To being able to carelessly fold and tuck my body into itself with no bumps or barriers to worry about.
To having whole lungfuls of air at my disposal whenever I command a breath.
To wearing jeans again.
To not constantly having my heart and stomach and intestines burning in my throat at once.
To sunshine and warm breezes, and walking too quickly round the parks for people with short legs or slow gaits to keep up with.
To being Wanted and Needed.
To wearing jeans again.
To watching and hearing from the outside, rather than feeling on my insides, every precious and uncomfortable little twist, kick and hiccough.
To holding you in trembling arms that have waited far longer than nine months for the weight of your precious self to fill them.
To the hope of maybe one day being okay with the equal batterings of fear and peace, utter elation and sinking overwhelm, that will invade my already full heart all at once, every single time I look at you.
To finally putting on my jeans and being your mother.
written: 32-33 weeks
