I feel twelve weeks, and my return to work, steadily creeping up on us. And then I find it a bit hard to swallow the lump in my throat.
I have dreamed of being a mother for as long as I can remember. I have wondered for years what it would feel like to hold a baby of my own in my arms.
To snuggle a soft head against my cheek.
To see a big toothless smile and coo just for me.
To stumble around at night warming bottles and changing diapers.
To sing quiet songs and whisper prayers of thanksgiving while rocking my sleeping baby.
My Ethan.
Nothing could have prepared me for how I would feel being his mother. It is simply amazing. God-given. Wonderful. And oh-so bittersweet.
I am his mommy.
And he knows it.
Incredible.
The next few weeks are bound to fly by and soon my days will be spent at the computer, and not hanging out with Ethan and Matt. My boys. My family. It will be a tough transition. One I can’t really fathom either. In the meantime, I’m doing my best to soak as much of it up as possible. My floors may get a little hairier, my fridge may be a little bit bare, my hair may be pulled up in a messy bun.
But…
My arms will be busy holding my son. And it will all be worth it.
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