My fingers bend back and forth, knitting one stitch at a time. I stare off, listening to a television show and am amazed at how quickly this blanket is coming together. At this rate I could have several knitted before you ever arrive.
And I have a list as long as my arm of little baby things I'm planning to make you. Little mitts so you don't scratch yourself, little socks and booties and cardigans I'm going to knit, babylegs I'll make from fun striped socks, baby blankets and sheets and mats I plan to sew, and a little cashmere bunny made from an old sweater I used to wear. It feels natural, to make you things, to prepare for you with my own hands.
We've bought you elephants, little lovies for you to grasp with tiny hands. But it's the idea of painting a little elephant, a snail, a bunny to amuse you that pleases me most.
This week is what everyone has been waiting for except me. I already know you. I can't feel you yet, and still we have the most delightful conversations about the adventures we will have. I look for parks for us to run in. I look for places that your daddy and I will show you as we help you get to know this big world.
But for now the click clack of the needles is enough. I'm in no hurry. I already have you.