Tonight my thoughts are taken hostage by memories of that day.
It was a Monday.
I was exactly 37 weeks pregnant.
Though I had no idea, It was the last day I would get to spend with my daughter...living...breathing...kicking.
I went for a long walk that day. A really long one. A workout for a full-term pregnant lady.
I reached the end, and as I rewarded myself with the first pumpkin spice latte of the season, I remember thinking, 'This is it! Any day now'. It was real. It was happening. We were going to have a baby in our arms.
Do I wish I could go back and scream at that naive pregnant woman sitting in the coffee shop? To yell, and plead, and shake her, and tell her that her world was about to be shattered? That in a mere 24 hours, her life would begin the nightmare she never thought possible, and she wouldn't want to go on living for one more minute?
Because that woman, that soon-to-be mother, was happy. For those 37 weeks, she was the happiest, most fulfilled, most at peace she had ever been in her life.
And tomorrow it would change.
So, I want to let her enjoy it. Let her soak in the feelings of her little girl moving and squirming. Let her be so excited for what the future would hold. Let her be full of joy. Just for one more minute...because soon, those memories will be all she has left to keep her moving on.