The advent calendar

My mom was always one of those crafy people who loved holiday decorations just about as much as my brother and I did when we were little. She would deck our house out with all manner of homemade bling; Easter, Valentine's Day, Thanksgiving, Halloween - each warranted some serious effort even in our tiny three bedroom house in Ravenna. But of all the birthdays and holidays to mark the passing months each year nothing compared to Christmas. Christmas was like a wonderland in our house, with the living room overflowing with not only a tree and the requisite presents but a whole family of Santas and enough reindeer to turn Christmas night delivery into FedEx, nativity scenes, whatnots and so much stuff I honestly can't even remember all of it. One item in particular stands out in memory though - a handmade advent calendar. My brother and I would take turns each day during December pinning one of the tiny, ornately sequinned felt ornaments to their little tree. One ornament at a time we'd make our way toward the big holiday, practically peeing our pants in excitement over the gifts that just kept piling up. We fought each and every year over the gold star tucked into the 24th pocket - a promise of everything we anticipated.

I haven't had that feeling of incurable and endless *waiting* since I was about ten, and never have I felt such a pure version since a childhood Christmas, at least not until now. We're visiting with our midwife on Monday again, in just four days. I'll be just into my 17th week and we've decided to try to work out just who it is that's hanging out in there. After hearing the heartbeat at our last visit and oohing and aahing over the tiny littly body floating around in the flotsam and jetsam of my insides we realized we both really, really do want to know. So now, I'm waiting. Counting down the days; hopelessly trying to bend time....and I have been ever since I made the appointment 20 days ago...

I feel like a six year old - waiting for Christmas.