For the first time in this pregnancy, I've felt really, really hormonal the past couple of days.
Seriously, I will just start crying at the oddest times (like when reading something completely unemotional, for example), and I can actually physically feel that it is my pregnancy hormones getting the best of me.
It's a very, very weird feeling to know that I'm going to cry and that there is no reason for it and that there is nothing I can do about it.
It makes me wonder what postpartum will look like! Hopefully the "baby blues" won't get the best of me!
So maybe it's my pregnancy hormones that are making me feel all nostalgic and gushy inside and leading me to write you this letter.
Or maybe not.
Maybe I'd be feeling this way and writing this to you no matter what, with or without hormones.
Either way, I just want you to know how excited I am to meet you. I honestly cannot even express in words how deep my love for you runs. It actually overwhelms me sometimes, to love so very deeply this little, tiny person inside of me whom I've never met face-to-face. It's so true what they say - you can't understand a mother's love unless you experience it firsthand. I'm starting to realize that now. And I really feel ready to be your mother. I know I won't be perfect, but I will be the best mother I can for you.
It's amazing how connected I feel to you, even though I've never truly met you.
Even though I've never seen your face, I feel like I know you.
I feel like I know your personality, I know your characteristics, I know your disposition.
At least, I feel like I know you so much more intimately than anyone else does. After all, you've been inside of me for over 8 months now. And while for at least half of that time, I couldn't feel you move or see how you were changing my body, the 3-4ish months that I have been able to do so have affected me so deeply.
My body is so different now than it was before you. And it will never, ever be the same as it was before you entered my life. Ever. And while a very tiny part of me is a bit sad that my stomach will never, ever be without stretch marks again, most of me is so grateful for that fact.
I actually have physical evidence that you are inside of me. And even after you come out, I will continue to have this physical evidence of the 9 months that we were intimately connected for the rest of my life.
I love that.
I love that I will never, ever be the same as I was before you entered my world.
I love that there will always be a physical reminder of what it was like to have you inside of me, long after you have come out and entered the big, scary, wonderful, terrible "real world."
I don't think I've ever actually mentioned it to anyone before, but I have a physical reminder of your sister on my body, too.
When I was in the hospital miscarrying your sister, they gave me an IV. I had never had an IV before. I honestly have no concept of how long it was in - maybe an hour or so? Maybe longer?
Eventually they took the IV out for obvious reasons, and I didn't think too much of it.
But as my body began to heal physically after losing our first child, that area where they had placed my IV developed a very tiny, round scar - almost too small to notice, definitely too small to even show up in a photo. A reminder of the IV. A reminder of our first child. A reminder of my baby girl and the very short time she was with us.
It's actually comforting for me to have that scar. It reminds me of that experience. Sometimes I feel crazy for missing the little baby that was inside of me for such a short time and that I really, to be honest, didn't feel ready for in the first place. Sometimes I almost start to question if that really happened to me. But when I start to wonder that, I can always look down at my arm and be reminded that it did happen. We did have another baby. We do have another baby.
I actually won't let anyone draw blood from my left arm anymore, because I'm so afraid that they will mess up that scar or make another scar, and then I won't be able to know which scar is which. I'm lucky that both of my arms have good veins, because I only let doctors draw blood from my right arm, now.
It may seem silly, but it's my way of protecting the memory of your sister. I couldn't save her. I couldn't protect her physically. But I can protect her memory.
So, even though my stomach will never look the same again - it will never be quite as flat and shapely and unscathed as it was before - even though it will never be quite as beautiful (at least by society's standards) as it was before, I love my stretch marks. They remind me of you. They will always remind me of you. And, personally, I think that makes my stomach more beautiful than it's ever been before. Just like that little, tiny scar from the IV makes my left arm more beautiful than it ever was before your sister entered our world. I love that my body carries scars from both of my children. We will never be a complete family here on earth. We will never all be together in this lifetime. But, in a way, we will always be together because my body carries the memory of your sister, though she cannot be physically present with us. And even when you someday go off to school or move out of our home to get married, you will still be with your dad and I, too - present in the memories that my scars carry with them.
I mean it when I say that I can't wait to see your face for the first time. I can't wait to see the face of this little child who has stolen my heart and has made me fall completely in love with him. I can hardly stand the fact that I have another 3 weeks before you're due to enter the world. I can hardly stand the wait.
I love you so much more than I can say.
With All My Heart,