I can’t believe that you’re almost here, and I am just now writing you a letter. This year has been a whirlwind for our family, and we are so looking forward to meeting you. When I found out that I was pregnant with you there was still winter snow on the ground, and now the elk call and sing from the yard, and the bears get into trouble at night, and the aspen trees are slowly beginning to turn. This winter will be early and it will be cold. I am looking forward to spending a lot of it tucked up into our little house with you and your sister watching the snow fall. I am so grateful to be able to raise the two of you here, near where I lived as a child, and close to the earth and her rhythms. Our life here is not an extravagant one, but it is genuine, and I am hoping to raise you in a house filled with love.
Your sister is overjoyed to meet you. She lays her head on my belly and talks to you nearly every day. I can tell that you are already friends. Unlike her, I don’t have a strong sense of your energy yet, of who you are, other than I think you are eager to join us, too. I am about 36 weeks pregnant right now, and already you have slipped low in my belly and quieted your movements — waiting, as we are. All I know of you right now is that you are strong, and much calmer in my belly than your sister was. Your movements are less frequent, but for several weeks now they have been enough to make me catch my breath. You don’t have the “dance parties” your sister did, but you seem to like Jack Johnson, and you move closer to the cat when she lays next to you, purring her gurgling song.
It’s hard to believe that you could be here any day now. I think you may be born on the equinox, and you will be a light-bringer. Whatever your purpose in this life will be, I know it will be one of goodness. Perhaps it is just because you are our second baby, but I get the feeling that you will fold yourself easily into the rhythms of our family, and the four of us will be able to watch the seasons together with astounded eyes.