I think a lot about the music Peter hears and how it will affect him, both now and after he's born. My mom says she listened to a lot of Keith Green when she was pregnant with me. It makes sense, then, that his music has always made me feel somehow safe and protected. Sara and I have very different tastes in music so my son will probably have a strange affinity for K-Pop and 90s worship music.
Music is the closest thing we have to a time machine. It's why we listen to songs from our younger days and why we take comfort in the same songs year after year. It's why I still listen to Michael W. Smith's "Live the Life" when I want to go back to the summer I was 15. If music has that kind of power could we be more purposeful with it?
I've been compiling a playlist for some father/son drives this Spring. Songs I hope will stay with Peter in some way. No matter how good of a dad I try to be hardship will find him and I'd like him to have a place to go even when he might not be able to come home.
Speaking of which, it looks like he'll be arriving a little earlier than expected. He's on the lighter side, weight wise, and Sara's doctor wants to deliver between 37 and 39 weeks depending on how he's progressing. Odds are his weight is low due to genetics. Both Sara and I were born small. The same is true of my brothers. Still, the news that he'd be early made things a little more real. We're down to just a handful of weeks now. Since we found out, we've been in a mad scramble to finish the nursery and get everything ready. It's amazing how losing a week or two from the timeline can send everything into a tizzy. Thankfully, I've had some experienced friends remind me that having everything prepared matters a lot less than I think. The kid's not gonna know if his room is done or not.
As I've been barreling through this frenzied time, putting furniture together and scouring Craigslist for what we still need I've been finding my own comfort in music. I had the new Mumford and Sons on repeat all week, downloaded an old mix from years ago, and on Saturday Ray LaMontagne's "Such a Simple Thing" caught my ear. I must've played it 30 times since then to Sara's annoyance. I'm sure that a year from now I'll hear any of these songs and remember the days of advent before Peter changed our world.
I'm starting to feel like I'm holding my breath waiting for it all to happen. I can get lost in the pressure, caught up in the busyness of it all, when Sara takes my hand and holds it to her belly. Peter moves, his kicks like rapid heartbeats. I'm so close to him. I hear the music and I breathe. This is what matters. This is what I want to remember.
"Tell me what your heart wants. Such a simple thing..."