Sometimes I look at my baby

 Sometimes I look at my baby and feel a familiarity that makes no sense on paper.

Like my soul already knew theirs.
Like this love didn’t begin the day I heard a heartbeat or felt a kick, but long before that.

I like to believe the people we’ve loved and lost don’t disappear.
That they linger somewhere just beyond what we can see.
That they carry our love forward when we can’t anymore.

Maybe that’s why some babies feel like home the moment you hold them.
Why the bond feels instant and ancient all at once.
Why your heart recognizes them before your mind can explain it.

I like to believe someone I had to say goodbye to whispered hello to my baby first.
That they wrapped them in love before I ever could.
That nothing was lost, only passed along.

This isn’t just biology.
It’s inheritance.
It’s legacy.
It’s love refusing to end.

And when I hold my child, I don’t feel alone.
I feel surrounded.
By every love that came before us.