Week 32: A letter to my son

To my boy,

This week I realized that you'll be here next month. It's hard to believe that in eight weeks (Please be eight weeks. Six works, too. You see, your momma is impatient), you won't be kicking under my ribs or somersaulting after every meal. The little hands, feet and face I've seen in blurry, Etch-a-Sketch form will be right here in front of me. We'll get to see if you in fact have your daddy's long second toe or my crooked pinky toe (heaven help your poor feet if you get both), your daddy's blue eyes or my large forehead (a mark of pride and distinction among the Harris clan). And there you'll be — all ours. I can't wait for that.

At the same time, I also realized that next month you won't be all mine any more. I won't be the one who gets to hold you all day, every day. While I'm not the biggest fan of the bladder/trampoline routine you perform, those days of feeling your kicks and nudges will be in the past. So, I promise to be the best at sharing I can be when that time comes, but for now I'm going to relish this time we have together now — before you grow taller than I and have to help me get the sugar off the top shelf.

Love,
Momma