The year is winding down. Ryan and I will celebrate Christmas, our third wedding anniversary, and soon a new year and a new baby all right here in Santiago. To temper the 90-degree heat, the fans in our apartment provide a constant whirl, but do little to bother the stiff boughs of our adorable little tree, which we picked out at the department store rather the tree lot—you won’t stumble upon those so easily in the Southern Hemisphere. This time last year, Ryan, Ruby, and I were heading south to do Christmas on our own terms because the holidays, when you’re grieving, can be especially tough. Heck, a random Tuesday in July can be especially tough—or blissfully ordinary. Things twist and turn.

This year, we are staying in Chile for an entirely different reason: we’ve made it to the ninth month of pregnancy. It isn’t safe to fly, much less drive too far from the city just in case this little girl, with a mind all her own brewing, decides to arrive early. So we are gratefully ensconced at home, where the only snowflakes are made out of felt and Ruby’s collar provides an inadvertent jingle as she wanders to and fro. I have a panettone, an Italian tradition my mom has passed down, ready to toast with butter on Christmas morning, though Ryan is still a little skeptical. To be honest, it was a taste I had to grow into myself, but the second I saw the red square box on the shelves at our grocery store, I grabbed it with such glee you would have thought I’d found the Holy Grail of Christmas. (In Chile, it features in Christmas dinner, but I’m sticking with breakfast.)

Ryan and I have only had a few Christmases together, so each one presents the opportunity to fine tune our own traditions. We’re keeping it simple, as we’re apt to do these days. We topped the tree—the first that’s all our own—with an homage to California, I’m baking despite the heat, he’s perfecting “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” on the guitar, and most of the gifts are for Ruby.

Next year, there will be a little girl here with us. She’s here now, safe inside, waiting to be born. We are SO excited to meet her. I still worry, I still hiccup as I write even these words, lest… but her activity reassures. She is strong. Her long limbs reach clear across my abdomen and are almost ready to explore the world beyond. The foot she’s lodged up by my right ribs signifies how far she’s enabled us to grow together. I cherish that spot, holding a palm over where that little foot must be, wondering what day it is, soon, that I’ll get to cradle it in my hand. That we’ll get to cradle all of her without limit.

We’ve come a long way since last Christmas, since two Junes ago, since the Christmas before when our journey to parenthood was about to begin. As timing goes, I’m due the same week we once found out we were pregnant with Lorenzo. Things do twist and turn… and overlap. Since then, I’ve spent nearly 18 of 24 months pregnant. How much time remains? Two weeks? Three? Four? Regardless, we will be three again.

Four, I already want to correct. Because of course there is also a heart for Lorenzo on our tree. Hearts are my tradition now, year round. This one is a momento from that holiday road trip last year. Pucón memory or keepsake, it says.

I do remember. I do keep. I always will.

Happy, healthy, peaceful holidays, everyone.