You and I have been together now for about six months. Over a month ago I felt the first flutters of your kicks and movements. Little fits and starts. Nowadays you’re so active I swear you’re playing soccer in there. I love it. The reassurance that comes from knowing you’re doing well enough to be moving and shaking brings me great joy and peace. I already know you’re a feisty one, a fighter, and that I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I’ve been dreaming about you, my precious daughter, since I was a little girl myself. The world scared me a bit (ok, a lot) with all their stories of difficult diabetic pregnancies, complications, and potentialities. For years my endocrinologists were cautious, insisting I bring my A1C down and warning me that with my age and decades of diabetes rapidly stacking up, it wouldn’t be easy. But I knew that already. And knew you were well worth the risks and the wait.
For a while I thought you might forever remain a dream. That as much as I wanted you and loved you already, it might not happen for me. Six months prior to your conception, your daddy and I lost our first little Sweetpea. I still wonder about him/her and know that you carry inside you your own soul and some of the spirit of our first little peanut, too. I am doing all I can to ensure you are safe and healthy, and that my womb is a safe place for you to continue growing into the beautiful baby Daddy and I will meet in a few short months.
You’re moving around as I write this. I like to think it is your way of letting Mommy know you’re A-OK in there, and just saying “hi.” Daddy likes to talk to you through my big ol’ belly now, and at 27 weeks we know you can hear us. Sometimes Daddy can feel you kick as he says goodnight to you (you like to shimmy and shake right as I’m ready for bed. I’m preparing for our late night bonding sessions soon).
The past two weeks have been tough, baby girl. My bloodsugars are stubborn and higher than I’d like this past week in particular. My latest A1C came back at 6.1, which isn’t that much higher than a normal mamas, which gives me some relief that we’re doing a lot right. But I still worry about you. A lot. There have been scary lows and highs, and even now I get nervous before each and every doctor’s visit. It’s just that I want so very much to be your Mommy and take care of you every day as best I can. I’ll feel better once you’re here and I know you’re safe and sound. I’ll still worry like mad, but it’ll be a different kind of worry. One that has less to do with how my bloodsugars are affecting you and more to do with keeping you safe from, well, EVERYTHING else.
To be honest (something I’ll always be with you, baby girl), I’m still scared to be putting this out there. Still scared you might be taken away from me. Every doctor’s visit has confirmed you are healthy and perfect. Daddy and I have seen your face and watched you suck your fingers. We’ve seen your smirk already—the same smirk I had as a baby girl. We’ve seen your cute little nose (it looks like Daddy’s) and watched your shy demeanor as you hide your face from us time and time again during the ultrasounds. But you’re there. And you’re perfect. And while I may be scared, I know deep down that you want to be here. That you chose Daddy and I as your parents and that we will work tirelessly every day of our lives to be sure you know just how much you are wanted and loved.