Today was a freak out day for me. Not outwardly. I managed to hold my crap together pretty well while I taught kindergarten and fought what I presume to be bronchitis. I must have done alright pretending I was okay because no one came up to me and said, "So, you must be keeping a big secret from the entire world right now because you're about to completely lose it." I'm handling my life just fine on the external, is what I'm saying. But inside I kinda lost my crap because I feel like I've known about you forever and it's only been 95 days.
And I have just over 100 to go. Also we're about to get our legal team involved. And probably our social worker. It just makes it all really real once all of those people are in place. It's not that I don't want you. It's that I do. I'm so afraid. Of everything. I'm afraid that each moment is your last heartbeat. Here's the thing. The fetal heart beats an average of 140 times per minute. If I multiply that times all the minutes until your due date, I get 20,361,600. Do you even understand that? (Of course you don't, you're a fetus.) But that means I am worried that just once out of over 20 million heartbeats, it might decide to stop.
I pray to God that He'll just keep orchestrating the miraculous and your heart will just go on working. Your brain will keep telling your heart to pump. Your body will keep working. If I could simply keep you alive by an act of my own will, you would live forever.
So I'm stressed. Incredibly.
But I'm excited, too. I've bought sleepers and onesies and a crib mattress pad and receiving blankets. I talk your Dad's ear off about names. I think we're narrowing it down and closing in. It might not even be Abednego Ruiz San Pedro Firefly. But then again, it might be. Your brothers are Garrett John and Matthew David Eric so it seems completely valid to bestow Abednego Ruiz San Pedro Firefly upon you because it totally flows with the others.
You're usually the very first thing I think about when I wake up. I wonder how I will ever wait another three and a third months to meet you. Every Sunday I check in with baby center and find out how big you are. Right now, you're the size of an average rutabaga. I'm not in the habit of purchasing rutabegas but it seems impossible that a baby the size of a vegetable root could ever live outside the womb. And yet, over 50% of babies born at 25 weeks gestation survive. Modern medicine is astounding.
The bottom line in all of this is that I can't wait for you. I mean, I will. Obviously. But I am ready for you to be here in my arms. Until then, I'll just keep posting things about how I'm freaking out. I love you, Kid. So much.