You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
—Mary Oliver

Here is what I love today:

• The overhang outside my study that allows me to open my window to the cool night without the rain getting in.

• The “prayer rock” that C received at preschool chapel, which she clutches like a precious treasure.

• The fact that the woman who came in distraught three weeks ago over a family situation came in tonight, glowing, to give me a hug and a hopeful report.

• When C bends close to my belly and sings her favorite song, “This Old Man,” and the reverendbaby kicks.

• My mother will be here in three days for an entire week! And my sister and her family too! And my brother and his girlfriend too!

• C watched The Wizard of Oz in its entirety the other night and was rapt the entire time—enchanted and enchanting. “The tornado took her to a new place!” “I want to see the lion!” “The witch is sad.”

• That the ugly plants, bushes and timbers in our front yard were hauled away today, and a lovely, low-maintenance landscape will soon take their place.

• Our first visit with our doulas on Monday night—the opportunity to retell and re-live the story of C’s birth (told here, sort of), and the excitement at this adventure which will be different and new this time.

• C’s coaching R and me on how to hold a baby doll: “Criss-cross applesauce. Hold the baby in your lap. Hold the head up. Be gentle! That’s nice!” (Instructions courtesy of last weekend’s sibling class at the hospital)

• Editing the devotionals for advent, written by members of the congregation. They're quite good.

• Having lunch with R on Monday, and looking forward to the prospect of going out again this weekend to see the Harry Potter movie.

• That C will sit next to me on the couch while I’m checking e-mail, pick up a nearby greeting card, unfold it in her lap and call it her “computer.”