The Village

It takes a village to raise a child, the old proverb goes. Our baby isn’t even here yet, but already they have their proverbial village. 

“ I think the Ukrainians are more excited about our baby than [the Mennonites.]“ my husband has said to me more than once. He should know. His friends and customers, many of them grandparents by now, have faithfully asked about his pregnant wife and unborn baby in the last few months and love to share their own experiences with being parents.  Lately some of them have been messaging and calling ostensibly for legitimate reasons, but mostly to ask, “You daddy yet?” 

The people who own and run local establishments and know us by sight or possibly reputation, are full of questions about due dates and health and are effusive in their well wishes. Random strangers in stores and restaurants hug me and congratulate me. Most of them don’t do the hugging part. One adorable old woman in Superstore told me, “you are carrying a precious baby boy.” We’re impatient to find out if she’s right or wrong about that. 

The ladiesatchurch are very good at asking, “how many more weeks?” and “are you all ready?” Some of them have bits of advice for me. Buy gripe water before baby is born. Make sure you have enough blankets; it’s summer and they’ll get dirty quickly if you spend time outside. You need a thermometer for those middle of the night tiny baby fevers that can cause so much worry ! they say. 

There are different women from the community who call me regularly to see if I’m okay and ask how big my bump is. “You will be a good mom,” they tell me. One raised 8 children and the other has been a mom to many more than that. They have the mothering wisdom of years and their concern for me comforts and encourages me. 

All of these people are beyond our immediate circle of family and friends. In this group we have mothers (and fathers) who give us things for Hermit (including advice) and tell us things we need to know and share stories about when we were born. We have excited siblings including the little boy who is actually a teenagers and often asks, “is Hermit here yet?” and the sisters who listen to me talk about being pregnant like it’s the only possible conversation topic and the brothers who give my husband joking advice about being a dad. We have friends from nearby and far away who put on the most delicious baby shower and/or give us lovely gifts and/or share things they’ve learned about having a baby and being new parents in the 2020s. 

You are part of our village, cliche as this sounds. I am awed and blessed by the sheer amount of people who care about us and our child. Many women do not have supports of any kind around them through pregnancy, birth and parenting, but I am surrounded by love and support. I realize how blessed I am. 

La Vie

The dog sleeps soundly on the floor beside me.

The husband rushes off to help someone, and then someone else, and then someone else.

The bébé and I have conversations about when he’s going to come meet us. He says 4 more weeks if we’re lucky; I try to persuade him that anytime now is good.

The snow silently melts a little more, while The mud becomes muddier

The boy calls once, twice, sometimes 3 times to say hello, to vent, to beg to come over, to talk to the dog.

The sky lights up with auroras, and, tho I see it for a minute and marvel and make my husband come admire, mostly I just asleep under the spell of their majesty.

The husky and I see animal tracks wherever we walk. The fields are full of them, the hedgerows even more. One set of tracks could really only be from a bear (I know, Because of Google.) I now believe the brothers in law who say they’ve seen bears nearby.

The dirt in my green house shoots joyful tiny seedlings up toward the light. 

The tow trucks run a little less often than they used to, but still very often. People still hit bison, jump snow banks and roll vehicles. Someone’s neighbor children lock the keys in their vehicle and run away yelling “April Fools.” Someone’s car dies necessitating an evening haul to Yorkton. Someone gets fed up with their family using their broken down vehicle as a garbage receptacle necessary another evening haul to Yorkton. 

The weekend approaches, is here. Sour dough buns rise on the counter. Saturday dawns quiet (no work calls yet !) I think about working on whittling down my todo list. My husband actually does work on his. La vie continues.