I've got a little growing collection of unpublished selfies.
Not because I'm addicted to taking pictures of myself.
But every night lately I go to bed thinking "what if this is the last night?"
The last night I'm pregnant.
And that's a pretty big moment.
One that I want to remember.
Especially because cameras seem to do magic over time, and turn ordinary moments into something softer and lovelier.
I'm guessing that I won't be looking back on this picture and feeling the ache of weary bones, the stretch marks, the heartburn.
And hopefully I will forget the sheer impatience I battle daily.
Hopefully I will forget the twelve weeks of Braxton Hicks and the soreness of carrying this baby in my tired body.
Hopefully I will forget the heat, the humidity, and the way I'm maybe longing for a cool quiet room and some time alone face-to-face with my new miracle.
Hopefully I'll remember that my body curled around my darling boy, this vivid, living surprise, this evidence of grace.
Hopefully I'll remember that clothes and skin and family all stretch glad in welcome.
Hopefully I will soon take my last belly-selfie and start filling up my memory card with pictures of Pascal himself.
Every day begins