I carry you everywhere I go.
That’s just how it works right now – you are part of me. Where I go, you go. I’m more aware of it now than I have been. When I walk down the hallway at school, when I’m on the freeway heading home, when I’m laying in bed at night, I think about how you’re here with me.
It used to feel like carrying a secret, a delightful knowledge that you existed and only your dad and I knew. Now you’re starting to become more visible to the world. I find my hands drifting to my belly more and more frequently along with my thoughts.
I have a sense that this is just the beginning. That even when you’re no longer inside my body, even when I no longer carry you in my arms, I will carry you everywhere I go. You are part of me.
Today is your dad’s birthday. He’s 29 now, the same age he will be when you’re born. I can’t wait for you to meet him. I can’t wait to see him holding you, to watch him care for you, for you to get to know each other. I bought him a coffee mug that says ‘papa bear’ on it and he uses it proudly every chance he gets. He’s been practicing his dad jokes so they’re fully ready for your arrival.
We got to see you with a sonogram a few days ago, and he was standing right next to the screen the whole time so he wouldn’t miss anything. He loves you already – and I can tell you from experience that it’s a privilege to be loved by him. He’s got the biggest heart of anyone I know, and a piece of it belongs to you.