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And when our baby stirs and struggles to be born it compels humility: what we began is now its own.

Margaret Mead

This is a strange time. I wanted so much to confide in someone, to tell them our secret, only to realize I miss just the two of us knowing. Announcements are difficult when I think constantly about how life will be one year from now. But mostly, I am thinking about a heart that began to beat this week, about muscles and bones that are now forming, about a life that began a few weeks ago.

A little after midnight one weekend night, I took a test. I saw the results grow darker. I ran down the hallway to Sky, a hallway that seemed to grow and make me run in slow motion. I grabbed his hand and we looked at it together. He grinned, held and kissed me, and announced the obvious. I felt my hands shake, grabbed a bottle of water, and decided to feel nothing until I had taken one more-or 5 more- tests.

I've been through many emotions these past few days since that night. I've thought of so many things. I've over thought it to the point of exhaustion. One of the first things I'd thought about before this happened was actually about my body; it is such a foreign thing to think that my body is capable of being pregnant. After not being pregnant for the whole 25 years of my life, knowing that I can effectively turn a switch on and off for that is mind boggling. I wonder what I will look like, if I will carry a baby like my mother carried me- a cute, basketball stomach on a still-thin frame. Admittedly, I think about stretch marks and not wearing a bikini in the summer, as if I am going to lose something. More than anything, I worry about what Sky will think of me. Does becoming a mother mean mom jeans, baggy shirts, and no makeup, or can I still try to look okay? Will I look okay even when I do try?

I quickly got past that stage, though, once I held that stick, staying up talking with Sky because my eyes would not close. For a good while, and really even now, my mind has been processing how the relationship Sky and I have will change. I know there will be good parts and bad parts. Time will change- it will move faster and not make as much sense. I won't see him as much even if we're in the same room. He will look at me as a mother instead of just a girlfriend, or a wife even, since we want to get married soon-impatience with a new twist added. There will be a bond between us even stronger than what we have now. There will be more messes. There will be less sleep. There will be moments that I will look at him holding our newborn child, and only be able to cry for how beautiful it will make my heart feel.

And finally-maybe it's backwards to think of it last- I think of you, little one. I look around at other kids at possibilities now, wondering how they happened to get here. Was it planned? Was it a surprise? It doesn't really matter in the end. You're here now. You don't have a name yet and we don't know each other, but I will hold you in less than a year. I picture the room with you. I picture rocking you to sleep, singing to you, laying you between Sky and I. I picture Ayden and Chase being the big sister and brother to you. I picture the scene at the hospital, the cries, the tears, the first moment I see your faces. I picture the drive home, the first night, the first time you'll grab my finger. Right now you are small as an apple seed, I"m told.

The first few days, I felt nothing but shock. I felt uncertain. But when I woke up this morning and found Sky's hand resting on my stomach, I put my hand over his and realized I am starting to grow a deep love for this apple seed with a heartbeat.