You twist and turn your arm, reaching for more space, presumably – and an alien ripple cascades across my belly. You’re moving your wiggly little body down further and further inside me and as I begin to open up for you, I wince in pain, reminding me that our time together, just the two of us, is rapidly coming to a close.

I dream about what your face might look like. What your sister’s face will look like when she meets you for the first time.

Every week I count down the days until we can hold you, and then will them to stop so I can breathe a little deeper this life that we’ve created, your Daddy and your sister and I. One that will end on the day that you’re born.

You and I have only ever known each other as one person. You move and my body moves with you. You grow and my belly and my heart expand in response. We are one person and two spirits. Yours gentler, and more tender than my own.

The fact that you were created of me and in me, astounds me. As the keystone of our family you at once complete us, and empty me. Cleansing my body of its responsibility for bearing life.

I am grateful and tender, hopeful and scared.

Filled with longing and apprehension for this new chapter that awaits all of us. Pages filled with sweetness and chaos, frustration and growth.

Love and release.

You are the end and the beginning of everything we know.

Stay with me a little longer baby. One more dance. One more song. One more kiss on my belly, to your heart.

Hold me closer, for a little longer. Then I’ll let you go.

Love and release.

Love and release.