eyes still closed, i shift and move about.
maybe it is discomfort. maybe it is the worry that seems ever-present.
but then i feel movement.
a little kick, a somersault, a brief pang, and my tired mouth can’t help but smile.
good morning, honey.
sometimes i feel like i won’t quite make it through the day without collapsing on a bed, a couch, a chair–anywhere i can lay my head.
but on mornings like this–
mornings when, only moments after being enveloped in his arms, i feel stirring in my belly, feel signs of life and growth–
on mornings like this, i can only feel peaceful, hopeful, grateful.
this tiny life i can’t wait to hold is letting me know she is okay.
is holding my heart, just as i am holding his little form in my belly.
already, i love you so, so much.
mama loves you.
i lay awake this morning, maybe much too early for the time i went to bed.
but i lay awake, feeling the tiny kicks and punches of the little one rollicking around in my belly.
i lay awake, my hand resting on my skin, breathing deep, my heart full and at peace as i felt the child–my child, our child–playing and stretching within my womb.
you made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb.
your workmanship is marvelous…you watched me as i was being formed in utter seclusion,
as i was woven together in the dark of the womb.
and when i wake up, you are still with me.
i still feel terrified, sometimes. worried, anxious, dreaming that something will go wrong, that i will not get the chance to hold her, see her sweet little face, before she is gone. that he will pass away, before i get a chance to love him, to show him how much he means to me.
but You know her. You know him. You’ve knit this baby together in my womb, know all of his (or her) days.
You knew the moment she came into being, know the moment he will meet us.
and even though i am scared and anxious and impatient, You have us–my little baby and i–and even in darkness, You will be there.