You’re special, my dear.
We were thrilled when we found out you existed, a brilliantly bright spot in the midst of a yucky stomach bug. I worried my inability or drink to eat would affect you, but you’ve proven that worry to be a silly one.
You’ve grown; my, how you’ve grown. You stretch and wiggle and remind me all day that you’re there. Someday you’ll laugh at how you kicked my ribs and stuck your little booty out my side. I’ll laugh too.
Soon your daddy and I will have a name for you… we have a couple floating around but can’t seem to settle on one. We may end up naming you right there in the hospital — but don’t worry, it’ll be the name God already knew would be yours. And it will fit.
I can’t wait to learn you. There are only so many things I can guess as you show me bits of your personality from my belly; it’ll take me seeing you and watching you grow in this world to know exactly what you’re like. I want to learn all about you, sweetheart. And I want to help nurture all that you were created to be. You already have purpose, you know.
Soon you’ll meet your brother, the one who likes to sit on your head. He doesn’t know you’re there yet. He is pretty fun and witty; I think you’ll like him a lot. I pray you two become the best of friends.
Daddy and I can’t wait to meet you. We can’t wait to hold you and kiss you and watch you. You’re a treasure and we’re so grateful for you. You can make your appearance anytime you want — whenever you’re good and ready, we’ll be ready too.
I love you, little one.