The day I found out you were coming, I didn’t know it was you.
I had hoped with veiled suspicion that it would be but I knew a brilliant beautiful baby was all I really wanted. Pink or blue. You were everything I hoped for. After the months of trying and the miscarriage on the heels of Mothers Day.
Then the nurse called yesterday after she read the results from the vials of my blood they had taken–our DNA mingled together in one tube.
And there you were. Our girl.
Our bright and shining hope. The moment I hung up the phone I clutched my heart and wept because it was you. My dream. You were there inside me–tumbling, swimming, beating. I felt you for the first time three days ago. You shocked me with your strength at just 14 weeks; it felt as if you were saying loudly, “Yes, it’s me. I am in here.”
And the moment after my joy cascaded with the news, I felt a terror I can not describe to you. For I had never felt the weight of your life before and the hope of your heart pressed on me like that.
I had come to motherhood with your brother with no expectations but I came to you with a bucket list of things I wanted to do. Make ginger bread houses, watch The Sound of Music, travel to Paris to buy you a pair of ballet shoes. All things I had done with my mother.
The fear gripped me because I knew I could not come to you with all of these expectations when I know the world will come to you with plenty more.
You owe me nothing, dear sweet girl. My hands are open. Everything I have is yours–my journey is laid out for you to see. This is the story I am telling.
I know you will develop expectations of me and I will meet you there to disappoint and fulfill. But your expectations are plenty.
The world will look at you and tell that you MUST do this or do that. But it is not true. They are lying.
You can do what you want, move where you are taken and follow the deep that calls.
Your father and I, we will always be your tether. Your brother, too. He has no idea, but you will be his childhood and he will be yours.
If there are no gingerbread houses, no dancing with Julie Andrews and no trips to Paris, that is okay. There will be other memories we add to our story.
You are your own person and I am mine. Our DNA in that tube was not identical. Yours was merely with mine for a short while. Slowly it will happen. You will break away from my body and become your own.
Your own girl. Your own companion. Your own confidant.
And I will cheer you on, with your father and brother, as we hold your tether to our hearts.
We can’t wait to meet you in March.