Your brother woke up early this morning. I went into his room and rocked him hoping he would drift back to sleep and I could return to my bed. In the dark early hours of the morning, you started moving your little body against his. I sat there in his rocking chair feeling you both in my arms and committing the moment to my memory. Some day when I am holding your children, I want to be able to recall this. To look back to this morning and remember the overwhelming rush of love and gratitude that I felt for my own little ones.
As I sat in the dark, I thought of our journey together over these last nine months. The excitement and anticipation of wanting and trying for you. The gratefulness for each growth milestone you passed. The joy of knowing your movements and hearing your heartbeat. I will cherish those memories above all the other less appealing pregnancy woes. What a gift it has been to experience your body entangled within mine.
The thoughts of you drifted to my own mother. Many years ago she sat in this very rocking chair with me inside of her. Feeling my movements and envisioning me in her arms. That thought hurt. Moments pass and I am reminded how quickly vivid memories seem to fade. I hope she can still feel with certain clarity, what it was like to hold this love inside of yourself. And I can only pray for you and I that we get to create the lifetime of memories and the deep connection that my mother and I have experienced together.
Your birth is nearing. As I held you both and lost myself in thought, I felt my body ache. You are making progress. Your brother had given up on sleep at this point so I brought him into my bed. We got under the covers and I told him about you again. He is too little to understand but his life will be changing too. He will now have a sister. A friend for life. And you will have a very sweet and tall big brother to protect you. You sure are lucky to have him.
We are ready for you little girl.