Dear Baby “Florken”,

I’m your mom. Wow. That feels super weird to say. Sure, I’m nearly 29 years old but I also still get slightly frightened of big thunderstorms and laugh inappropriately at fart humor. It’s strange that, by way of biology, I am now the “mom” of another human being on this planet. 

I won’t lie, this pregnancy has not been the best time of my life. From the beginning, I was sick. Very sick. And even after the sickness went away, there always seemed to be something — achey back, swollen feet, poor sleep, and indigestion. Still, I’m grateful for it because over these weeks, I’ve grown even closer to your Father. I honestly did not think that was possible — we’re two peas in a pod — but we have. I guess someone can only clean up your vomit so many times before it begins a new era of closeness. 

I’m nervous about being your mum. (Yeah, sometimes I’ll refer to myself as “mum” because I’m a Harry Potter fan. Don’t worry, you will be too one day.) I worry I won’t know how to comfort you. I worry that I’ll let a cuss word slip in front of you and you’ll be the toddler at day school with a potty mouth. I worry that I won’t be able to provide you with everything that you need — both financially and emotionally. My biggest fear, if I’m being 100% honest, is that I’ll grow weary of my “job duties” as a mom and will want to escape to my pre-baby life. 

Of course, every mom I know tells me these are crazy fears and that when I finally see your face, when I hold you, when I watch you emerge into this world, everything will change and all those fears will slip away. I hope they are right, but what if I’m the one mom who doesn’t have some sort of revelation? What if there is something wrong with me?

I might worry about being a bad mom, but I never worry about what kind of Father your Dad will be. He’s amazing. Honestly. I have so many fears about becoming a parent but they usually just slip away when I think about how awesome your Dad is. He is the type of man who is going to fight me to change your diapers and insist on being involved in every bathtime and every bedtime story. As you grow, he will be the Dad who is rolling around with you in the grass and doctoring your scraped knees. One day, he’ll be the Dad who will want to give you the “birds and the bees” talk and will always hold you to high standards while also being understanding that we all falter. There should be one thing in life that you never doubt — you are really lucky to have him as your Dad. 

There are only about six more weeks until we meet. I’m nervous. I’m excited. I’m terrified. I really hope I don’t disappoint you. I hope that you love me as much as I already love you. I hope that we can grow together, learn together, and become a happy little family of three (well, eight if you count all the dogs and cats). 

So stay comfy and safe until you are ready to meet us. But know, when that moment comes, time will briefly stand still and your Dad and I will count you among our greatest of blessings.