Tomorrow morning, you will be here.

Dearest little one,

It's late at night and I should be getting some rest for tomorrow, but I am bound and determined to write to you first. I've known you now for almost 39 weeks, and we've been through a lot together. So before we officially meet, face-to face-tomorrow morning, I thought I'd tell you what's in my heart tonight.

It's been a rough ride, hasn't it? Early on, I was so sick, and I know it felt like it would never end. Once I felt better around week 19 or 20, we both got really swept up into keeping up with your older brother. As you'll soon see for yourself, he's a bundle of energy, and between his music classes and playing outside and train table time and having fun with your cousin and our neighborhood and family friends and general running around, there's plenty to do when we're with him.

That's the thing, though. We've been busy with him, certainly. But there was never a moment that I wasn't aware of you, that my thoughts were far from you or how you were growing, that I wasn't looking forward to meeting you and learning about who you are. Your dad and I are so very, deeply, truly excited to hold you tomorrow, to touch your little face and tiny hands, to marvel at you and start to get to know you. And so is your brother. When he woke up today, he leaned over toward me and said, "Mom, did you come from doctor?" I said no, that I wouldn't go until tomorrow, and he finished my thought for me. "Baby's coming out! Gonna sleep right there!" And he pointed happily to your bassinet beside our bed.

Sweet baby, of course we wonder if you're a boy or a girl. It's been the subject of much debate among your family. Sometimes dad and I get a girl vibe, sometimes a boy vibe. My own dad thinks you're a girl, and your Papa (dad's dad) just KNOWS you're a boy. Your brother has pretty much insisted that he's getting a sister. Regardless of the fact of your gender, though, we are so anxious to hold you in our arms and have the chance to love you in person.

And that's what I want you to know -- that we have loved you and wanted you and been excited about your arrival since the very beginning. Going from a family of three to a family of four was something we've always wanted to experience, and we know that God has sent exactly you to us to help us do that. YOU. No other baby. No other child. No other person. As the song goes, it had to be you, and that's among the trillion things that makes you special to us already.

So tonight -- rest. Sleep. Snuggle down where you are and relax. Tomorrow will be a big day. It'll most likely be confusing a bit, with all the bright lights and loud noises, but just listen, listen for my voice, and for your dad's, and for your brother's. You've been hearing us all along, and you'll know us tomorrow by the love and joy in our voices as we greet and talk to you.

You'll never be alone, sweet one. We will always be with you, to take care of you, to keep you company, to learn about who you are, to love you.

Listen for my voice. I'll be calling your name tomorrow.

Love,

mommy.