Dear Baby 2,

When I was 38 weeks pregnant with your brother, I wrote him a letter on this blog. Now that I'm 38.5 weeks pregnant with you, I figure it's only fair that I do the same for you. They say the second child gets short shrift after the novelty of the first one. Fewer pictures, less excitement, an anemic baby book, no birth announcement and hand-me-down baby gear.

In many ways that's true. I don't think I have a single picture of me pregnant with you, even though we documented the growth of my bump with your brother by taking a photo every month. I haven't had any baby showers to celebrate your arrival. With your brother, I had three. I didn't meticulously research and and register for everything from burp cloths to strollers, because we already have everything we need. Your daddy and I didn't go on a babymoon to savor our last few months as a childless couple. When I was pregnant with your brother, we went to Hawaii for 10 days over Christmas and even had the time to make a video set to music of pictures from our trip.

The second pregnancy is a different story, that's for sure. But here's the thing: There's no less love, no less eager anticipation to meet you for the first time after you've been swimming around in my belly for months, to see what you look like and discover who you are. My mom (your grandma) has told me that when she was pregnant with your Uncle Eric, she was worried that she wouldn't be able to love anyone as much as she loved me, her first born. Then when Eric arrived, she was relieved to find that her heart simply made more room.

The outfit that I wore home from the
hospital and now you will too.

I have no doubt that you will be every bit as special to me as your brother is. Although you may not be the first, you will play a special role that only you can play. You are the one who will complete our family. You are the one turning three into four. The one who makes us an even number. The one who will fill the vacant seat in our four-door car. The one who will give your daddy and me the experience of parenting both a boy and a girl.

You will be the only sibling that Owen has, and he will be the same to you. Although I can't guarantee you'll be immediate best friends, I hope you both find it comforting to know there is someone else in the world who knows you better than anyone, someone who's shared the boredom of long car rides on family vacations, someone who has a significant amount of the same DNA. Someone who's been there from the beginning and will be with you when daddy and I are old and sick and (hopefully) long after we are gone.

That's how I feel about your Uncle Eric. We fought like crazy when we were growing up and I'm ashamed to admit how mean I was to him (to be fair, he could be a real pest, too). Your grandma even said recently, "I don't ever remember the two of you getting along." But something changed when I went away to college and he came to visit while he was in high school. This pip squeak of a little brother who I was always so worried would embarrass me now had facial hair, long muscular legs from running track, a hot girlfriend and his own world view. We've become closer and closer friends ever since, something I wish for you and Owen, minus the 15 years of intense sibling rivalry it took to get there.

You will also be special to me because you will be my daughter, which means we will share many "girl things." We will share pig tails, twirly dresses and boys teasing you on the playground. We will share menstrual cramps, training bras and a world that expects women to be smart, driven and successful as well as sexy, beautiful and poised. Not to mention nurturing, selfless and thin.

I hope to be a strong role model in that regard, as I have been relatively successful both professionally and personally, although it has been and continues to be both an exhilarating and heartbreaking road. I hope to not only teach you, but show you by example, how to trust your feelings, express your needs, be assertive without being aggressive (not my greatest strength, but I'm getting there), capitalize on your talents, excel without embarrassment, admit when you've made a mistake, like what you see in the mirror, open your heart to other people, give up your seat to the elderly, and know that vulnerability is what makes you part of the human race.

I want to be a mom who celebrates your accomplishments (whoo hoo!), comforts you during set backs (you're still okay), laughs with you during the funny parts (did you see what he just did?!), validates your feelings (I know that hurt) and above all, lets you be yourself (you're the only "you" you've got).

I'm ready when you are. Here we go, my beautiful girl.

Love,
Mama