The Littles were dropped off at the bright and early hour of 10:45. Higher Self thought that was hardly in the realm of early, but Preg Self thought it was.

I tried to do that fake awake thing, where I quickly downed a bunch of water so I didn’t have lovely Darth Vader morning voice and threw on some yoga clothes, which still feel like real clothes to me, or which I’m still trying to pass off as real clothes and it was game on.

After tossing some random shit down the laundry shoots {think toothbrushes, lotions, shampoo, pens, paperclips, etc. etc. etc.} and wanting to dig around the basement while trying to explain to my Littlest Little for the 19th time that, no I don’t have any trains in my basement like Opa does, I remembered the standard go-to.

Movie time!

Some might call this a cop out card, but I prefer to call it quality time. We dragged out all the cozy blankets we could find, grabbed every pillow off the couch and chairs and had quite the plush set up.

I had each of them snuggled up to me, soaking in the smell of their hair and the feel of their heads on my shoulders. It was then that it hit me.

I was looking at and experiencing my future. Right here it was. This is it, People. In just a few months, I’ll be sprawled out with blankets and pillows with my own little. Breathing in that baby smell. Memorizing every detail.

It was a bit much to take in, this new realization and suddenly, I felt even more love for them. I didn’t think I could love them more than I already do, but knowing I’m going to be a mother — I experienced them as a mother not an aunt.

I suppose that’s how it might be with Baby FOH, that just when I think I can’t love this little person any more, there will be a new place of love to discover … and keep discovering.