I need you to know that I love you. I need you to know that I want you; I have always wanted you.
To me, you are not just some ideal number. You are not wishful thinking. You are more than a hope and bigger than a dream. You are abstract, but you are concrete. You are not living and breathing, yet. But I believe you are real – you exist somewhere out there in the universe. And you are mine.
I think about you often, Baby. I imagine my first knowledge of your presence and the joy that it would bring. I can nearly feel your tiny flutters inside my belly, the weight and the warmth of your body lying on my chest. I can see the smile on your Daddy's face when you enter the world, ready to prove to him that you were well worth any struggles that a bigger family may face. I can see that you are the apple of your big brothers' eyes. I can almost hear your tiny laughter and your big, hungry cry.
Baby, you are something that I have waited for all my life. When I dreamed of your brothers, I dreamed of you, too.
I want you for all your experiences. I want you for your newborn smell, your toddles, your first day of school, your first date, your teenage drama, your wedding day, and the grandchildren you will one day bless me with.
Baby, I long for it all.
I may not hold you in my arms, Baby, but I am holding you in my heart. Wherever you may be, a piece of me is there with you. One day, I hope that you will arrive with that piece, and I will feel the wholeness of knowing you are here.
Until then, Baby, I will be here. Searching, hoping, loving, wanting, and waiting.