Dear Pickle (well if you aren’t going to show us if you’re male or female, I’m not going to give you a sensible name)
It’s a little bit concerning that I still know so little about you. If you were a lodger in my house, I’d definitely know a few more details (well.. possibly. After this year, I can safely say that nothing is guaranteed where housemates are concerned). I’d probably know if you were male or female – or I’d at least have a pretty good idea. Any inkling I had has disappeared, so now when people I ask me, my answer is an honest “I have no idea”.
I don’t know your name – but, by now, we have a pretty good idea what it’ll be. We just need to know the answer to question 1 (that is, your sex) before we can be certain. Also we could do with seeing your face, just to make sure you fit the name. I’m pretty sure no newborn baby ‘fits’ a name though – they always remind me of little wrinkly potatoes. Apparently I’ll see you and I’ll see beyond the potato-ness and you’ll be the most beautiful thing on the planet, though, so maybe a name will fit.
I know when you sleep and when you’re awake, which, considering I don’t know your name, gender or pretty much anything else about you, makes me sound like either a stalker or Santa Claus. I know because sometimes you sleep for a lot longer than I’d like, and I end up going to hospital and lo and behold, you wake up just in time to kick the monitors and make me look like I’m worrying over nothing. I also know because when you’re awake, you don’t stop moving, and as much as I absolutely love feeling you move, I’d like to set off-limit areas of below the bladder and above the ribs. You’ve discovered rib-kicking the past few days, and it’s uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable, in fact.
I know that you’re indecisive like me, because on Saturday you were head down, on Monday you were breech, and today you’re head down again. I know that you have a fast heartbeat, because I’ve heard that galloping sound plenty of times now, and I still can’t get enough of it. I know that fizzy drinks give you hiccups, because trust me – I can feel them! And I know that you like Oasis and Elbow and Muse and Mighty Lemon Drops, but you’re not too keen on Boomtown Rats (I’m proud of you).
I know that hopefully, if all goes to plan, Daddy will know if you’re a boy or a girl before I do. I’ve been the first to discover so many things about you – I want whether you are a boy or a girl to be his discovery to make; the thing you share with him before you share it with almost anyone else. I know you know who he is. You kick when he talks, you do flips when he plays guitar and when he kisses the bump, you move to snuggle up to him. You kick him in the face when he laughs at me – standing up for me already! – and even when I’m asleep, you’re still there, kicking at his hand, letting him know that you know who he is. I can’t wait to see his face when he sees you for the first time.
I know that you turn me into a soppy, emotional, crying mush of a person at times. I also know that you have the power to make me angry at the entire world and everyone in it with the exception of you, because I can’t find it within me to be angry at you. You’ve done nothing to me – except, y’know, create the hormones that turn me into this mega-bitch from hell.
I know that you’re the driving force behind what I do, and when I’m struggling with an essay, or finding practical work hard-going, it’s those little kicks that remind me why I’m sticking at this – not just because I’m going to make you proud of me, but to show the world that my family really does mean the world to me, and I’d do anything to provide for you, to make sure you’re happy and healthy and loved and we can give you the childhood and future you deserve.
I know that you’re being brought into a life more difficult than most’s, through no fault of your own. And I know that I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life fighting to make sure that it never holds you back – that you grow up to be fiery, and independent, and to know that you are so much bigger than the circumstances you’re born into, or the amount of money you have, or the possessions in your room.
I know so much about you now that really, your name and gender and looks are something I want to know out of curiosity, rather than being a part of who you are. I already know so much of who you are, what you like, how you act and when you do it that everything else to come is a bonus. You’re my pickle, Daddy’s sbuddle, my lodger, our baby, and I love you.