Before her, there were two.

Two people driving all the way to Langhorne Creek in search of almond blossoms that, rather inconveniently, had already disappeared.

PHEW.

Lucky these two are some of the cruisiest people I know.

Yara had already planned for two extravagant locations, so no stress lost on this little venture. Well, you see... she might be cruisy, but she sure cannot make her mind up. Hence the almond blossom mishap, followed by a quick change of plans and a drive to location number two — Port Willunga.

And perhaps the blossoms disappearing wasn't such a bad thing after all.

The sun was rather glorious as we dashed through the windy roads, light dappling through the leaves of the trees.

Cows. Creeks. The smell of fresh air.

I couldn't quite think of a better way to spend a Saturday arvo.

Now, little do ya know, Yara is my who-knows-what-kinda-cousin — but she is a cousin nonetheless.

My “German cousin,” as we lovingly named her growing up.

She, along with her family, spent many warm, sunny days with us Down Unda. This was before the land of Google Translate, when we had to rely on charades, shared humour and, naturally, our mutual love for that viral song Schnappi about the little crocodile.

I think the funniest part of all was the day Yara realised we were actually family.

She was not, in fact, visiting some random bogans in South Australia who had absolutely no relation to her.

Only took her what felt like a lifetime, but she got there eventually.

Anyway, somewhere amongst all those visits, she fell in love with Australia and eventually decided to call our sunburnt country home.

And then she fell in love with a boy named Noah.

I give Noah a lot of credit for willingly jumping aboard the wild ride that is Yara . . . or, as she is sometimes affectionately known, YaYa Ding Dong.

As you can probably imagine, she is quite the laugh. She's filled with joy, laughter and some rather questionable pronunciations of Aussie slang.

But hey, we love her for it.

And this Noah guy?

He stepped right into Yara's wild little world and somehow became her calm within it. The person who makes her feel safe, loved and cared for.

And now, these two are about to become three.

I asked them who was the most excited when those two little lines appeared on the pregnancy test.

I was met with blank faces.

And then an outburst of laughter.

“Neither of us! We weren't expecting...”

...to be expecting.

But somewhere between that first shock of what on earth have we done? and this warm afternoon by the sea, the surprise had quietly made way for something else.

They talked about the home they've been making ready for her.

About the little life coming.

About her.

And although she wasn't standing on that beach with us, not really, she was somehow everywhere.

In the hands that naturally found Yara's belly.

In the way Noah held them both.

In every little plan for the home waiting for her.

In two people who might not have been expecting her quite yet, but who already seemed to have made a space where she belonged.

I know for sure this little girl is going to be loved.

Adored.

Doted on.

Particularly by her “Aussie cousins” — although perhaps don't ask Yara how we're related. We've already established she's not much help there.

And maybe that's what these photographs will become one day.

Not simply photographs of Yara's growing belly, or of one windy afternoon at Port Willunga after our almond blossoms so rudely abandoned us.

But photographs of before her.

Before they knew the sound of her cry.

Before there were bottles on benches and tiny clothes in washing baskets.

Before they knew the weight of her sleeping on their chest, the sound of her laugh, the colour of her eyes or all the little pieces of her that would eventually fill their home.

There was Yara.

There was Noah.

And already, there was her.

Her little heartbeat quietly woven into a story that had begun long before she arrived, held safely between the beautiful, loving arms of her mum and dad.

This was life, before her.