I have yet to take a picture of my growing belly with you inside. I have yet to peruse the aisles of Target imaging all the things you and I might need. I have yet to begin work on your bedroom, although your time in utero is half way through.
I am sorry about the two weeks I didn't take prenatal vitamins because I ran out of them and forgot to go the store. Every single day I forgot. For two weeks. I am sorry that I have fallen twice and surely scared you with the surges of cortisol and adrenaline. I am sorry that raw vegetables have disgusted me since May and you have gotten none of their benefits.
I wanted to give you all the grace and goodness I could muster, but I fear I have not.
But as I sit here in the early morning, your brother still asleep, I daydream about you. I wonder about the way your voice will sound. I wonder about the color of your hair. You ride silently with me all day, even when our schools days are 12 hours long. You are my ally. When I lay down at night you wake up. Your elbows and knees are a welcome feeling in my belly. Your dad can't feel your movements yet, so each jump is just between you and me. I am happy that you are my child.
I may not get all the things accomplished that I should before you arrive, but I am so excited for that day. The lack of preparedness is not be confused with a lack of readiness. I have arms you can sleep in and the anatomy to feed you. This time around I know that beyond all the niceties of nurseries and pinterest-inspired crafts, that this house of love made by your dad, brother, and I are enough. You, Sundance, are so loved.
Always,
Mom
Always,
Mom
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