In four weeks my son will meet the world, me, and his dad. He will look around for the first time, be held, snuggled, kissed, and welcomed. He will have grandparents, aunts, uncles, and friends anxiously standing by to cheer him on and help him know just how much he is loved.
In four weeks our dogs, our furbabies, will learn what having a tiny human around the house means for them; snacks on the floor, tugs on the ears, nights spent *not* on our bed (sorry kids), and a little buddy who loves them like a sibling would.
In four weeks our everyday life will involve a level of vigilance and protection that we’ve never had to have before- putting someone else’s needs before our own (when appropriate) and keeping a watchful eye out for anything and everything we can do to keep the small one safe.
In four weeks a hope I’ve had since I first decided I wanted to be a mom will be realized and whatever it looks like, though drastically different from the first visions I had, will be perfect. The time spent will be worth it. The let downs turned into teaching lessons. The prayers, though not on our timeline or in the ways we would’ve thought, answered.
In four weeks we begin a new adventure. I couldn’t be more excited, scared, thrilled, blessed, or joyful.
I’m overwhelmed, in all the best ways possible.
Come, little man. In your own time, in your own way. You have no idea the wild ride you’re in for.