Dear Veronica,

Bloated, gassy, indigestion, and interrupted sleep. Is that you in there?

I’ll have a better idea tomorrow.

It’s almost two weeks since my little happy dance that I ovulated and your father and I are trying to keep our hopes reasonably low while I get up in the middle of the night because of gas pains and cramps.

“It could be my period, that’s all. But I really hope not.”

The wondering is torturous.

I remember in 1997, I went to one of those ridiculous fortune tellers who read my palm and told me two things. First, she said that my professional career would be diverse, that I would try many, many things before I made up my mind. She said I’d work with children, adults, in different disciplines and settings before I settled. Well she was certainly correct about that.

The other was that I would only have one child and that child would be a son.

I don’t know what these letters will look like if you turn out to be a boy, but it doesn’t really matter to me. I’ve fantasized about you, Veronica, a small piece of existence coming into the world through my body and should you turn out to be Isaiah, well, I’ll love you just as much.

It’s hard for me to focus on anything but my body right now and it’s glorious possibilities and horrendous limitations, but I keep my eyes forward. Not up, not down, just forward. I am setting my heart on hope, with a lot of strength.

Should you continue to exist only in my heart, I will continue to move forward in dreaming of what might be and being the kind of person I would have lived out as a mother – kind, stern, loving, challenging, understanding, and faithful.

Come to us. We’re waiting.

Love,
Mom