In less than two weeks you'll be here, in my arms, alive and existing. I can't wait to hold you, feel your heartbeat against mine and smell your sweet skin. A tiny little human that your father and I created just to love, nurture and teach. And after 9 months of carrying you with me, I still can't fully wrap my head around the enormity of this endeavor. You will be our daughter for the rest of our lives and as cliché as I know it is, I will most likely always see you as that little baby that changed everything.
I've tried to make everything perfect for your arrival. I've relocated your father's office, cleaned every nook and cranny and upgraded the house. Your room is finished. I poured my heart into creating you the perfect little space to grow and learn and play and, let's face it, destroy. I sometimes sit in your room and look at all your tiny things- your tiny clothes, your tiny diapers, your tiny toys- and feel comforted by all this, that all of these things are for you- are yours. Because during these last days- or who knows, maybe hours- before your arrival, I am consumed with thoughts of you. What will you look like? What will you love? What will make you laugh? Will you be smart? Will you be artistic? Will you be the next Beethoven? I could go on, but I won't because you'll know this same feeling in 30 years when you decide to start a family too. (I leave this last few weeks angst a surprise for you.)
And so, in less than 2 weeks you'll be here to fill the halls with laughter and crying, coos and cuddles. Just the other day, I was downstairs and felt something looking at me. I glanced at the stairs and saw your dad poking his head around the banister, smiling at me. "This is going to be R soon," he said. "It'll be her bed time and when you notice her, she'll scurry up the stairs giggling." I know this is true, because I did the same thing as a kid. As fond of those memories as I am, I can't wait to see your face looking back at me and to hear your giggle scurry up the stairs. All those childhood memories will be recreated with you, only from a different perspective- I'll be the mom. I'll be the one kissing your boo boo and scratching your little toes when your tired. I'll be the one asking about your day at school and fixing you your favorite meal after you've had a bad day (mine was steak as a kid...). And I'll be the one reading and re-reading you your favorite book at the end of the day.
And I'm not naive. I've always been a caring and nurturing person, but I know you'll finally be the one to push me to my limits and that's ok. I know every moment won't be sunshine and baby giggles, but I see myself in 18 years looking back on those sleepless nights wishing I could have them all back. So for now, I'm convincing myself to embrace all the coo's along with all the cries. It may not be always easy, but if it's for you, it'll be worth it.
In fact, everything we do, from this point on, is for you. Every meal we eat, every hour we work, every trip we take, we'll think of your needs first. I've spent nearly 30 years without you, and now without ever even meeting you, I can't imagine my world without you in it. In those years, I've been a daughter, sister, a friend, a girlfriend and wife without you, but now I'll be all those things and R's mom.
You've changed everything in our lives for the better and we haven't even met you. Thank you for choosing us as your parents. We hope to give you the best life possible. We promise we'll do our best to keep you humble but still inspire all your dreams, to teach you responsibility while allowing you to embrace your imagination, to encourage you to think for yourself while not judging others for their opinions, but most of all, to love even when the world refuses to love back. This is just the beginning, R, and we'll be here every single day to hold your hand until you don't need it held any longer.
Can't wait to meet you <3