To my yet-to-be-named daughter,
It’s Monday, December 5 – four days away from your due date. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d get this far. At some point in my pregnancy I was issued a warning about low fluid and told that it would likely only continue to decrease which would then mean bed rest and, again, likely, an induction.
For the past three weeks, your fluid has been in the 13 range – not only satisfactory but high. Take note world: nobody tells my daughter what to do.
You’ve been stubborn: fighting our attempts at determining your gender during early ultrasounds and, later, causing us to worry about what we would do if you arrived early – how we would manage taking care of your brother while still attending to you, how we would manage without having your room ready, how we’d juggle the unknown. I’m grateful we didn’t have to learn. Your grandparents arrived yesterday, your room is done, my bag is packed, the car seat is installed, the diapers are all prepped, and your clothes are all sorted. I can’t believe I’m able to write these words but… we’re ready.
I hope the intensity and dedication that I’ve attributed to you really is part of your personality. I hope that you’re strong and sweet, gentle and proud, and smart but compassionate.
Naming you has been an adventure and has made me reconsider many names I swore I’d ruled out just because of their popularity. I’ve learned that being unique isn’t about your name: it’s about you. Silly conclusion but a distinction it’s taken me 37 years to make. And, while we still haven’t made a decision on your name, we’re closer than I ever thought we’d be.
I’m sure I will learn many, many more lessons as I travel down this path. Like how it’s possible to love two children as intensely and deeply as I currently love one. And how sometimes the universe smiles upon us and grants us everything we’ve ever wanted. I know that’s how I feel right now as I get ready to welcome you into the world. I’m so excited to meet you.
And, to my son,
I get a little weepy when I think about the past three and a half years. Possibly because I know the chaos we’ve experienced is about to be multiplied (according to most accounts, exponentially) but mostly because of the amazing times we’ve shared together. Your father and I have had the chance to devote our full attention to you and, while there have been moments that have made us look at each other as if to say, “Is it too late to give him back to the hospital?” – those moments are nestled between laughs, kisses and, as cliché as it may sound, moments of awe as we wonder how it’s possible to love someone so intensely.
While I make no secret of the fact that you were a miserable little infant, allergic to everything, a continually puking, refluxy, colicky mess, you’ve turned into an amazing little boy. The word that comes to mind most often is proud: you make your parents so proud. You’ve developed into an easy-going child who loves to share, remembers everything, never complains, smiles often, and loves life.
I’m grateful that we had Thanksgiving weekend to ourselves – just you, me and your daddy. We spent the days relaxing and enjoying our time together, watching the Thanksgiving parade, cooking stuffing and cookies and snuggling on the couch while we watched way, way too much TV. It was the perfect way to enjoy our last holiday as a family of three.
I hope the excitement you have about meeting your sister – the sweet way you point out babies and want to love them – continues after she arrives. I hope that you always share a special bond – that you lead by example and love generously. I hope that you’re the closest, most supportive, most loving kind of friends and siblings.
Most of all, I hope you know that through all of this, you’ll always be my little man, my firstborn, the one who taught me so many lessons.
I love you both. More than is ever possible to put into words. You make my life complete.
Love, Mama
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