 |
| via pinterest |
The window sits wide open and the calls of two or three birds drift in with the breeze.
I lie here on my bed again, propped against pillows, an empty plate and a filled water bottle for company.
Partial bed rest, the doctor says.
I say, Gladly.
This evening my thoughts drift to my unborn daughter, just like most other moments in my days as of late.
What will I teach her?
How will I sit back and let her learn by herself?
What if sometimes she doesn't like me?
Kaylie drove me to the doctor today because the construction men were blocking my driveway again.
We talked of breast pumps and bottles
and how you can't really know anything until you're thrown into the middle of it.
These are the talks that help.
Not because they give definitive answers (because they don't),
but because they remind me to keep a wide mind.
Sometimes a wide mind feels out of control.
I can't control when my water breaks, if we let it get that far.
I can't control how often my bladder feels ready to burst open.
I can't control the sunshine or the rain or the inevitable spring snowstorm.
But I can control what I choose to say about these things,
how I choose to react.
I can choose.
I can choose to keep my hospital bag packed, though it means I'm without a backpack for school.
I can choose to pop a Lean Cuisine in the microwave or to make a plateful of crepes.
I can choose to ask for help when I need it.
Addie-girl, I can hardly stand my anticipation.
But over the weekend, your dad taught me that I can't sit around waiting.
I have to keep living.
And when you decide to come, I'll keep my mind wide in hopes of somehow inspiring you.
We'll learn together, day by day, and develop a bond that's only ours.
I'll sing you silly songs just to see your gummy smile.
I'll rock and sway a comfort rhythm, even when someone else is holding you.
I'm going to be your mom and you my daughter.
I've never seen your face, but I know you already.
Weird how that works, isn't it?
Hope you're having fun kicking back in there.
I'm just out here, trying my best to learn patience and keep living.
See you soon.
Note: This weekend marked 37 weeks along. Full term.