The other night I was reading a novel, sitting Indian-style on the couch as I usually do. I glanced down at my belly and suddenly… I had a kind of vision of my son: Truly picturing him as a person of flesh and blood within my womb (no longer an idea or dream), growing and sucking his thumb and moving his eyes and mouth; realizing the power of knowing that, in a matter of weeks, I'll be holding him and staring at him and will no longer be pregnant but a parent.
Whoops. I can't think about this too long. I'm at work and I will start crying, just like I did in my car on the way to work this morning.
It occurs to me that I have no idea just how blessed I am. And I thought I had a pretty good idea.