Mist Through the Blue Ridge
It hit me for the first time today.
Personally I've had a hard time adjusting to the idea of having a baby. Kevin and I have always said that we want kids, but just knowing that it's happening so soon has been hard to wrap my brain around. I feel too young. Too inexperienced. Too unprepared. Too poor. Too far away.
So it's snuck up on me. Quietly and unexpectedly. It whispered through me like the soft lavender mist that rolls through the Blue Ridge as the sun rises on a summer morning- I love this little baby. I don't know what a 'mother's love' is supposed to be like or how that's supposed to feel, and I know that specific kind of love won't come until I meet this little one, but right now in my own way I love our baby.
I love it for the little tantrums it throws when I smell cooking meat. I love it for how uncomfortable it's making sleep at night. I love it for how it's making my waistbands too tight and and my t-shirts too small. I love it for taking over my stomach and pushing it out into new shapes.
I can't wait to discover new things about him or her as each stage in our lives together progress.
I can't wait to hold this child in my arms.
I can't wait to whisper, like soft mist rolling through the Blue Ridge on a summer morning, "I love you little one".