I closed my heavy eyelids for a moment, and somewhere between awake and slumber I seen you. You were the prettiest blossom in a field of daisies. Your sundress and white hat blended you right in, as you leaned down to pick some flowers.
You were no baby, but a little girl. My little girl. The one who so easily could have not existed in this world. But there you were, as if enacting a scene within my sleeping heart.
I must have been smiling in my sleep, as I felt your daddy's hands on my shoulders, stirring me back to reality. A reality where you were so much smaller, tucked deeply in my womb.
“Must have been a good dream you were having.” He utters. I place my hands upon my belly and look up at him. Reflecting on that beautiful scene, knowing someday I would see it live. I tell him all about it, and I see his eyes light up.
As bright as the sun that beamed down on that field of daisies. You are his blossom, his Rose. And he is the thorns, willing anyone who gets too close to handle you properly, or else feel the pain that is the protection of a loving father.
"We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses." - (Quote often attributed to Abraham Lincoln)
(I'm 30 weeks today, awaiting the beautiful arrival of our daughter "Rose-Mary Celestia Dixon")
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