Dear Number 3,

I'm sorry...

Dear Number 3,

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry that I haven’t been walking as much as I did with your sisters. That I gave away your bathtub and newborn clothes even though I knew I was pregnant with you.

I’m sorry I’ve been eating lunch meat, more ice cream than I should, and had sushi that one time. I’m sorry I have been taking a vitamin I thought was the full prenatal vitamin but in fact has only included DHA.

I’m sorry your ultrasound picture made its way to the bottom of my backpack and got wrinkled. I pressed it out and you’re front and center on the fridge now. I’ll frame it, just like your sisters, as soon as I remember to order the frame.

I’m sorry I don’t remember if I’m supposed to bring diapers to the hospital, and that you’ll be wrapped in a used blanket when you arrive.

I’m sorry I’m not as prepared as I could be.

But baby, there are a few things I’m not sorry for.

I’m not sorry you’re arriving into a house full of people who can’t wait to meet you. Two big sisters who practice “gentle hands,” who debate whether you’re a boy or girl—hoping for a boy like their cousin Will—but who will love you either way.

I’m not sorry you’re getting a more experienced mom. One who, despite all these earlier apologies, has done this twice and knows how fast it all goes. Before we know it, you’ll be four and a half, rattling off facts about insects and how we’re mammals, correcting the way I cut an avocado.

Maybe we’re more ready than it seems.

Your room is ready for you. Kate just moved out, and we call it “the baby’s room now” —until we have a name for you— which I promise we will decide on one just as soon as you’re here.

Your sisters are arguing over you already. They each declare that “they will hold you first!” I tell them again and again that they will get a turn, but I don’t tell them the whole truth.

Instead I say, yes yes you’ll each get a turn…but you’ll be mine first. You and me kid, right from the start.

See you soon (but like not too soon, ok..?!)

Love,
Your mom.