Still Becoming

No one warned me that one day I would wake up in the middle of the night with a headache and my first thought wouldn’t be, “Where’s the ibuprofen?”

No.

My first thought was, “I should check the eggs.”

Somewhere along the way, my life took a turn I never saw coming. I currently have a broody hen, multiple chicks, and a chicken maternity ward set up in my living room. Not in the coop. Not in the barn. In. My. Living. Room.

To be fair, Mama Hen forced my hand. She became determined to hatch babies despite not having access to a rooster, so she was given fertile eggs from another coop. Then one chick hatched early and was named Miracle. Then another chick from outside got herself into trouble, nearly became a cautionary tale, and was promptly adopted by Mama Hen and renamed Willow.

At that point, things were already ridiculous.

Then came the middle-of-the-night baby.

At 1:30 a.m., I woke up with a headache. Most people would drink some water, take some medicine, and go back to sleep.

I checked on an egg.

There had been progress.

One egg was actively hatching. Another had started to crack. A third egg was still intact and due a day later.

A couple of hours later, I heard a loud cheep.

At 3:20 in the morning, there was a brand-new baby chick in the world.

Naturally, my son Jacob and I immediately began trying to determine who the biological mother might be.

Because apparently that’s what we do now.

The first chick, Miracle, is dark. The new baby is light yellow. One egg is light brown. One egg is dark brown. One egg is slightly greenish and oddly shaped. We have theories. We have suspects. We have absolutely no proof.

Meanwhile, Mama Hen doesn’t care about any of that.

As far as she’s concerned, they’re all her babies.

She has accepted every chick placed under her, hatched under her, or even looked in her direction. She is a wonderful mother.

She is also convinced I am a threat.

I provide the food.

I provide the water.

I provide the bedding.

I provide the climate-controlled housing.

I provide the security.

And every time I walk past her tote, she looks at me like she’s considering filing a restraining order.

This morning I realized I had folded laundry before I had coffee.

Before breakfast.

Before lunch.

Before my medications.

Before I had even taken a drink.

But I had checked on the chicks.

Several times.

Clearly my priorities are in perfect order.

As the Coop Turns continues tomorrow.

Assuming Mama Hen allows it.