a new adventure

Little one,

After weeks upon weeks of keeping quiet, of writing letters to you in saved word documents, I can finally acknowledge you here. You were the hardest secret I've ever had to keep. At first you were only a word, a confirmation, a photo I sent to your father while he was still at work. I was in shock and couldn't imagine waiting a second longer, let alone take the time to find some cutesy way to break the news. The moment of you was immediate, insistent.

There was the agony of waiting for the first appointment, to finally see you. Everything told me you were there, but I still wasn't sure until I saw you, a tiny gummy bear on the screen. I could've stared at you all day. Forgive us both for laughing at one of your still photos that looked exactly like a tiny dinosaur. Don't worry--we're saving it. I'll show you someday.

We told our families about you immediately after. The love and support felt extremely necessary to have around us. We didn't want to think of the worst happening, but ignoring any risk of it would be ignorant. So we put the system of support in place and it's been a game changer. This is something you will know from the beginning, little one: you are so, so loved. You will be surrounded by love and silliness and stubborness. Your grandpa is already discussing what kind of bike to get you. Your cousins have such soft hearts. I can't wait for you to meet everyone.

Last week we heard your heartbeat and marveled at your dance moves. Oh little one you were MOVING. I was completely blown away. Again, I wanted to stay there all day. Since then days have been eventful. I've bought a few small things for you, and your aunt sent the sweetest care package. You and I survived our first ER trip together(thanks, stomach flu) and we are waiting patiently for our panorama results and enjoying the transition of absurd August heat to a mild September. I love having you with me at the gym as I lift heavy things. I love the plethora of things you persuade me relentelessly to eat(banana pappers, watermelon, veggie dogs). I love the coziness of my absurdly large pregnancy pillow that we curl in together every night. I love that the surface of our fridge is slowly filling with sonogram photos of you. I love writing little letters to you, and telling you about my fears and hopes(and even my complaints). I'm going to keep doing that. I have so many thoughts and feelings about you and what is to come...it's hard NOT to write it out. I'd drown in it if I didn't.

The first trimester wasn't easy. You'll learn that your mother is stubborn, very very much so, and surrendering to this process was not a seamless transition for me. I am used to doing three things at once and slowing down to doing nothing/resting was not familiar ground. But you were not to be ignored. You were not going to be the one to compromise. There were tears, and frustrating days. Moments of feeling entirely out of control. Which, thankfully, brought along surrendering. What other choice is there? This isn't a war. This is a partnership. An adventure. We can be co-pilots.