent questioning from our littlest. It doesn’t vary. “When mine baby sister come out?”
She’s coming in July, bud. Remember? It feels comfortably far away and freakishly soon. I’m ready to do this, but holy crap, how are we actually going to do this? My husband, bless him, is completely unruffled.
When I texted him a picture of the car seat with a few exclamation points, he wrote back, “It’s going to be great.” Even when I outline some nightmarish scenario of insane schedules and screaming children and no sleep, he isn’t fazed. He laughs and shakes his head and says something like, “Yeah, it’s going to be little crazy.” Really, it’s the perfect reaction. It immediately reminds me that I’m not doing it alone. And then I can look at the few sweet little baby outfits we have and this new pink car seat with its teeny little newborn insert and feel true excitement about what’s to come.