Could you get here already?
Your mama is miserable.
My face is puffy.
My fingers are swollen.
My ankles are cankles.
I am terrifyingly hungry.
I fear I will soon outweigh your father.
I am down to three extra large maternity shirts to wear.
They barely cover my belly.
I have new stretch marks.
The millions of stretch marks I already had from your older siblings weren't enough, were they?
Dad and I live in a constant state of readiness for your arrival.
The bags are packed.
He texts me three or four times a day to see if I've gone into labor.
(Somehow, he doesn't trust that I will indeed CALL him if my water breaks).
Life is good out here on the outside.
The laundry is done; the nursery is ready.
We want to see your little face
And our arms long to snuggle you.