Dear Baby Girl,
I can’t believe I’m almost 33 weeks pregnant, and have yet to write you a single letter.
I feel guilty because I wrote more letters for your big brother, and I don’t want you to feel like I love you any less. I think because when I was pregnant with him, I had no real concept of what to expect. And now that he’s already *here* and you’re not (yet), it is making it harder to wrap my head around the idea of you.
I did, however, write a lot about you way before I was even pregnant with you. I even dreamed about you. I often think about who you will look like. I keep picturing you as a clone of your brother, except with a bow in your hair — and a lot of pink clothes — because that’s all I know. I also imagine you acting just like him. I keep forgetting that you may look — and act — absolutely nothing like your brother. You will be your own person that we’ll need to get to know.
Your brother looked exactly like Daddy until he was about a year old, and then he started to look like both of us. Will you look like me from the beginning, with dark hair and dark eyes? Will you have the same crooked pinkies that I have (and passed along to your brother)? Will you have Daddy’s nose and feet (also passed along to your brother)?
Your room is ready (and it’s beautiful, if I do say so myself). We have clothes and diapers and tiny socks. We have a double-stroller, and your brother has been practicing by pushing dolls around in it (and using it as a jungle gym). It’s very sweet to see him try to swaddle them in scraps of fabric I’ve given him. He is trying very hard to master it, so he will be able to help take care of you.
We’ve been ready for you for a while, and that makes it even harder to wait to meet you. We know the date that will probably be your birthday (April 25), but you could always surprise us and come earlier than that.
Every day it becomes a little more real, but it still feels a bit abstract. Even though I know you’re coming, I can’t fully visualize it. It won’t be real until the moment you’re here in the world, and I get to hold you. Then it will sink in that I have a daughter — that I have you.
I can’t wait.