Angus (not your real name) -
Throughout this pregnancy, you have been more of an abstraction than even your brother was, which seems counterintuitive – I know what I’m getting, and yet I can’t imagine it. His presence has thus far rendered yours unthinkable, because each time I try to think of you, he elbows his way in, either in his present boisterous form, or in the thousands of memories I hold of his babyhood.
But I want you to know that yesterday I saw a happy, smiling, fat, ridiculous little red headed 11 month old, and for the first time instead of thinking of Jack at that age - I pictured you. I thrilled at the thought of another, different baby, another chubby little goober to teach and love and watch grow.
I can’t wait to meet you, son of mine, even if I don’t write about it as often or as breathlessly as I did the posts that preceded your brother. I can’t wait for June to arrive.
And not just because you have your little feet all up in my lungs and I can’t breathe. Though that certainly helps.