Halfway There

Today we are halfway there. Twenty weeks of you, little one.

I looked at the calendar this morning. I counted the weeks with my finger. Then I smiled at nobody, right there in the kitchen. Halfway there.

Here is a little secret. From about now, you may start to hear sounds. Your tiny ears are getting ready. So from today, I will talk to you more. I will hum while I fold the clothes. When the rain taps on the window, I will tell you about it.

Today I also want to tell you my hopes. They are small and simple.

I hope you feel safe in there. Warm and safe, like a hug that never ends.

I hope my voice feels like home to you. Even if it is only a soft hum for now.

I hope we laugh a lot, you and I. At silly things. At funny faces and spilled milk.

And I hope I can be patient. With you, and with me too.

Halfway there. The first half was about growing. The second half is about getting to know each other. I like that very much.

So tonight, I will put my hand here, on my tummy. I will call you by the name I use for now. Little one. Halfway there, and so happy.