Today marks the beginning of Advent, our season of hopeful waiting. The season’s theme mirrors the reality of life in our office this month. Theary, my lovely co-coordinator and friend, is eight months pregnant now, due just after Christmas. She arrives in the morning blurry eyed but happy, with stories of little Jeremy’s nighttime somersaults and kickboxing workouts. We practice Lamaze breathing from YouTube videos and pore over the grainy pictures of Jeremy from three months till now, checking back every so often to make sure that is definitely a boy.
Tuesday should be Theary’s last ultrasound before delivery, assuming everything goes well. These days, it’s hard for Theary to drive the moto, especially with a passenger, so I’m her driver. She sits sidesaddle on the back, one hand holding on, the other across her belly, updating me on Jeremy’s rolls and tumbles. Her eyes watch the road nervously so she can point out potholes that I might fail to avoid. I’m still not as good at driving as I’d like, and occasionally we bump over a hole in the road. She gasps a little, then laughs, realizing that a year ago she would not have flinched at such a tiny moment. I tell her the laughter is the best thing she can give Jeremy right now, so we do our best to keep each other smiling as we wait, wait, wait, for our newest love to arrive.