Forty-six

There are days when the birth of my daughter still seems forever away. And then there are days when things are put into perspective and I realize how close I really am to holding her in my arms. Forty-six days.  Forty-six until my due date, so give or take a week or so on either side and I’ll be looking into the eyes of my firstborn child. It is so surreal for me still to know the truth of that, to feel her squirming around inside me constantly, knowing that she is there and growing and so very mine. It’s surreal, and then at the same time it is so right and good, and I rejoice at the blessing of carrying this child for nine months in preparation of being her mother. Mother. I am a mother. This title is one that frightens, excites, and incites all at the same time. Frightening because I fear I’ll fail miserably, exciting because of the exhilarating knowledge that this baby was made especially for Jeremy and me, and inciting because I am compelled to be the best mother and wife that I can be to my new little family of three.  I will cherish the remainder of the time I have to be just me and her together, and Jeremy and I as just husband and wife, and I look forward to the time when this baby deems herself ready to make an appearance with joy and hope.

Last week on Valentine's Day at 32 weeks.