June 23, 2016
I’ve got a blank space, baby, and I will write your name. It might be George. It might be Sam. I might call you Diane.
You see, baby, I haven’t discovered your truth yet. So far, your secret is well kept. I must wait for two more weeks and then I will know.
And then I will decide if you are Augustina or Patrick or Candice or James. I might shock my relatives and call you Joseph. J. Joe. Joey. Joseph. They will ask me why I would name you after someone like him. I will say that it has nothing to do with him. Whatever love I had for him left me when he left me alone with you. But I love the name Joseph.
But I might name you Alexander or Eric or Ariel or Erva. Erva is a real name. I saw it in a celebrity baby book. But I don’t think I will name you Erva. And I won’t name you Apple or Dashboard or :”)*&%@!#?.
Whatever name I do choose, I hope it will be the right one. I’ve met so many Dianes who look more like Rebeccas and Henrys who look more like Franciscos.
Whatever name I do choose, I will love you. I will raise you, my baby, to be a good person. It won’t be easy. There will be many issues and obstacles and heartaches that will get in our way. I know this now and it scares me. But the thought of you, of finally seeing you and knowing you, sends my fears away.
One day, I will tell you about your father. I can only hope that my negative feelings for him will not cloud my words and cloud your heart.
My dear baby, I can’t wait to see you, to hold you in my arms. Nine months is a short time in the larger scheme of things. But nine months feels like nine years.
I am here, baby, and I will always be here for you. No matter what.