I've re-started this letter several times now trying to get it right. I'm hoping this is the witching hour and that I can it bring it home, so here goes.
I hate to start by talking about your big brother here, but it really seems impossible for me to separate the two of you in my brain. Your beginnings were so different, but also exactly the same. Oscar, we'd planned for over a year, waiting until the perfect moment, getting pregnant in one shot, and ten months later "BANG!" we were parents. Lives forever changed, lessons being learned on the fly, mistakes being made by the dozens.
You? Honestly, while you are not even one iota less loved and wanted than your brother, the planning was not so much. You are truly a child conceived of love, destine to be ours, exhausted parents and sleepless infant be damned. And, I knew almost instantly that I was pregnant with you. Waiting to take that stupid pregnancy test were the longest two weeks of my life. And then, "BANG!" everything changed just as quickly as it had nine months prior and we were on our way to being a family of four.
And, you know what? Even though I was still breastfeeding an infant that was waking at least twice a night for feedings and struggling to loose the last of my baby weight, when I saw that little pink line (after about six million tests) I was beyond thrilled. I knew it was right, that you were right, that the time was right, that you cannot plan love, that you cannot plan the force of life.
I am so excited to meet you little one. When I saw your little face on the ultrasound last week - bald head, rosebud mouth, dimpled chin, round cheeks, the very image of your older brother - I was in awe. There you were. We made you, your Daddy and I, and while your brother is walking, talking proof that we do good work together I was still in awe. My little Sprout, the actual product of our love, all but waving at us from that black and white screen.
And so now I wait. I wait for something to happen. Contractions to start, my water to break, for you to turn into the locked and downright position. I am trying to be ready for whatever you bring, however you bring it.
My mother predicts you will be my little devil. Maybe she is right, but I welcome that. A child full of mischief and daring, who marches to the beat of his or her own drum, who refuses to accept that status quo, who does things his or her own way, who plunges into life head first and lives with little regret but with as much compassion as passion. A child like me.
Until we meet, little Sprout, however that may be.