Getting Ready for Lily
It was a hot Saturday morning in July 2024 when I saw two pink lines. I sat on the edge of the bathtub and read the little paper instructions three times, just to be sure.
Michael was out in the garage. I wrapped the test in a dish towel, walked out, and put it in his hand. He looked at it, looked at me, and sat right down on a sawhorse. Then he laughed out loud, and so did I, and Scout started barking because everybody else was making noise.
We kept our secret for almost two weeks. Then, over Sunday supper, we handed my mom a little box with a tiny pair of white socks inside. She knew before the tissue paper was open. Dad hugged Michael first, and my sister Emily cried before I did. When we told Michael’s mom, Linda, she held my face in both hands and cried happy tears.
By September, with the maple leaves turning on our street, we were busy getting ready. Michael built a crib in the garage. I painted the nursery soft sage green, and the third-grade teacher in me added a moon and stars by hand. Every night we put our hands on my growing belly and thanked God for the little one He was knitting together.
From Dad's Notebook
Sarah says I write too little in this notebook, so here is a long one.
I started the crib the second week of September. Solid maple, from boards I had been saving for something special. I just didn’t know yet that the something special was a baby.
Every evening after work, I went out to the garage. Scout lay in the doorway and supervised every cut. I measured each slat three times. The spacing has to be just right for a baby.
My hands know wood. They did not know one thing about babies. Building this crib was how I got ready. With every joint I fit, I prayed. Lord, keep this child safe. Help me be a good father. Make me patient.
I sanded every edge until it felt as smooth as the inside of a seashell. The last coat of finish went on the same week we found out we were having a girl.
Dave helped me carry it in from the garage while Sarah held the doors. She ran her hand along the rail and said, “It’s perfect.” It isn’t. There’s a spot on the back leg only I can see. But it’s close.
How We Chose Your Name
Lily, before we knew whether you were a boy or a girl, we kept a list of names stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet. Your daddy wanted every boy name to sound like a baseball player. I kept crossing them off.
At the big ultrasound in late October, the technician smiled and said, “It’s a girl.” Your daddy squeezed my hand so hard my ring left a mark. I watched you on that little screen, waving one tiny hand, and thought of the verse I have loved since I was a girl: “I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”
We said your name out loud for the first time in the parking lot. Lily, for the white lilies by Grandma Ruth’s back steps that come back every summer, no matter how hard the winter was. Grace, because that is exactly what you are. We did nothing to earn you. You are God’s gift, plain and simple.
After that, we said “Lily Grace” to you every night. Sometimes you kicked, just once, like you were answering.
