My thumbs are sore from the amount of twiddling that I have been doing this past couple of days and at this point the remaining days seem to be stretched out in from of me like so many hills to be climbed. Sleep still remains an elusive creature always remaining just out of grasp as the alarm clock glows an unsympathetic red shaving off minutes from when the next day will start. Granted my burdens are less than Management’s, particularly watching her struggle to pull herself out of a seated position or attempting to lower herself gently into a chair, but this closing days seem so much longer than any other I have watched tick by.

Since there is nothing left to do with Gabriella’s room I have begun obsessively organizing things around the house and have developed a nervous tic with regards to dishes in the sink needing to either wash them immediately or put them right into the dishwasher, “Are you done with that glass? Give me that spoon. I don’t care if you are still eating your cereal!” Very likely next on my list will be vacuuming every time I walk across the living room and dusting the wood stacked near the fireplace. At the very least it will give my thumbs a rest from working feverishly over each other.

I’ve managed, during this wait, to move beyond the anxiety of becoming a father to the anxiety of not being a father yet. Interesting transition that and I find myself looking very forward to celebrating our fist Mother’s Day and Father’s Day (Hallmark must love that, a curmudgeon converted). The idea of being called “Dad” has great appeal.