Dear Baby Boy

Dear Baby Boy,

Today everyone expects to meet you. I don't think you'll come today because I haven't been showing any of the normal "signs" that labor is about to start, but maybe after I write this letter to you we'll both be more confident about making today your birthday.

I felt like I needed to write to you in order to come to the realization that you are not just an ever-growing, no-hassle, movement in my stomach, and to hopefully give us both some confidence in me. Baby Boy, the truth is that I'm scared. I'm afraid of the unknown. I don't know when you'll decide to come; I don't know how you'll decide to come; I don't know how long it will take or much it will hurt. I do know the "you" that I can reach down and touch, but I don't know the "you" that can reach up and touch me. I love you as much as I can right now, but I don't think it's enough, and that scares me too. I don't even call you by your name when I talk about you; you're always "the baby." Have you noticed that? It's not that I'm detached from you emotionally, it's just that I don't know you as a person yet--I only know you as the movements in my stomach that are covered by my skin and protected by my body. You're not your own person yet; you're still a part of me. I only worry about or love the things that I can love about you right now. For instance, I worry when I haven't felt you move much during the day, but I love when I can see your back moving up and down with your practice breaths (and I also love when you make your dad giggle by giving him a few kicks in the back!).

I have so many doubts about my readiness and ability to be a good mother. When I used to think about my future, children were always a part of it, but I never imagined my future would eventually become my present reality. I think that's another reason I'm scared. I'm a dreamer and a planner. Those two things don't seem to go hand in hand very well. In my dreams, you just existed and I was a great mother. In reality, you were conceived much sooner than I had planned. In reality, I had to wait 9 nauseous, weight-gaining, body morphing months for you. Once you are born I have to practice patience and faith, and I have to realize that I will fail, and I need to accept that there will be days where you come very close to hating me. These are the things that I have to plan and prepare for, but they don't line up with the dream. On the other hand, I should plan that there will also be days where I'll feel like a competent mother just because I was able to feed you when you were hungry, or because a kiss made your boo-boo all better, or because I was able to make you laugh. And I will absolutely melt when you reach out for me for the first time, or when you open a door for me, or when you tell me that I look pretty.

I guess what I need to tell you (and myself) most of all right now is that none of the whens, wheres, hows, and what ifs matter all that much in the grand scheme of things. God is our Creator. Whether we choose to believe it or not, He knows our deepest desires and He loves us more than we can imagine. Put those two things together and why should we ever be afraid? It's simple, but it's not easy because you have to resist your enemy's negative but totally plausible suggestions (we'll be talking more about this when you get older).

So, I'm going to fight for faith this week as I wait for you. Despite the doubts and fears that creep into my head, I'm going to trust that God knows what he's doing and that I can do all things through Him! That's such an amazing truth that I hope we do well in showing you.

I'll see you soon, Tommy! I love you!

Your mother.