Easter and Incubation

Easter is this weekend! My Easter memory-bank is brimming with tales of egg-hunts in gramma's backyard, crisp clean dresses with matching hats, colored eggs, chocolates and drooping branches of the banks rose. Other more recent memories seem less vibrant, dimmer and subdued. But this year I have a new Easter experience that parallels one from my childhood.

One year I decided to incubate eggs and my Mom was a patient enough woman to allow an incubator to sit on her counter for three weeks! She was also incredibly confident in my ability to oversee this venture with very little supervision. Every day I would check the temperature of the incubator. Every six hours I would turn the eggs, just like a mother hen. Every moment I was away from the incubator's tiny viewing window I was wondering how my eggs were.

I had done my homework, but not done the math. 21 days after those eggs were put in the incubator they hatched, and it was purely by coincidence that day 21 fell on Easter. I remember sharing the joy of birth with my grammy. I ran into the kitchen shouting that my eggs were hatching and Plain 'ol Grammy came back to the porch and watched with me as the tiny wet-looking birds flopped and flounced around their broken shells. Within a few hours, all the eggshells had been conquered and ten very unique chicks fluffed and dried and huddled together.

This year I am incubating again. Once again I did not do the math. This tiny life will not be ready for his debut on Easter, as were the chicks, but he's bravely launching into the last trimester of his incubation on Easter weekend. Every day I stop and remember how blessed I am. Every few hours I feel him kick. And every moment I am busy with other things I am wondering how my little one is doing. This year I will share the joy of birth with my husband Derek. And it will be a gorgeous day when we see him fluffed and dried and hugged against my chest.