Six days before my due date, I came home and found the nursery torn apart.

Two days later, the front door of our home opened into a bright, sunlit foyer.

The air inside the house smelled of fresh cedar, lavender, and warm vanilla.

Drew walked in first, carrying our luggage and the heavy baby car seat, inside which baby Maya was fast asleep, swaddled in a pink fleece blanket. I followed closely behind, leaning slightly on Drew's arm, tired but feeling lighter and happier than I had in months.

Eli ran in ahead of us, dropping his backpack by the stairs.

"Wait here!" Eli announced, turning around in the hallway and holding up his hands like a security guard. "Nobody goes into the nursery yet!"

Drew and I exchanged a puzzled, amused glance. "Eli, what are you talking about?" Drew asked.

"Just wait!" Eli insisted, sprinting up the stairs two at a time.

We stood in the hallway for five minutes, listening to the sound of heavy cardboard boxes sliding across the floorboards upstairs, followed by the soft rustle of plastic and the faint chime of wood clicking together.

"Okay! Come up!" Eli yelled from the top of the landing.

Drew picked up the car seat, and together we walked slowly up the carpeted stairs.

When we reached the nursery doorway, both Drew and I stopped dead in our tracks.

The room was completely transformed.

During the two days we were at the hospital, Drew's younger brother, Mark, had come over at Drew's request to help reset the heavy furniture. But Eli had clearly taken complete command of the details.

The crib mattress was back in place, freshly fitted with the yellow-patterned sheet I had washed weeks ago. The heavy oak side rail had been tightened securely with screws, tested by Eli himself.

The three taped cardboard boxes that had sat against the wall were gone. Every single tiny pajama, blanket, and pair of socks had been neatly unpacked and arranged inside the changing table drawers.

And hanging directly over the center of the crib, swaying gently in the afternoon breeze from the open window, was the little wooden mobile with the carved clouds.

Eli stood in the center of the room, holding an Allen wrench in one hand, looking up at us with a nervous, proud expression.

"I put everything back," Eli said softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "And... I fixed the mobile. I made sure the clouds were facing down so she can see them when she lies on her back."

I set my hand over my mouth, my eyes filling with fresh tears as I looked around the pristine, warm nursery.

Drew walked over, setting the car seat down gently on the rug before pulling Eli into a tight, lifting side-hug. "You did an incredible job, son. The room looks better than it did before."

Eli walked over to the changing table, pulled something out from the top drawer, and walked back over to me.

It was the torn calendar page from the kitchen refrigerator—the third week of September, with the red circle around Tuesday the 15th.

Eli had carefully taped the torn edge back together with clear scotch tape, smoothing out every crease until the week was whole again. Beneath the red circle around the 15th, in his neat, nine-year-old print, he had written three new words:

MAYA'S BIRTHDAY / BIG BROTHER DAY.

"I fixed the calendar too," Eli whispered, handing the paper to me. "So we don't forget."