I am praying for this child, and the Lord, one day, will grant me what I ask of Him.

I want a baby. A child of my own, one that isn't a niece or a nephew or a friend's child, but one that calls me mom and Dave dad. Every time someone else announces they're pregnant a little part of me breaks. I know it's not time, I know we shouldn't, but there's that desire there, and it's such a longing sometimes I wonder. I want little things, and a warm squishy body to wake me, and the first 'mama!' and finger-painted pictures on my fridge and to play in the mud without looking silly, and to not have everyone ask, 'when are you having a baby?' The Lord's timing is right, and perfect, and will coincide with 'my timing' (if that even exists) at one point.

To bide my time I write letters to our not-yet daughter. One day she'll read them. For now, I'll spoil my nieces and nephews with kisses and hugs and play dates and more laughter than either one of us know what to do with.