Dear Baby Girl,
In 132 hours we will be leaving for the hospital to see you. To touch your face, to hear your cries. I have faith that we will be doing all of these things, though Satan tells me otherwise.
It's a daily battle, you know, and it has been, for the past 9 months. I have been scared for you, but I know that Providence makes no mistakes and I have to rest in that fact.
Today you weighed 7 pounds and 11 ounces and you've got to be so proud of your mom for officially making it one week past the number of weeks I carried your brother and sister.
It has not been easy, but I do it for you.
I keep praying that you will come earlier, that I won't have to be cut open to have you and that you could be born the usual way. Wouldn't that just be icing on the cake?
Last night I vomited my entire dinner. It was a good dinner, so this was a sad fact. When I exited the bathroom your dad was waiting for me and I let myself have a good, long hard cry. He held me and whispered to me, "I don't know how you do it."
"I don't know how, either," I replied.
We went to Build-a-Dino and your brother and sister built you a dino, a pink one, with your name on it. They were so happy and eager to stuff that Dino full of little hearts they had kissed with their love, rubbed in tiny fingers to warm, jumped with up and down to ensure there was energy when the hearts were inserted.
The Dino is pink and she is named, well, "Pink," and she's already dirty because one or the other has been carrying her everywhere and occassionally holding it up to my belly, saying your name and telling you she is giving you a kiss.
In a fit of wild passion, I filled out the bear's birth certificate at the computers in the corner, meant for kids, with your pretty flower name.
Having you so close I can almost touch you has the anxiety coming faster, but it also has me realizing I have no control and I need to enjoy this time of feeling you kick and punch and of not having to worry about you wrestling with all that is wrong with this world once you arrive here.
In there, you're protected from the knowledge, at least, of anything sad or bad.
Can't wait to hold you, and love you, and tell you how long you were waited for.