She didn't have to choose me. She did anyway.

Some evenings, we're just sitting together—she's talking about work, the nursery, something her doctor said—and the baby kicks. She turns to me, reaches for my hand, places it on her belly with hers on top.

And we wait.

Just two women, waiting together.

Her due date is Friday.

A few weeks ago, she asked me to take two weeks off work to be with her after the baby comes.

I said yes before she finished the sentence.

But later, driving home, it hit me.

She asked me.

Not because I offered. Not because there was no one else. She thought about who she wanted close during the most tender stretch of her life, and she chose me.

I don't take that lightly.

It wasn't always easy between us. There were years I got it wrong. Came in too fast. Said things I had to go back and repair.

But a few months ago, when the first ultrasound couldn't find a heartbeat, we stood in my kitchen and tried to be brave. Not let our thoughts go somewhere dark. Just that look between us. We're going to get through this.

When they finally told us the baby was healthy, we cried. The kind of crying that comes from relief.

Last month, she invited me to the 3D ultrasound. She didn't have to. I watched my granddaughter's face appear on the screen—her eyes, her nose, these plump little lips—and my daughter and I looked at each other with this pure, overwhelmed joy. There she is.

If you're in the hard years right now, the ones where the distance feels bigger than the connection, where you're not sure if any of it is getting through, I want you to sit with this for a second.

She chose me.

Not because I was perfect. Because I kept showing up.

That's what gets built in these years, even when you can't see it yet.

🧡 Jeanine

What's a moment recently—even a small one—where you felt a bit of connection? I'd love to hear it. Just comment below.