34 days, give or take.
That is when I am finally going to meet you.
You are showing signs of wanting to be early...have been in launch position for a month now, kicking me in the ribs, stretchingstretchingstretching as though your limited space has become slightly annoying. Braxton-Hicks contractions are giving way to something a little different...downward contractions that make me feel like a human whirlpool.
My huge, round belly twitches and jumps with your every movement. I tickle a foot as it floats by, pat a bottom, caress a hand. I know things about you...your heartrate, the width of your shoulders...I know when you will be sleepy and when you will be alert and awake. I know barking dogs frighten you, and purring cats lull you. Any hand other than mine landing on my tummy will cause you to lurch away...and then, very slowly, you will investigate the foreign hand...kicking it gently, worrying at it...wondering. You are already wary.
You roll like a whale under my hand. Every night before I sleep, I lay and contemplate what life with you will be like. I wonder who you will be. I think over all the things I would like to teach you.
Mostly, I just tell you that you are the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me. That, until we began this strange journey together, I had never really allowed myself to believe I would or could be a mother. You, my accidental baby, have taught me otherwise.
Thank you for choosing me, even if I may not have seemed to be the best choice.
I promise you that no matter what happens...no matter what I have or may not have to give you, I will love you for always.
