Another weekend is wending its way west, punkin. Every weekend, we feel like it's our last chance to get everything organised before you arrive, and every weekend you remain firmly ensconced inside your mum. Every time we do anything anymore, we're telling ourselves that it's the last time we're going to do it without you.
Not, you understand, that this is a bad thing.
It's a different thing. Talking to your Aunt Marie (Mum of Declan) on the weekend, I was struck by the difference that can be created after the baby arrives. Until that moment of birth, your existence to me is, for better or worse, abstracted by the fact that you're inside your mother. No matter how many words I write here or how often, my REAL connection to you will begin only after you're born.
Knowing that that day is so close, but not knowing HOW close, is the thought that occupies me day, night, morning and afternoon.
I think that somehow this period has led me to become more aware than ever of the passage of time. That the movement of clock hands and the cycle of days has now for me become some kind of excruciating torture.
Imagine, punkin, if you will, being in a situation where you knew it was Christmas in a couple of days, but that no-one would tell you precisely when. That at literally any moment, someone close could turn around and gift you with the most amazing and wonderful present that anyone had ever received, but that you didn't know on what day, or even at what time.
THAT, punkling, is what I feel like right now, and what I will remain feeling for every remaining second until your mum goes into labour.
After that, I'm planning on just alternating between garden variety terrified and Dadproud.
Love you.
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