The Child's Bath

I feel like my world is shrinking. Because of the hemorrhage and placenta previa, my doctors have beaten it into my brain that I am not allowed to lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk, and no excessive walking. A trip to Target is considered excessive walking. I am also supposed to spend as much time with my feet up as possible. There are other rules that are difficult to follow, and these rules stand firm until this babe comes in late August.
This means I can't ride my pink cruiser bike in the evenings to the art museum this summer. I can't go grocery shopping by myself. I can't lift up any of my girls. And the worst - I am missing out on my sister's last trip to Disneyland before her mission.
My activities and daily life is shrinking to a small, small circle of patterns and routines. More than once I have thought of this painting:
Mary Cassatt, The Child's Bath, 1893. Art Institute of Chicago. 

The cramped domestic space, mundane tasks, several patterns in condensed space. But also the tenderness, the sweet baby skin, and glorifying domesticity. The reminders of Christ in doing everyday service for little ones.
I know I'll make it through these months, and at the end we'll have a darling new baby girl. 


  1. Love you Shelley. So, so much.

  2. E-mail me, Shelley. Let's figure out a time when I can come see you. I'll bring lunch and buy groceries.