I just uncovered an old journal, and found this letter to my youngest daughter, written the night before we met.
Tomorrow, finally, we will meet. I will look into your eyes and count your fingers and marvel at your nose. We will call a zillion people who wait with eager anticipation to learn about you. Daddy will hold you and his eyes will twinkle and he will fall in love with you; and I will, too. Your sister is not quite sure what’s going on, but she already knows she loves you and can’t wait to tickle your toes. Family has traveled many miles to look into your eyes and tell you they love you on your very first day in the big wide world.
But for tonight you wiggle and move within me, trying to get comfortable, I think with very little success. You feel so huge and so heavy inside me, your fingers seeming to find my hips, your feet and knees dancing on my ribs and lungs. And that bum! You are already quite the dancer, shaking your bum so often. I am exhausted and sore and eager to meet you. I know tomorrow you will seem so light and small in my arms; and so beautiful and loved, cherished always and from the first moment in my heart. I love you, baby of mine.