Dear Little Miss,
I whisper to you the names we're considering, seeing how they sound. I test out songs with nicknames and imagine what you'll look like. Only a little over 3 months to go, which sometimes shocks me. Seems like it was just the other day I was at church and it hit me that I needed to get a test because I was suddenly positive I was pregnant. Your daddy still thinks you're this little miracle, this laughing sprite from God.
I pray over my belly. I pray about the future, about the difficult years I know all parents go through, trying to balance love with lessons. Your daddy and I talk about how to show you God, how to teach you the lessons we feel are important. We talk about family prayer times and patience and love. Mostly love.
Today we sat and discussed books to read to you. I imagine read the "Anne of Green Gables" series, and planning a family vacation to Prince Edward Island. Your dad talks of "Are You My Mother?" and "Where The Wild Things Are." He wants to read you "Little Women" but doesn't want to step on my toes (he fell in love with it this last year, reading it for the first time). I laugh and remind him it's long, and perhaps we'll all read it together, taking turns.
I'm sitting here drinking coffee, waiting for you to wake up in an hour and a half or so. It's your normal time, something I've gotten used to. If I'm up later, such as at 4 a.m. that's another favorite time I can count on. It's worrisome, because I know it's possible this will be a consistent thing once you're born, but luckily I'm a night owl and don't mind... we'll just try and be quiet so daddy can sleep. Although, I'll warn you ahead of time, don't be offended if your crying doesn't stir him... he sleeps like a log.
I'm in no hurry for you to arrive most of the time. I like this time of preparation, this time to dream. But when it gets closer I imagine I'll get antsy, wanting you to get here so we can finally see your little face.