Cursor blinks expectantly at me... and I begin to move my fingers across the keyboard, hoping something compelling will come before the eventual. Period.

Oops. Not that. Not interesting, not even to me.

Backspace to whitespace.

Cursor blinks again.

This has been my writing experience lately, and I know why. In only a week and half, the world will scoot over to make room for a new being. In ten short days, a new voice will join the comforting noise of my life. Ten days from the birth of a child, ten days from an eternal change. Ten days, ten tiny toes... how can I fit anything else in my mind right now?

I have the fears all mothers do. Can I do this? Even more, can I do this well? Can I give what needs to be given, teach what needs to be taught? Will my arms stretch far enough to hold all these things, each so special, so precious?

But fear is fleeting. I stand before the carousel of life's emotions, and fear is only one of the many blurs that passes ever so often. Behind it and before it are so many other feelings-- confidence, hope, assurance-- they all wave and laugh as life spins by, rising and falling to the merry tune ringing in my ear.

That's it. That's what I feel. Each year of my life is a turn of this carousel, with the joys and sorrows making oh so brief appearances. It's too fast, I know. Ten days. Becomes ten years. Becomes ten decades. Until this ride is over and the music winds down.

I want to live every second of it, I want to know that my quarter was well spent.

Ten days... they rush forward sweetly. My mind and body and soul are preparing for that moment. I am crouched low, arms outstretched, ready to sweep this little one up that comes so fast towards me. There is my inspiration, there is my creativity-- it's all poured into that one anticipation. It's why this computer screen blinks whitely at me, it's why there are no other words in my head right now.

And that's okay. There will be plenty to say, to share, very soon. For now, maybe just the turn of the carousel is enough.