The truth is, I was blinded in the beginning by the deep and physical ache that was my empty uterus. You were just a dream- an all-consuming thought. You still are.
The difference is that now you are physically coming. I can no longer deny that I will not carry you forever. You are quickly running out of room and we are both clearly ready to meet on the outside. I'm not sure I'm ready to share you. You have been my very own for 9 months now, really two years - my deepest desire, my (not so) little secret. I know you like no one else on Earth. Who would want to share that?
I worry that I am not up to the challenge of being a mother. I'm pretty sarcastic. I hate baby talk. I am terrified that I will turn you into a cynical asshole and I don't want to do that. I want to be the best mother that ever lived, but I'm completely clueless on how to be that person. I want to give you the world - the only fair trade after what you have given me.
I have physically carried you over these last few months, but you have carried me for the last two years. You have caused me to fall deeper in love with your father. You've given me the husband that I've always known him to be. You are my own personal miracle, and I will never be able to show enough gratitude. But I promise that I will try.
You are coming. As terrifying as this is, I am comforted by the thought of you here. Each week I hear your heartbeat and imagine that it is the sound of your tiny feet hitting the pavement, hurtling towards me, unafraid. So when you get here, I will pretend that I am ready, too. That I know exactly what I am doing and its under control. I am not the first person to have a baby. I am just the first person to be your mother. I know I can't keep you forever - but I promise to hold on to you for the rest of my life.
See you soon,