Twelve years ago. I had a little baby boy growing inside me. But for seven months my body wasn’t acting how it should. Abnormal bleeding and on bed-rest, I spent most of my days doing absolutely nothing. Looking back, I regret not using that time for reading piles of books and crafting great and glorious quilts or blankets. But that’s the thing with age. We grow and hopefully become wiser and use our time more productively because we see how precious it is. I remember moving into Matt’s parent’s house so they could help care for Nadine. She turned one, and I didn’t get to take walks around the neighborhood with her, or chase her in the leaves. It was bumpy chapter in our life. For almost seven months I woke up every day wondering if I would ever be able to hold, snuggle, and watch this boy grow. Then, at 31 weeks, my water broke. Matthew rushed me to the hospital, and we were even more aware of how possible it was to lose this wee boy. I was given shots to help develop his lungs and there was a whir of activity in the hospital room. I don’t remember much of that week in the hospital. Nadine learned to walk that week, and I remember her walking into that room in shiny black patent leather shoes, white stockings and a sweet corduroy dress. My mom brought me a bisccotti container to decorate my room. She also brought a boombox, because I didn’t have things like ipods or iphones or even a portable CD player. There was this CD I listened to over and over, and whenever I hear this song, I am transported back to that hospital bed, hand on my belly, praying over this boy. My prayer was always that he would be a man of prayer and faith, like Elijah in the Bible. Tomorrow the next chapter of his life began, on the day he was born. Early to us, but to God: right on time.