To my beautiful baby boy,
It is difficult to fully express to you the emotions I feel as I write this letter. It's 2:30 a.m. and, as usual, we can't sleep. I am awake, and - faithful little buddy that you are - so are you.
It's still a little odd to me to think that all these things I'm experiencing are things you never will. You will never sit at a computer at 2:30 a.m. with a glass of milk, giggling like a school girl because there is a tiny babe moving in your belly. You probably won't even giggle like a school girl, because, well, you'll never be one.
Instead, you'll have your own adventures. The boy kind. Ones that I'll probably never fully understand that involve dirt and bugs and climbing things.
Your sister cannot wait to meet you. And you know what else? She's pretty cool. She calls you Baby Peanut and thanks God for you in her prayers. There will probably be some times when you won't get along and you'll make eachother nuts, but remember that she loved you too, right from the beginning.
Please know that you have filled my very soul with lovely. There has been a tiny piece missing from my heart, and I know it is a hole that is shaped precisely to you. One day when you can read, I want you to know just how big a blessing you've already been to your family.
Your name means "from the hollow." I wish I could tell you that we picked it especially for you, but like so many things that come with being the second child, it's just a hand-me-down. Except that it fits you perfectly, because before you came along, that's what I was: a little hollow. A lot hollow. I treasure your name every time I think of you, my perfect little someone whose very existence chases away the hollow and makes me full. Full of hope, wonder, and the incredible miracle that is a new life. Make no mistake, this name belongs to you, even when we didn't know it was you we were picking it for.
God is funny about those things, my beautiful boy. He gives us what we need even before we knew we would need it. I pray that His grace will touch every moment of your life, and that you will grow and thrive in His perfect love.
Although I cannot wait to meet you, I hope you'll hang out another, oh, 18 weeks or so. I love this special time where it's just you and me, and I get to poke and annoy and treasure you in this way when you're uniquely mine. Remember when you get out: the grandmas might give you candy, but you lived in me. I'm just sayin'.
You'll like it here. We're pretty fun people. I make amazing birthday cakes and Daddy can't wait to play legos with you. I think you'll have to take all your sports advice from me, though. Don't tell Daddy, but I'm way better at throwing a ball than him.
I love you to the moon and back,
Mommy
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