Been thinking alot lately about what my life was like thirty years ago. At twenty-one I had been a wife for almost two years. We had spent the previous year living in Connecticut, where we worked with Helps International Ministries (Mark’s dad’s mission) on a building project for the Slavic Missionary Services Camp. Having lived most of my life south of the border (the Florida border that is), I felt I had moved to a foreign land called New England, where they talked funny, ate strange foods like boston beans, and had really cold winters. But in spite of… or maybe because of all that, we found ourselves thrilled to be expecting our first child. Mark spent the cold winter evenings building a beautiful cradle, which to date has had around 30 babies sleep in it. My morning sickness took my mind off my homesickness.
By the time May rolled around and our part of the project completed, we excitedly packed up our humble belongings, our big fluffy white dog named Ski and made the drive from New England to North Carolina in our Land Cruiser no less. Reminding you I was 7 months preggo! We arrived in Asheville, HAPPY to be home and with just enough time to get unpack, settled in, and ready a corner of our tiny home on Chatham Road for our soon-to-be-here baby.
I have been thinking lately of how young I was thirty years ago. I looked forward to being a mother. I had spent ten years of my childhood “playing” with real babies instead of dolls. I had seen pretty “raw” mothering in the jungle, so I was not nervous about becoming a mom. I was thrilled to be expecting. But, like all first time mothers, I really did not have a clue how life would truly change.
to be continued tomorrow…