The other morning I was discussing my latest read, On Becoming Babywise, with The Husband. Naturally, this book appeals to every part of my nature, with its high expectations and tight scheduling and provided charts. TH and I have agreed that we will approach the sleeping battle with our arsenal full, and Babywise‘s Parent-Directed Feeding is our ammo. So each day I update him on my recently-read discoveries since he’s busy working and whatnot, focused on spreadsheets rather than nursing guides, and on this particular morning I concluded my summary with a portent: “And no one better try and interfere with this plan once we get it started. No peeking in or picking up or–”

TH glanced at me out of the corner of his eye with a knowing smile on his face.

“What?” I asked defensively.

He playfully reminded me of my own peeking-in on The Niece, the multiple times per nightly visit that I sneak upstairs “just to check” on her; the ONE TIME when she happened to wake up early from her nap and I couldn’t just leave her there!

We make our plans, right?

Then later in the day, I visited the OB and he looked over my ultrasound results, attempting to project an answer to my planning-riddled question regarding arrival time, mentioning the complications and their influences–including the fact that The Kid, after months in the “proper” position, is currently sitting upside-down. And that’s when my knowing smile appeared, because I know all about things appearing to be upside-down when they’re actually just as they should be; I know about breath drawn in at week 20, resulting in imposed restrictions and uncertain outcomes; I know about how unemployment can save a life; I know about numb fingers that remain on the keyboard through 120,000 words; I know about being lost but found, and blind but seeing. I know grace and I know redemption, and I know that they have nothing to do with the position we’re in.