Hey Kid is a series of letters, written over the last five and a half months, to my baby.
It's December 29 and I've known that you're alive for four and a half weeks. You're growing in the same place Kate was. Sharing the womb that her tiny heart took it's first and last beat inside of. It's been a month of wondering if you're a boy or a girl. A month of wondering just how terrified and stressed I'll be every day for the next five and a half months if we all say yes to this. Will your body quit inside of hers? Will she change her mind? Will your father sign?
Kid, your sister died. At 32 and a half weeks gestation her little body quit. So it's scary. Scary to feel like I love you already when my brain screams that I need to be afraid and that I need to not love you right now. But I do. Moving forward or not moving forward, I already love you. Even if you don't end up in my arms. Even if you aren't supposed to be mine. I love you.
I'm ahead of myself. So far ahead. The cart is so dang far in front of the horse that we're barreling down the road and the horse is being dragged behind, broken and bloody, because that's what I do. I hope, even when all logic says I'm insane. So I'm praying now that God will show me if I'm not supposed to feel this way. My heart is pulling me in one direction and I'm gonna need Him to intervene in a ridiculously big way if He doesn't want us to go that way.
I was distracted with teaching and Christmas and winter snow storms. But sometimes now I can't stop thinking about you and praying for you and begging God to make you strong. May strength be heaped upon you physically and mentally. May your home be one of safety and care. Regardless of whether or not you ever become my kid, I'm longing for only the very best things for you.
Hey, kid, everyone's waiting on you, kid. Everyone's wondering what you'll do, kid. It's true, kid. Me too, kid. -If/Then Musical