dearest little'un


my sweet babe,

now thirty-eight weeks grown - time seems so steady, so still. i wake up each day and wonder when you will begin your journey out into our arms. i usher thanks for you, pray for peace and rest in grace. i take a short walk around the neighbourhood, buy fresh bread, drink tall cups of herbal tea. i read picture books aloud, and hum softly the words of songsmiths. i cry at the beauty of the sun shining through the glass and smile at the sound of the brown birds in the naked cherry tree. i arrange australian native flowers in a vase by the window. i hem new clothes and fold old ones. i stretch like a cat on my hands and knees. i keep my toes warm in socks and lamb skin boots. i eat a lot of oatmeal. i curl my head into your papa's neck. i wake a few times in the night to change position or pee or drink a glass of milk. i swoon when i feel you moving. I am your mama, emily clare, and my heart beats slow and steady beside yours.