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A letter to the baby I haven’t yet met

A letter to the baby I haven’t yet met

The days are winding down now, kiddo, and before we know it both of our worlds will be forever changed. It’s crazy to think that as I write this, I will officially meet you in four days or less.

I say meet you, but in truth, I feel like I already know so much about you even though we’ve never seen each other face to face. I know how you like to dance when mommy is singing off-key in the car, how if I poke those teeny-tiny feet you jerk away because you’re ticklish like your dad, how if anyone (especially a doctor with a fetal monitor) pokes at your space you get angry and fight with all your might.

I’ve grown to know you these last few months and in that time I’ve grown to love your little personality too, and as the days tick closer there’s so much excitement in meeting you, but also a selfish part that’s not looking forward to sharing you with the world.

You see, even though it’s no secret that I haven’t enjoyed some of the finer aspects of pregnancy (the morning sickness, the heartburn, the growing pains, the lightening crotch, the pregnancy brain, the swelling…you get the point) I have loved those quiet moments with you, those little secret seconds that only we know about.

Because soon enough, I won’t be the only one to know that you’re wide awake and kicking in the middle of the night.

I won’t be the only one able to tickle those tiny feet and play games.

I won’t be the only one to carry you anymore.

I won’t be the only one to know you.

And although that’s a beautiful thing, I find myself wondering if I appreciated each of those moments as much as I should. If I realized the sheer magnitude and privilege of each little second with you…each moment that was uninterrupted by anyone or anything else but you and me.

Or… if I was too busy wishing for you to get here to appreciate that in some small way you already were in that exact moment. That as I dreamed of holding you in my arms and rocking you to sleep, you were already being cradled and swayed.

And so I find myself already wanting to do better. To do better for you of course, but also to do better for myself. To take the rainy days and the sun, the joy with the pain, the struggles with the triumph. And I know that’s not always going to be easy, (especially this time next week when I’m sleep deprived) but I hope it’s something that I can carry into motherhood and something I can teach you too, because there are no mountains without valleys and no victories without losses.

So as I feel like I am about to burst with excitement waiting for these last final days, I also choose to hold onto that tiny speck of sadness too, that little reminder that each and every single second with you is one to be cherished. That as time passes the pain and frustration will fade, but the love will last a lifetime.


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