Shhh

So, we don't talk about the baby.

Really, not much at all. When we do, it's more of a round about conversation. We'll discuss that we need to get the house ready. Or details of maternity leave. But not really ABOUT the baby.

I don't know why.

I mean, I know why I don't. It freaks me out. Shh... don't draw attention to it and maybe no one will take it away from us.

But I'm not sure why David doesn't. He may just be following my lead. I really don't know. Of course, to figure that out, we'd have to talk about the baby.

I still haven't bought a thing. I've been sitting here thinking about ordering some maternity clothes. Still working on the nerve. I'll get there.

So when David came home from a business trip to Las Vegas and brought souvenirs, I expected a t-shirt and a shot glass.

I opened a teeny, tiny bag that instead held a pair of orange pants, a bright yellow shirt with a flamingo on it and a bright green hat. Baby sized.

My husband. Mr. Clueless managed to buy the baby the first thing from us. I cried. I don't think I could possibly have loved my husband any more than I did in that moment.

And of course, I was stricken by how broad my fear really is because it also brought panic. I fought off the desire to drop it like it burned. And instead, I bawled. And then kissed the husband.

I would love to show you a picture of the outfit, but my camera's memory card seems to have taken a leave of absence. this is bad because I have absolutely no clue where it could be. It's always either in the camera in or the slot in the laptop and it's in neither of those places. I may have to break down and buy a new one.

Of course, I also need to get my camera fixed. The flash hasn't worked in over a year. That's on the list of things to be done before the thing that is happening that we don't talk about happening happens.


--Trish