A couple of days ago, I was headed to lunch, iPod in pocket, earbuds in place, jamming to my music. The sky was a brilliant blue. A cool breeze kept it from being pleasantly warm (for me, anyway), but it was still a beautiful day. A sad song came across my iPod, yet I smiled and almost skipped along. It didn’t matter that the song was sad (Daniel Powter’s Bad Day). Just being outside, able to enjoy a few minutes of downtime, was what I needed.
On my way to lunch, I was thinking, “Gotta hurry. Baby’s probably saying, ‘Hurry up, Mommy, I’m hungry!’ and I need to eat.”
I almost stopped in my tracks, realizing what I’d said. Mommy. It’s not a big word. Nor is it complicated. But it holds so many things in those 5 letters. Someone is going to call me mommy. When he scrapes his knee, he’ll call for mommy and he’ll mean me. I’ll hear that word in the store and know that it’s for me, and not any of the other women around. I’ll know that word anywhere, when it’s coming from my child. Just like my mom did—and still does.
In five months, I’ll have a little one in my arms who depends on us for everything. Food. Shelter. Clothing. Love. It’s scary, but I am so ready to meet you, little one. Mommy’s ready.
