It's like being 8-years-old again anticipating Christmas morning. It's all you think about. It keeps you up at night. It makes you giggly and giddy and terribly anxious in such a wonderful way.
People stare at you constantly, especially little girls (which I find so endearing). Strangers stop you and wish you well, congratulate you, comment on how lovely you look, ask you all sorts of questions as if you're the best of friends.
It really is beautifully mysterious and affirming of what it truly means to a woman.
So many moma's have told me how they miss being pregnant when all is said and done. They miss the tiny movements, the intimacy of creating a life inside their very own bodies. The long for the days when it was so easy to protect and guard the little one in their bellies, when the world at large wasn't totally intimidating.
Yes, yes I'm definitely ready to hold this baby now, no doubt. But in the same breath I want to savor these last few days as well. I don't ever want to forget the mystery, the sacredness of pregnancy. It's breathtaking.
