Your Aunt Annie took this picture, she is amazingly talented. And those tiny feet, they belong to your cousin L. I bet that your feet will be every bit as perfect, and I can’t wait for Aunt Annie to capture them through a lens that will keep them forever tiny.

Dear Baby Love,

I know that you don’t know me; even the mommy who carries you so lovingly inside of her while you grow big and strong, has yet to know my name. Yet my sweetness, I know you. I know you by heart.

You are all that is right in this world, and all that is needed in this world. You are perfect. And I talk to you every day.

Sometimes when I get ready you flash through my mind. I think about the mornings when even getting 15 minutes for a shower will be difficult–and I tell myself that when they come, when you come, I will cherish the lack of solitude.

And sometimes I talk to you when I’m sitting outside in the sun, reading a book, and watching the doggies you will pull on and cuddle with, running wild after squirrels. I silently laugh at the pure delight you will find when you first experience the green grass beneath your feet, and when you chase the dogs, chasing the squirrels. You make me smile.

So I want you to know, I love you. I love you even now, when you do not know me. Even now, when you are likely a very tiny, tiny bundle of cells multiplying rapidly into becoming.

And that I talk to you, every single day.