You’ve been an idea . . . a dream . . . a secret desire for so long that I almost don’t know what to make of you now. Your tiny fingers brush my insides; your limbs ripple my skin. And still I can’t believe you’re real. You came from one of the eggs that has been inside of me since I was inside of my mother. You have always been there, waiting to find me.
How will you know me? By the thump of my heart and the sigh of my breath–by the noises that lulled you to sleep and awakened you from watery dreams as you grew fingers and toes, eyelashes and hair.
What began as yearning became a shaking hand with a pregnancy test–and then a terrifying jumble of needle sticks and genetic counseling. Since then, the days and hours have been so full of words, and work , and laundry, and to-do lists, and love for your sister that I have not had much time to sit quietly with you. Now you are just days away from entering a confusing world of lights and sound and air. And I am about to see , for the very first time, your tiny fingernails, your soft cheeks, the curve of your lashes.
When you finally leave my body to enter this new world, I will reach for you across all that noise and through all that bright air. I will reach for you, little one, and I will never let you go.
