Your First of Many

I don’t even know your name. And yet I feel nothing but love for you. A love so profound and so complete and so overwhelming that it has kept me up, into the early hours of this January morning, writing to you. Your first letter. Your first of many.

Whoever you are, whoever you become, you have my heart and my love and my support and whatever else you need all the days of my life. My love for you is deep and wide and greater than I will ever be able to explain or prove in a single sentence or action. Even in the times when you may think I am frustrated with you. Angry or disappointed. With or without reason. Even then I will love you. I will always love you. Whoever you are. Whoever you become. Not just because I am supposed to do so. Not just because I will force myself to do so.

Because I will not be able to help myself.

I will love you and love you and love you with all of me. I want you to know my love and feel my love and believe my love every day of your life. I want you to know and feel and believe that I am here for you anytime you need or just want me nearby. I want you to know and feel and believe that I would do anything for you. Anything. Including sacrifice my own life.

As I told you. It’s late. Or early depending on how you look at it. But all I can do is sit on my couch in the stillness and soft dark of night, thinking of you. Imagining. Praying. Writing more. I love you so much already. So undeniably. So uncontrollably. So inexplicably.

And all for a child I have not yet even met. For a child whose name I do not even know. For you. My firstborn.