36 weeks and writing to you

Baby Girl,

Your head is down low now and you’re curled along my right side, your little booty making a bump in my extended belly. Your legs are bent and your feet are always in my ribs. Sometimes you kick, sometimes you just let those tootsies rest and I forget there are feet in my ribs.

I remember coming home with Miles and Asher after they were born and feeling so suddenly empty on the inside after being so full for so long.  Now it will be your turn to exit and I’ll adjust again and then you’ll be another person in this home who fills my life, not just my ribs or my side.

I still can’t believe you’re a girl. I want to know what you’re like. I want to feel what my friends describe, this healing that having a girl brings.  I want to teach you things, the very few things that I know, and have you teach me all the things that you will bring with you. I want to help make sure those things stay there, this God- knowledge you’ll have inside you.  I want to help you keep it there, in your heart-gut, instead of allowing it to go quiet. I don’t know why, but it’s so easy for it to go quiet or get all confused with over-thinking or just…life.

I saw a dear friend for lunch yesterday and we talked about our grown-up mistakes. What was I thinking, she asked. And I said something about how we don’t know until we know. We just can’t. We learn the hard way and sometimes the lessons are really really hard ones. And sometimes that happens because of that squelched voice inside of us, the one we learn to ignore when it’s trying to send up flares and red flags. It goes BOOM BOOM BOOM and we go LA LA LA, like we’re totally fine when we’re not.

I’ll be there for you whether you listen or not, I want you to know that. I’ll try to understand and not force your changes. I know you need to live to learn how to keep listening to your voice.

So many times, as you grow, your head may be down low with the trying and sometimes failing and I hope you curl along my side for refuge and tell me all about it. And when you walk away I’ll feel empty again, every time; desperate to keep you close and safe in me and with me. Your birth in a few short weeks will be just the start of letting you go, so I plan to revel in your youngest days. The days that teach us how to need each other while we already start to learn to let go.

I love you. Already.

~Mama