A day before you were born, I could feel you move.
You kicked and punched and danced to your very own groove.
Three months before you were born, I saw your tiny face.
Sucking your thumb, curled up, in a tiny, dark space.
Five months before you were born, I learned you were a boy.
We painted your nursery blue and bought your very first toy.
Seven months before you were born, we brainstormed your sweet name,
I couldn’t feel you or see you yet, but you were there all the same.
Eight months before you were born, I stared at a blue “plus” sign,
knowing that at that moment, I was pregnant with a child of mine.
You started off so small – tinier than a pea,
but all along you were the same sweet boy who now plays in front of me.
It’s sometimes hard to decipher where our lives truly begin,
But we all started in the same sweet place – hidden and tiny within.