I remember the day I found out I was pregnant with Her. I had known already, in my newly growing motherly heart that She was there and yet it was so thrilling to hear the confirmation.
I had nine months to get ready.
And by the time She was born, I was ready. Mostly.
Ready to share my body, my nights, my sleep, myself.
Yesterday - eighteen years later - I received a similar timeline: I have six months to get ready.
Six months to get ready to let Her go. Six months to get ready to put Her on a plane to fly to the other end of the world. And most likely never fully come back.
By the time August rolls around, I will be ready. Mostly.
Its strange how our biggest fears and our proudest moments in motherhood often involve the same event. I got shivers when I read this, for selfish reasons...I think I see a similiar event happening but I am a couple of years behind you, however, he already has his British passport in his hands, waiting.
ReplyDeleteJulie, I think this is why we have beautiful words like "bittersweet."
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