The origami paper crane sat on our kitchen counter all afternoon. Literally all afternoon. Begging to be unfolded.
Earlier that day, in a dimly lit room, we watched a fuzzy image on an ultrasound scream tumble around my belly and let the mystery and miracle of the life wash over us again. Our ultrasound tech was cheerful and goofy, cracking jokes and laughing loudly, but I was relieved that we had already told him we wanted to find out this babe's gender in private. Something about his demeanor made the sacredness of the moment seep out of the room.
And so he quickly scrawled a message inside of small square of orange paper and folded it into a paper crane before clapping us on the back and sending us on our way.
And there it sat on our counter. All afternoon.
And oh my.
I met Matt at our friend's home, where Oliver and their son were going to spend some quality time together that evening. My high heels combined with a pregnant belly were the only things keeping us from literally running down the sidewalk once we parked near Opa's, a Greek restaurant in downtown Campbell. Before the second bite of pita bread had been swallowed, we had gingerly peeled open the paper crane.
And there in the middle of the dark restaurant, with our table so close to those next to ours that we could have been engaged in their conversations if we weren't so engrossed with the messy cursive on a tiny square of paper, we laughed and cried and celebrated our second son.
And in an instant, our family took form in a way I didn't even know we lacked. The look and feel of our home, the rhythm of it, the cadence of it, sharpened in my mind.
We are raising a small band of brothers.
My heart literally swells with the glory and weight of it all.