As uncomfortable as I am, with the heat and the hugeness and the itching, I’m going to miss this. Right now I have them all to myself - and I know I’m doing what I need to take care of them. And every kick and squirm and weird undulation is reassurance that things are fine in there. I like that J can feel them too, but I love lying in bed and feeling them inside of me. For now, I am everything to them, and I am doing well for them.
At other times, I think how much I’m looking forward to bringing them out into the world. How I’d like to let someone else hold them and care for them even for a few minutes. I know that they are mine - ours - and that is something I am looking forward to with all my heart. We talk to them, now, telling them about the world, and how we’re looking forward to sharing it with them, and sharing ourselves with them.
I can no longer watch the news. Not that I have for some time, but I look at the world, and I wonder if it’s really good to bring children into this place where people fight, and destroy each other, and destroy the planet. My hope is that in some small way, my children might contribute to fixing the broken world we are bringing them into. I don’t expect them to broker world peace, universal understanding, an end to global warming. But if more people smile, or laugh, or are inspired, perhaps that is how change will happen.
For now, I curl on my side, cradled by my many pillows, next to their sleeping, snoring father, and feel the hope and promise wiggling and squirming inside. I can’t wait to meet them, and yet I want to savor this just a bit longer.