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dear baby eric,

you have a name!  your dad and i had a lovely dinner last week with jean and bob, the parents of our friend eric who passed away in april. we figured out that you were probably conceived about a week before eric's death. eric was one of your father's best friends, and he made an impact on my life during the short time i knew him as well. we received jean and bob's blessing to name you after him.  he was an extraordinary person, baby. adventurous and energetic but poetic and introspective and compassionate and friendly and so giving of himself. though i know you'll grow up to be a unique individual, i hope you'll also embody some of those characteristics as well. and i find it so reassuring to know that our friend eric will be your guardian angel. he was practically fearless. it's good to know that your angel will be willing to accompany you on all the crazy twists and turns your path in life will take.

you've been kicking up a storm lately, baby, so much so that your dad finally felt you move a few nights ago. we were in bed, settling in for the evening, about to fall asleep. he laid his hand across my tummy and i felt your little flutters on the other side of my abdomen. i moved his hand and you kicked it softly a couple times. your dad smiled, awestruck.

i think you're experiencing a growth spurt, too. you're pushing more into my upper body, my diaphragm, making it difficult for me to get a good breath of air.

i was cleaning out an old purse the other day and found the pregnancy tests i took that confirmed i was expecting you. i'd stashed them in my purse when i headed out to meet your dad to tell him the news. i wasn't sure if he'd believe me, so i brought them along as proof. i thought he'd be grossed out to know i still have them, but your dad wants to keep them for your scrapbook. if this embarrasses you in the future, i'm letting you know now that it's his fault, not mine.

love you, baby. 16 more weeks 'til we meet.

24 weeks along:

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dear baby boy,

spent a few hours in the hospital a couple days ago for dehydration due to a stomach bug.  i was released early yesterday morning. the nice thing about being 23 weeks pregnant and going to the hospital is that i was able to entirely bypass the emergency department. i was shuttled up to labor & delivery in a wheelchair  and settled into a comfy semi-private room with pretty wallpaper and a special hospital bed made for pregnant ladies.

the nurse strapped monitors to my belly to listen to your heartbeat.  you didn't like the monitors, or maybe it was the cold jelly she spread on my skin beforehand. your heartbeat came across loud and strong, along with other random funny noises that the nurse explained was you moving around. i felt you kick at the monitors, too. you're a savvy little guy -- you knew exactly where they were on my tummy and you fine tuned your little kicks right in those areas, as if you were trying to figure out why these funny things were invading your space.  you'd switch between poking at the one on my lower belly and the one on my upper belly, which caused me to feel a weird tickling and rolling sensation up and down my abdomen. it was a nice distraction from the nausea and pain i'd been feeling for days.

you've been rather quiet since then, though. i'm guessing all that activity was due to related discomfort from the stomach bug i had. i think i'm more or less over it now. i took it pretty easy yesterday, but i was able to keep food and liquids down all day. the effort in doing that tuckered us both out, though. we napped away a good portion of the day, you and i.

yesterday was a frightening day, baby.  a rogue gunman opened fire in the carson city IHOP and killed three people, injured another eight, and then committed suicide.  your father and i eat there often.  if i'd been released form the hospital later in the morning, we might've stopped by there for breakfast.

sometimes i wonder what kind of world i'm bringing you in to.  what kind of mother am i to invite you into a world where our country's been at war for ten years with know discernible goal or end date in sight, where children in other countries are dying form starvation before their first birthdays, where our world leaders care more about their twitter updates and celebrity status than solving problems and creating progress. how can i bring you into a world where it's not even safe to go to the neighborhood diner for a meal?

but maybe you'll be the answer to one or some or all of these problems, baby. you're a clean slate, brand new, full of potential. maybe you'll grow up to cure cancer, or to be the president of the united states who actually unites everyone for a common good.  your life was created and conceived despite barriers and boundaries that your father and i put in place to prevent pregnancy, which makes us believe that your life is that much more significant.  every life is precious, baby, but YOU are our gift.