let me just start out by stating for the record: i’m not pregnant. see, i even underlined it for clarity.
with that being said, i’ve realized that i’ve become one of *those* people.
by that i mean: i’m staring far too long at photos and videos of my friend’s little ones. i stall in the kid’s aisles at stores. and i dream of collecting tiny baby sized high-tops. and then i spy befuddled young dads with their daughters with ringlet halos, trying to do their best not to succumb to every batty-eyelashed request and let’s be honest, my ovaries start breaking it down on the dance floor like they are at a party and the dj is playing a tribute to the madonna’s greatest hits.
yes, folks that’s nostalgic dance party music for me. not keisha. or kesha or k’sha. sigh. forgive me, i’m a true child of the 80s.
i am enamored with children. and babies. and even their sleep-deprived-how-on-earth-am-i-fit-for-this-new-parents. i am in awe of the responsibility of nurturing a little being. not just keeping him/her warm and safe and fed and loved. but the task of instilling in them a sense of inherent nobility and wonder. a brilliant light and radiance and sparkle that nothing on earth could ever squash. a love for their Creator (big ‘C’ meaning not me or their papa). i want to hold chubby little hands where dimples take up the space reserved for knuckles and embark on family road-trips where we sing songs that we co-wrote on the spot.
and it’s so amazing to look into the eyes of the man i love and know this is a completely shared dream. and as we move about this earth and forge ahead with our exciting projects we will one day make one of the biggest decisions together and begin the next giant chapter of our lives. and i am so grateful to have had the opportunity for the adventures, accomplishments and growth that had to happen to get to this place.
spellbound by this image, found here.