“Hey, what do you think about this pink?”
I realize I’ve drifted off, so I turn my attention back to the wall where Finn is holding up two different paint swatches. There are six different colors on each, and I narrow my eyes. I never realized how hard it would be to choose a paint color. Apparently, it’s really hard. Maybe that’s just my pregnancy brain getting the better of me. Seriously, it’s a real thing.
And so is the nursery we’re creating out of what used to be my office. We combined my stuff with Finn’s stuff in the room upstairs, and everything is organized into the relatively large room up there. There was room for two desks—not one for each of us, but more like one with the sanctuary set up and one set up for Finn’s work. Standing in an empty room with a few boxes of unassembled baby furniture really drives home that this is happening. We still have a lot of shopping to do, a lot of painting to do, and a lot of everything to do before we’re ready.
“Umm. That one?” I point at the paint swatch in Finn’s left hand, and he rolls his eyes and grins at me. “Which one on this one?”
“The top one?” The top color is the brightest pink that ever lived, and Finn’s brow lifts. “The one below that?” That one is just a shade less bright, but he still looks skeptical. “Well, the one below that then?” This time, his brows settle into a normal line. I giggle. “If you already had a color in mind, why ask me?”
“Because it’s your decision too.”
“If you like that one, then I’m good with it.”
“Do you think pink is too much? We should just go with gray.”
“Gray?” I can’t help but laugh. “Okay, sure. Gray.”
“I was just kidding. I think pink is perfect.”
“Pink is fine.”
“Although gray would be more neutral. It would go with anything.”
“I give up,” I say, good-naturedly. Finn drops the paint swatches onto the boxed-up crib that we have yet to open before he walks over and wraps his arms around my waist.
“I’m sure whatever color we end up picking, it’s going to be perfect because you’re perfect, and our daughter is going to be perfect.”
I don’t know about me and perfection, but when it comes to the sanctuary, I could easily agree that our lives have come pretty close. We haven’t grown our operation by taking in more animals. Well, okay, that’s not entirely true. Three cats now call the house home, plus Boots, and we have two more dogs who Little Missy adores. We also have two more chickens—yes, Finn finally overcame his fear of them—and we have another sheep. We’re pretty full, and we want to keep things small, so that’s basically it for us when it comes to taking anyone in at the moment.
That said, Finn had this incredible idea about helping other rescues who seriously need it—help them raise awareness and help with fundraising. I had the idea that we could give talks and do videos of the farm, more of an educational thing because, in some other life, I guess I was destined to be a teacher, but we took it further by giving talks at larger events and in classrooms, pretty much anywhere we’re invited, though we don’t always go in person. Often, we get to make a video and send it or video conference in from the farm. Helping other rescues fundraise and bring in money to support their cause while raising awareness for animals all over has been so rewarding. Finn supports a few—okay, it’s more than a few—rescues with monthly donations as well. He still claims it’s for the tax break, but I know his heart, and it doesn’t have anything to do with that.
“Oh really?” I stop thinking about the sanctuary for just a moment and focus on the soon to be nursery. I brush the tip of my nose against Finn’s. “You aren’t trying to butter me up to get out of painting this room, are you?”
“Never. You won’t lift a finger to get that done. John and Amy can help me.”
“You’re probably going to force John to set up the crib, aren’t you?”
Finn eyes the big box dubiously. “I think I’m going to need a ton of help. It looks complicated.”
“You haven’t even opened it yet. And this is just the beginning.” I rub my hand over my swollen belly. “There’s going to be some big changes happening around here right away. Lots and lots of things to figure out—like the swing, the car seat, the sling thing we bought, bottles, diapers….”
Finn groans, but it’s the kind of teasing groan I’ve come to expect. He keeps holding me that way, in the circle of his arms, and I wouldn’t back away for the world, even to tackle the thousand things we need to get done.