Today is July 6th. The date I’ve been anticipating since there was a faint second line on a stick back on October 26, 2017. Today is the day that doctors and scientists say you’re due to arrive. (Even though I know that only 5% of babies are actually born on their “Estimated Due Date”, according to what I’ve read) I feel like we’ve reached some sort of milestone, you and I.
Your Dad and I talked openly about this last night. I told him the feeling of reaching this date feels like the largest culmination I’ve ever reached in anything, ever. This feels bigger than graduating from High School, College or even walking down the aisle to marry your Dad. Your Dad says that this is a 9-month marathon (not a race!) that I’ve been running, and he claims that I’ve done it with grace, beauty, and style. I disagree and feel that all of the trips, stumbles, and errors I feel that I made are blatantly obvious. Maybe we’re both right?
I wept when I tried to explain how I felt to your Dad. The word BIG doesn’t quite do it justice, does it? Sure, you’ve taken time to grow big and strong and healthy, but this feeling of reaching your due date feels bigger than big. The feeling is immense because you’re you. Together, your Dad and I created, and I have singlehandedly carried you, for these last 40 weeks of all of our lives, but inevitably: you are you.
I apologized profusely to your Dad last night because I carried you, and he didn’t. I apologized that he will never know how it feels to carry you. He will never know how it feels to feel you wiggle and squirm in your perfect little womb. Your Dad said he understood what I was trying to say. I believe he’s trying his best to really hear what I’m saying and understand what I’m feeling, as always. That’s something I hope you inherit from him.
This whole time as you’ve grown, my body has been exactly what you need. My belly has been enough. You tell me what you crave, I give in when appropriate. You express when you’re uncomfortable and together we seek out new postures and ways of resting to better suit us both. My tummy has been your home. We’ve been partners in all that we’ve done together, you and I. Best friends. You’ve listened to my voice. You’ve heard me sing. You’ve listened to me talk to you. You’ve heard and felt me laugh, cry, and everything in between. I have been all that you needed. I have been enough.
Very soon, I will give one final push and with it, there will be a monumental change: you will be your own entity. You and I will be separate. Two individuals. You will be you. And I fail to be able to fully express how much I hope that I am still enough.
I love you, my Baby.
I love you to a degree that is utterly indescribable.
My excitement to have reached your due date is so very bittersweet. I will miss being together, but I cannot wait to meet you. I cannot wait to know you. I cannot wait to learn everything about you. I cannot wait to be your Mommy.
With all of the love that I have to give,