Finally. Finally able to move about without pain. Finally have the energy to twirl around the apartment. I wish you were here to dance with me.
My belly is perfectly round today. Our little one's kicking can finally be detected from the outside. Although, our tricky little girl always stops moving as soon as a hand is placed on my belly. Perhaps she likes the extra warmth? I wish you were here to feel her today, to talk to her and coax her to respond.
I slipped my moccasins on for the first time in a year. I love those moccasins, a staple from college. I have a feeling they will again become a staple over the next few months. I am already having difficulty bending to put my shoes on, and you won't be here to slip on and force off my beautiful boots. Those will have to be saved for next year.
As I walked out to take the trash out (I'm cleaning you know, on my perfect day, I clean) I felt an urge to take a walk. But I wouldn't know where to go. I haven't been able to explore our new home, so tired, so much pain, since we moved in. You have. You told me once about a trail nearby you want to take me on. But not where. I wish you were here to take me on the trail.
The endless pavement around me makes me ache for Vermont. In Vermont you do not need to drive anywhere to go for a walk. You just walk out your door, and there you are, immersed in nature.
I am so thankful that Ellie and I will be able to spend the summer there. That she will be able to lay with me on the grass, soak in the mild sun, and enjoy the laughter of the trees. I wish you could be there to watch the stars with us.
I am happy today. I feel fulfilled. I have crocheted many rows on little Ellie's blanket. I've baked Pumpkin Bread to bring to your uncle's house. I've danced and I've sang and I've laughed at the gentle nudges in my belly.
It is a perfect day. But you are not here. Oh how I wish you were here.