I have noticed some tightness in my clothing of late, specifically over the abdomen. It will not be long now before my condition becomes too obvious to deny. This leaves me with a choice; continue to hide from the world through fear that the paternity of my child will bring danger to us, or stride through Bree-land with my head held high in the knowledge that, come what may, I will become a mother in the days ahead.
As much as I might like to return to the wilderness, I doubt that this is the best time to do so. This leaves me with the option of visiting Bree, but even were it not for the accumulated enemies of my love, there would still be the question of safety considering the generally underhanded and violent nature of its denizens. I have no desire to place my unborn porgeny at risk, but can I truly justify hiding away like a frightened rodent?
In truth, I cannot. If I am to adjust my wardrobe to compensate for my expanding midriff then I will need materials. Whilst it matters little what quality goods I use to swathe myself, I cannot countenance anything but the best for my little one. I must, therefore, visit Bree if for no better reason that being absolutely certain of the cloth I purchase for the making of baby-clothes. It sounds like such a trivial thing to spend my money upon, especially considering the young grow so quickly, and yet...
And yet this will be my first child. Possibly my only child. Considering all that has gone before, I find its very existance to be nothing short of a miracle. I will, therefore, treat it as the precious being it is, within reason of course. I am not a rich woman, although I have enough wealth to remain comfortable, but even were I so, I would have little desire to spoil my child. Better that he or she is raised with love, understanding, compassion and a healthy dose of realism.
Those days are still some way ahead of me. In the meantime I await the return of Cyfier. I have yet to tell him of his impending fatherhood, a choice I now regret for I know not when he will come back to me. The days pass by with an almost preturnatural swiftness that is yet somehow as slow as tar. The baby grows quickly, but its father seems forever gone. He will return, I know this, but even as the days stretch long in his absence, they rush by as the child becomes ever more made and I fear that he will miss the birth of his offspring, unaware that there might be something to miss. The fault here is my own, of course, for not informing him of this truth but it is too late to rectify my mistake now. I can only wait and hope...
