It’s June 13th – your due date.
We made it. 40 whole weeks of you and me growing together. Facebook memories shows me on this day last year I went for a run – a no doubt frustrating run during which I had to remind myself that I was slow because of all the medicines and shots I’d done and all the time I’d had to take off from my favorite hobby.
But it’s 2020 and on this June 13th I happily wait for you to decide it’s time to come into the world.
You’re squirming in my belly right now. And for every impatient thought I’ve had over the past week – because I really really want to hold you and see that you’re really here and healthy– right now in this moment, I am just grateful and proud.
I’m proud my body was able to bring you all the way to this point. I’m proud of you for being the strong little girl we suspected you could be.
I’m proud of your dad for how hard he’s prepared for your arrival and how much he loves our nightly ritual of reading you books from your little library.
One day, we’ll tell you about the one page in that Dr. Seuss book that makes you kick every single time – and how your dad likes to read it twice or even three times just to rile you up.
It feels so strange to know you yet not really know you. We’ve been calling you by your name for a long time now, but we don’t know what you’ll look like, whether you’ll be a relatively content baby or give us unexpected challenges, or even if that page in that Dr. Seuss book will matter to you when you’re on the outside.
I want to learn all those things. I’m impatient to learn all those things. I’m anxious to meet you. In the past week, I couldn’t imaging how I could possibly wait any longer for you – next week marks three years since we started trying to have a baby – but today, on your actual due date, I feel grateful knowing whatever day you get here is going to be the very best day.