Saturday, December 11, 2010

Dear "Elizabeth Taylor,"

I haven't written in a while - probably because it seems we communicate in morse code every day. You telegraph me in spurs and rumbles, my stomach hardening with your movements like a tight little toy snare.

It won't be long now - just over 6 weeks - then we'll meet and begin this alien and yet so familiar process of getting to know each other. I am excited and anxious and somewhat worried. I worry I will fail to measure up. You should (and will know) I have quite a daunting example to live up to in your grandmother. I hope I can be half as selfless, maternal and caring as she is.

We have decided upon a name and I'm excited. It fits your unborn self so well. It's a little country, a little bit Celtic, a whole lot familial and well, I feel, just plain elegant when all said together. I can't wait.

In your last month and a half, I wish you healthy growth, sweet musical movement and sublime brain development. I know delivery will be traumatic and scary but your father and I will be waiting on the other side of your new oxygen-rich and brightly-colored world. We will do all we can to make your transition an easy one.

Thank you for the nudges and morning symphonies of dance you perform. It is how I've fallen in love with the reality of you. As your father said to me the other night, "Wow, you're really about to be a mom soon." I looked down at you and was struck with the suddenness of it, the almost-end of a long journey, and I smiled through an onrush of emotion and said, "Yes, I guess I am."

I love you.



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