Today was an important day. I mean, I guess it was just like yesterday. Here we are waking up, waiting for you, but all the days seem different since you've been here; bigger somehow.
I know the doctor says it's not possible, but I always worry I'm going to squish you in the night by rolling over on my tummy. You are getting really big lately. I'm sure in the grand scheme of this whole thing, your life and all, that you being about the size of one of those tiny lap dogs they let people bring on planes is nothing. But still, when I wake up I always try to get you to stir and then I tell you I love you.
We went to the doctor today. Your daddy worked from home and came with us. The doctor said you could be here any time. When I hear this, I think about what it will be like to kiss your skin and see your eyes and I get excited to bring you to the home that will be ours.
On the way back from the appointment Daddy and I bought raspberry tea and jumped in the ocean in our clothes.
I wanted to take in the ocean's power. I figured I was going to need it soon, but instead its calmness is what stayed with me; the tiny sand crabs like teeth in the sand, the ripples in between the big waves, how everything sounds quieter underwater.
There are things I won't be able to recall about this pregnancy, and truthfully I hope it's part of the pain that comes at the end, but I want to remember the way your small foot felt pressing against my hand. That was the first way we knew you.
I have been waiting for you all of my life. Your daddy and I both have. We can't believe you're almost here.
me, your mom