I wrote this post this weekend while waiting for the announcement of the birth of my friend's daughter. And now she is here, and life is grand. Here's to you little Miss Adrienne Marie. And to your momma, Sherlby Marle. Because I love you both.
As I write this post, one of my best friends in the whole world is in labor. Like, right now. In the hospital.
And when I say "friend," I mean that we have known each other since we were tweens (a term that didn't even exist then) all through the awkward years and on into college. We lived in the worst house ever freshman year, with the worst roommates (who weren't each other) ever in existence, and their gross dogs, and their fleas (the dogs', not the roommates). And then we lived together again later in college when we had risen above all of that mess and were presidents of our respective sororities at the same time and dealing with all that drama, I mean awesomeness. We have been bridesmaids together for our friends, and bridesmaids for one another, and are now military wives and mothers together.
Between the last few hours of conversing with her about being in labor, and the fact that I just got home from my first night away from my own sweet girl (and had nothing but time on the road to think about things) I am a bit of an emotional mess.
I am just so darn happy for her, and excited for all the change that is about to come.
I mean, I used to be excited for my friends when they had babies. But, I can't help it. I am so much more excited for my friends now than I was before. Now that I have experienced those feelings myself, well, there certainly is no going back.
Every time I find myself getting misty about some cute little thing or memory of my own birth story or whatever, I think of that scene in Gone With the Wind...