Only 12 weeks to go...or less.
I haven't written enough. I haven't recorded my thoughts here or anywhere enough. I haven't taken the regular pictures of my rapidly growing belly. (Note to self: must do that SOON.)
But Sophie, (or Ian) I am longing to meet you... You've been kicking so often now. Sometimes your wild squirming wakes me in the night. And I smile. I don't usually smile when someone wakes me in the night...no matter how much I love them.
Sometimes, in the middle of the day I lose my focus on what is in front of me because I'm mesmerized by the feeling of you...rolling around, stretching, hiccuping, kicking, tapping. I read today that you can open and close your eyes now. That you have little eyelashes. I can't wait to feel them fluttering against my cheek. That's one of Maya and my favorite games. I'm sure she'll love to teach you the art of 'butterfly kissing.'
Your furniture has been in place in your room for almost a month now. Soon I'll start re-washing and organizing the tiny baby clothes that have been packed away since Maya outgrew them. And I'll put them in your drawers. I've been painting the letters to put on your wall...looking through magazines and catalogs...clipping pictures...and dreaming about how to make the little bedroom upstairs YOURS. I don't know you yet, not really. You are still a mystery to me, to all of us. I'm sure that in many ways you will always hold great mystery...growing, changing and revealing yourself to me in different ways as long as I am alive. But now I am waiting just to see your face...to look into your eyes for the first time. And even with so many unknowns
about you...I love you. With that painful kind of love that makes breathing difficult sometimes.
