at 6 months pregnant

Assuming my son is born on his due date, there are 107 days left. One hundred seven. As terrified as I am of labor and birth. I’m ready. I’m really, really ready. Ready for my body back. Ready for the nausea to pass. Ready to meet my son. Ready to see his face and hold him in my arms. Engorged breasts, exhaustion and newborn cries, I’m ready for the change. I feel like I’ve been pregnant forever.

Kristoffer's Year

My son.
I hold you in my belly.
My belly between my hands.
You’re coming this year and I want you to know
We elected a black president.
In the start of your life,
in your year
2009.
We elected a black president.

It doesn’t mean more than it does,
but it shouldn’t mean less.
In your lifetime,
don’t let it mean less.

For
Justice
The freedom to have rights
And claim rights
And rise above
Injustice
Inch by monumental inch

I’m not sure I have the courage
To bless you with the mandate to make justice mean what it should.
But when you falter, and wonder and fear
Remember the year you were born into
And all the trembling history,
The tears, blood and sweat
That spilled into making way for the events of today.

And be reminded that your place, and your stance, however small
Will shape the way of the next inch we take.

And know that on January 20, 2009,
I held you unborn in my belly as I watched the inauguration ceremony of the first black president of the United States of America
And I called it your year.