The Last Letter Before Your Birthday

Well, Brooke Allen. Tomorrow is the day.

Tomorrow I will finally meet you.

I will count your fingers and toes about 100 times to make sure you have 10 of each.

I will hold you close to my chest because I know you will miss the sound of hearing my heart beat from the inside.

I will memorize every inch of your little face, learn all the curves, and store them in my little box in my mind so I can remember what you looked like before you start to age.

I will hear your first cries and begin to learn what makes you tick - how you like to be held, how you like to sleep, and how you react to the world around you.

I will see your daddy hold his little princess for the first time and watch him melt with the first look of your blue eyes into his.

I will know if you look more like a Parrish, a Bankston, a Thornton, or a Benson.

I will watch your grandparents all fall in love with you as they each hold you one by one.

I will take a million pictures with my phone and make sure Facebook and especially your Uncle Wesley and Aunt Dervon know just how beautiful you are.

And most importantly...I will know if your hair is red.

I can't wait to meet you, Brooke Allen. You are going to be so loved.

I can't imagine loving you any more than I already do. I have a feeling my heart may burst tomorrow when I am at last holding your tiny body.

This last day is bittersweet for me and I'm finding myself a little emotional about the end of the experience. Up until Friday at our doctor's appointment, I had woken up every day wondering if it would be the day that would be your birthday. Now, there is a finality to it all. After tomorrow, I will no longer be pregnant. I will be a mommy to an infant.

I will miss your kicks and tugs and pushes. I will miss trying to guess what body part is poking out of my belly. I will miss our silent conversations because I will no longer be able to assume you can hear what I'm thinking. I will miss being able to use being pregnant as an excuse to lounge around the house and eat multiple bowls of cereal.

At the current moment, I have been banned to the chair in the living room watching your daddy and your GiGi scurry about the house cleaning it to have it ready for visitors after your arrival. GiGi just had a fit about all the dog hair left around the house by your big sister, who is spending a few days at the doggie hotel. She is cleaning our house top to bottom. Oh, how we appreciate this. Your daddy is outside in the yard, giving it the first mow of spring. I did spend a good amount of time cleaning our bathroom this morning, until I was told I wasn't allowed to work anymore and I needed to rest and relax for our big day tomorrow.

So now I'm just sitting. Thinking. Praying.

Praying that all will go as planned tomorrow, beginning bright and early at 5am.

Praying that all of our family who will be traveling to see us tomorrow will be safe and sound.

Praying that labor and delivery will be relatively easy, and I will not have to undergo a c-section. Of course, if that is best for you and me, I will not hesitate to sign the papers.

Praying that you will have that first big gasp of air and that first big shock cry of the outside world.

Praying that you are healthy and well-developed and we do not have to understand the harsh reality of intensive care, where you and I would be separated until you are healthy enough for me to hold you.

Praying that we will be able to take you home on Thursday or Friday, place you in your crib, and begin the hard work of being your parents.

You are going to be ours tomorrow.

I cannot wait.