By: Brandy Black
Two robins are building a nest in our backyard just beyond my bedroom window; I watch as they gather tiny sticks and dead grass. This morning was the first time I was actually happy to have patches of brown in our lawn as the puffed-up mama bird directed papa around the yard. I stood waiting by the door with my dog Bailey panting at my heels waiting to be let out. I couldn’t disrupt the happy couple as they gathered their home. I thought about the many pregnant nights I sat at my computer searching for the perfect crib, waddling through the baby aisles at Target with Susan, cleaning the windowsills and waiting for the arrival of our daughter. I thought how much easier it must be for them to simply gather twigs and things rather than suffer the societal or maybe in my case, personal pressures of making the picturesque nursery that I had always envisioned. As I shifted from foot to foot waiting for the robins to fly up to their nest I realized the mama was very particularly guiding the papa to browner patches, his mouth billowing, she dare not let him drop a thing. She, like me, had her own stipulations for their baby’s arrival, she seemed proud and full of love.
I can barely wait to watch them each morning and night when their little ones arrive. Having observed another family of birds last year, it was the highlight of our days to see the tiny beak reach up for her morning breakfast.
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Originally published on The Seattle Lesbian
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