I want to stand before the man I love and promise him forever.
I want to carry a child in my body.
I want to hold that child in my arms, to watch him get big and strong and happy. I want to sit in a giant comfy chair with him and his brothers and sisters competing for space on my lap and finally settling into restless order as I read or sing or just sit and rock them.
I want to pull up in front of an 80-year-old farmhouse with irregular spaces and odd corners, and I want my children to pile out of our van and run in to explore, and then run back out again to find the trees and the creek and the long unpaved driveway on which they can run barefoot races. (In my dreams that driveway will never be a bad idea in the winter. It's my dream, okay?)
I want to meet a little child who doesn't look like me and I want him to grow big and strong and happy like his brothers and sisters and never doubt that he is one of us, even though his story is different when I sit with him in the comfy chair and rock him and tell him the story of how he came to us, how he captured my heart forever and how I'd never want it back anyway.
I want to see them turn into independent little people; I want to hear them come up with ideas of their very own. I want to teach them and learn from them and wonder how in the world I raised such amazing young men and women.
And when they're all grown and gone I want to be with my man again, rocking on the porch and thinking about how he captured my heart forever and how I'd never want it back anyway.