September

On January 1st, staring back at the phantom second line, screaming after seeing the word "pregnant" on screen, September seemed so far away.

In February, when we first saw you squirm on screen, moving distinct limbs, when we learned how healthy you are. In March, when you went from "the baby" to "baby girl," from Cosmo to Alina. In April, when I first started to feel you move inside me, something wholly separate from me, yet so much a part of me at the same time. In May, when you finally let your daddy feel you from the outside, when you started to make my stomach dance and roll, tangible, visible evidence of your existence. In June and July, when we bought a car just for you, when we took pictures, when we had parties celebrating your impending arrival. Even in August, baby girl, as we finalized our preparations of our home--of your home--and our lives, readying them to welcome you.

Even then, September seemed so far away. A mirage on the horizon. A goal that seemed to stay just out of grasp.

And then I woke up one morning, and it's here. September.

September means the end of summer. September means the end of waiting.

September means you.