100 days until I meet this little baby girl. The one whose kicks are getting strong enough to make my belly pop out in the spots where she karate chops. The one who I know without a doubt will rock my world in the best of ways.
100 days to get the nursery ready. Painted. Furniture delivered and set up. Closet doors redone and shelves revamped.
100 days to get my house organized. With a spot for everything. To make it easier to keep clean(ish, let’s be real) for those first few
months years in which I won’t want to take the time to do extra cleaning when I could be playing with my little girl.
100 days to watch movies and explore and have dates with Nelsonic. 100 days to enjoy our last moments together as just us.
100 days to get as much TV and as many movies out of my system that I can.
100 days to actually sleep through the night. (Well, other than peeing every hour on the hour all night.)
100 days until I get to see that sweet face. To feel that soft skin against mine. To hear those first cries. To have my own finger held in her teeny tiny ones. (How am I not sobbing while I type this? I am on the inside, that’s for sure.)
(Honestly? While typing that last 100 days mark–and rereading it–I suddenly feel the first inklings of that LOVE that I keep hearing about. That unconditional, holy-shit-I’ve-never-felt-anything-like-this LOVE for my little girl. I can’t even begin to imagine how strong it will be by first time I hold her.)
|Or 13th. Or WHENEVER. I just can’t wait. And with 100 days or less left to go? THIS IS GETTING REAL.|