Thursday, February 17, 2011

To Our Unborn Child

I see you. Not just in black and white on glossy hospital scan paper, but in my mind, running around the garden three years from now with a toy in your hand chasing your big brother. Sometimes in those daydreams you're a little boy with brown eyes, dark hair and mucky knees. Other times you're a beautiful little girl with your Mother's incredible smile - the type of smile that causes adorable dimples in your cheeks.

But I don't mind whether you're a son or a daughter. You are equally precious, equally as loved and just as beautiful to us.

Your brother made me a better person in many ways. He gave me the motivation I needed to go out there, take hold of my life and make it work. He made me want to create a comfortable living environment, a safe and loving home and a successful business. That is already there for you. You'll be looked after and you will be born into so much love. True love. You make me want to take the parenting skills I have already learnt and improve them further. You're already making me want to be better.

I keep laying my ear on your Mummy's tummy.

"It will be a long time before you can feel any real action there," the nurse told me in the hospital this week.

"I'm just checking," I told her back.

And I will continue to do so every night and every single morning.

Your brother and me, we've been reading you stories. In fact, he's been writing special ones specifically for the purpose of reading them to you. He's really excited to meet you. You'll love him and he already loves you and already feels very protective in his role as the oldest.

There are so many people here so eager to meet you. Gran and Grandad... Uncle Paul, Auntie Stacey and Uncle Carlo, Uncle Craigy, your brother,,,, and of course, me and Mummy.

Each day that passes is one day closer to us having you in our arms - a tiny little piece of us that will grow, learn, love, live...

Until we know whether you're going to be our second little Prince or our first little Princess, we'll lovingly refer to you as "Bump." It's not the best name, I know - and you're really not all that much of a bump yet either. But I promise we'll come up with something better soon, ok? We won't let you go to school with that name.

I love you. Already. I love you without having ever felt your tiny little fingers wrapped around mine. I love you without having kissed your head or heard you cry. But I do. And so does your Mummy and so does your big brother.


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