Photo by Grace
You started sucking your fingers today. I could feel the tap of the back of your fist against the inside of my stomach. A rhythm, just like Lillie used to do in her last month. It endears me to you. How are you feeling in that warm bath? Is your soul fully intact? Do you hear us?
Grace scratches my belly. She talks to you in baby talk. Ruby loves you with her eyes closed. Lillie points at my tummy and says, "bee-bee". Or other times, she pushes on you really hard. I hate it, but you probably don't even notice.
The country is preparing for your arrival. It's spring now. I saw a fly buzzing outside the kitchen window. A FLY! People are laying out blankets and picnicking. There are political changes and the rivers and creeks are swollen with snow melt. This community whirls around you. You don't care to keep up, after all, you're not even born yet.
Six more weeks, baby. It's a journey, I feel like giving up but I don't have much of a choice. You are going to practically double your weight and there's nothing I can do about it. And once you're born, 8 plus pounds, I'll be so proud of every inch of your perfectly crafted infant body.
It's hard, though, I'm not gonna lie.
When I'm not thinking of you, I feel large and icky and tired and itchy. I cringe in the mirror and breathe heavily while I walk down the hall. My fingers feel like sausages when I play the piano. My throat burns after dinner until bedtime. I feel really old and really swollen.
When I am thinking of you, I feel excited and lucky. You kick Lillie steadily while I rock her to dreamland and then you keep going while I eat ice cream, and sit at the computer. Then we go to bed, you and I. I lay on my side and read a book, you moving like a hurricane. The corners of my mouth turn up as you keep turning and kicking and sucking and twisting.
I wish I could spend the entire pregnancy in bed or in close proximity.
We've almost made it. When it's time to come out, let's take it nice and easy, eh?
We all love you, beautiful little girl.