I woke up this morning excited for the first time in, like a long time. I felt the relief that Fridays usually bring. Though I can’t breathe out of my nose and my head feels like it actually will pop off every time I’ve blown my nose, I felt it. If even for a moment, I felt it. And as soon as I realized I felt more human than I have since one fateful Friday in June, my eyes welled up with emotion and I let it all back out. Relief, sadness, happiness, worry, the bitter, the sweet. It all came pouring out. As I was driving, I had been thinking of all the things my mom would tell me she would do when she was pregnant. Someone told my mother not to look at ugly things when she was with child because being pregnant was a beautiful and sacred time and there was other times for ugliness in the world but pregnancy was not to be tainted. She took this to heart, and made it fact in her world. One of the things she shared with me early in my pregnancy was how she prayed specifically for each one of her children. She prayed for a healthy baby boy first. Strong and independent. One whose love and instant bond would match that of a soul mate. She wanted him to have light eyes and dark hair, she wanted him to always put her first, and she wanted him to be good. 
He answered. On a beautiful and sunny June 5th, 1981.
Then when she found out she was pregnant with me she told me she had looked at pictures of beautiful baby girls. Little baby girls with pastel colored eyes and dark hair. She prayed for her to be sweet and calm, and also good. She held true to her new pregnancy rule and would ask people to spare her from sad stories and ugly things because she was pregnant and hoping for a perfect baby girl. 
He answered. 2 weeks early, in a blizzard on March 21st, 1984.
Nine years later, after doctors told her she would never be able to conceive a baby again, she made it her New Years resolution to get pregnant with a third. This time she didn’t care much what the sex of the baby was, just that whoever she would meet at the end of 9 months, that the baby would actually look like he or she belonged my mom and my dad. So she prayed for dark hair, olive skin, and dark eyes. All she cared about was a healthy baby, as she would be almost 36 when she would deliver. I can remember sitting in Rotterdam square mall with my brother and my parents and feeling disbelief when my mom started to show and it all became so (sur)real. We had a conversation about how this baby would be the deciding factor on whether we “watch full house or a Yankee game” because this third baby would carry some serious weight in life altering tie breakers like that 🙂 
He answered, a miraculous third time on a freezing cold February 3rd, 1994. 
Today, a Beatles song came on in my car when I was reminiscing all these things in my head, and that is when my emotions erupted and I became a puddle. I was proud of myself for knowing all of these little things. I was also feeling really special, solely because I had the gift of being pregnant while my mom still walked this earth. I had the absolute pleasure of having my mother in the room while I labored for 43 hours and pushed my first born son for two and a half of those 43. She was my coach, my conscience, and thee best cheer leader. I know now how lucky I was and am for this moment. And for all the moments leading up to that very day. That my mother had prepared me for everything I was about to experience, for everything I was about to become. For all the meaning my life would immediately have upon meeting someone I made with the man I love. I know now how important gratitude, love, respect and appreciation for our mothers is. Painfully aware, actually, at how important our mothers are. And have always been. 
Last night I was meditating and concentrating on my belly button moving up and down in a still and silent bathtub. I read an interesting fact a few weeks ago, that the eggs in my mother’s reproductive system in which I sprang from actually formed inside her while in my grandmother’s womb. How. Fucking. Amazingly insane is that? As if I didn’t have enough signs that no matter where my mother (and grammie) is, she is in fact physically and spiritually connected to me, and my babies now and always! Of all the gifts my mother’s ever given me, she’s given me some of the greatest gifts since she’s been gone. And though I know how lucky and absolutely blessed I am for everything she poured into me for 32 years, I would do anything to have her just, be here, very selfishly, for me, today. And in a week from now when I’ll find out who I’m having. And in June when this little miracle baby turns the worst month in the calendar around for me. 
So last night in the tub I asked her to give me a sign today. The song that came on was “Here Comes The Sun” covered by Landon Austin and I couldn’t have needed that more in that exact moment. Thanks; my bad ass, queen mother for coming through heavy with the signs lately. I miss you, but am secured by the fact that I know you’re always surrounding me. That you gave me roots, and you gave me wings. And that you gave me a lifetime full of knowledge to carry me through when I forget how to fly. 
☀️ little darling, its been a long cold lonely winter, little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here. sun. sun. sun. here it comes ☀️