I've been thinking a lot about you. I sit in your room and look at your crib and your things and just imagine what our life will be like.
What amazes me today is how much of your little life is already determined. Your genetics are, of course, and who your parents are, but so much more. When you're 80, if someone asks me where you were born, you will still say "Sacramento." Your childhood home is determined. Your first pet (although she's mine, I'm sure you'll think of her as yours) is curled up next to me.
I am also thinking of my role in your life. Until the instant you are born, I am not a mother -- no one's mother. But the instant that you are born, I will be your mother, forever and ever, and you will never know me as anything else. Isn't that amazing? And even when you see pictures of me as a kid, me as a teen, me and your dad before you were born... I will still be your mom, and you won't be able to really comprehend that I could have even been anything else.
I hope I deserve that. I mean, I know I get to be your mother just by virtue of getting pregnant and giving birth to you. But I hope that I do an admirable job. I hope that when things are rough, I am patient. I hope that when you are sick, I am comforting. I hope that when you talk, I listen. I hope that when there are choices to make, I make the right ones. I hope that you remember the things we do together -- walks, trips, reading, cuddling, singing songs... I hope I stick to my ideals most of the time, like healthy eating and little TV. I hope we have a lot of fun. I hope I help you become fully yourself, not something I want or your dad wants or the world wants, but something you want. I hope you know you can always come to us, that our love for you is unconditional. I hope you are happy. I hope you always feel you can count on us. I hope we don't let you down much. I hope someday you will understand how much we love you. I'm not even sure I know yet, but it feels like a lot.
I'm really looking forward to meeting you.
I love you already,