Letter to a (yet unborn) child

Dearest Child,

Allow me to be the first one (I hope!) to welcome you into this world. Too soon, perhaps, but (strangely) I already feel the urge to connect to you, to touch you, to let you know things. Things about you.

That day that your mother told me she already had a picture of a ten-week You - my heart skipped...and I imagined how much more your mother felt. I called her up, excited to hear more news about you. She said yes, yes, the child's heart is beating...can't believe it...it's real...it's a little person. And I squealed in delight - I think I freaked her out with that reaction.

Everything was so unexpected - even you.

Oh, that's nothing to worry about. In my 23 years of living, I have learned that unexpected things are better than you think.

I was unexpected. Everyone was caught by surprise (here's the scene I create in my mind when I think about how people reacted when everyone knew I existed: a sea of faces with different reactions: some gasping, mouths open, mouths open with one hand over, raised eyebrows). But then, think about this: my mother didn't know true love - until I came by. And the rest of the story...well, I can tell you about it when you're here.

I celebrate you.

I'm pretty sure you'll be a great person. Your mother is.

My earliest memories of your mom is back in fourth grade. She was new in class. I tried to borrow a ruler from her - not because I needed it, but because I wanted to take a good look at this new girl who was the daughter of a prominent doctor. And when I approached her, she gave a ready smile, and suddenly I wasn't as shy anymore - aside from borrowing the ruler, I lingered on and asked her what school she came from and if she really was the daughter of Dr. --- . She says her earliest memories of me was back in fourth grade, too - when I used to slide down the stair handrails in my carefree manner.

That's pretty much how our friendship started. And nothing much has changed in and between us. The friendly girl I approached - and the carefree girl she observed - that's her and me. Sometimes our characteristics would intersect (hmm, that's a very nasty term considering we really don't like Math)...and of course we'd have our differences, but our circles always stayed close to each other.

As cliche as it is, your mother is the epitome of a nice person. The adjective just fits her so properly. It seems like it was made for her alone. If I could claim the adjective hers, I would.

What makes me say that? Looking back, I realized that no one could ever complain about her. Those that did were those that envied her. Her only Waterloo was - if it be allowed to be called that - falling in love.

Her first left her badly bruised. He forced her to be what she wasn't and to do what she was not supposed to do. Her second loved her deeply, but distance proved love cannot be. Her third she ached over for a year before he finally realized he was missing the best girl any man can ever have. He is your father.

Child, I celebrate you.

When your mother finally sees you, she will fall in love like crazy - so intense that she transforms her only Waterloo into a victory.

I'm not sure if you understand what I mean. Someday, you will.

For her, and for you, thank you.

And, welcome. I shall be there when you open your eyes.