My Dear Lucas,

I don’t know what took me so long to write to you. I’ve had this plan to write letters to you from the day you were conceived. I’ve been carrying you for almost twenty five weeks now and it seems as though I am just barely ready to tell you what’s been aching my mind.

I’m sorry for being so distant. Even though you are growing inside of me, I feel worlds apart. That you’re only this fairy tale creature chained to my womb, and up until a month ago are testing your budding wings. A mystical fledgling rippling against the amniotic fluids. Shifting, kicking, stretching. Your creation has now become too real as I feel you flutter relentlessly inside of me. You move me. From the couch to the kitchen. From the bed to the bathroom. You’re getting stronger by the day and nearing twenty five weeks, you are already restless.

Last week, I had started my first contractions. With an anxious voice, the doctor prescribed nifedipine and told me to rest more and to avoid exercise. That certainly, it will not be good for you to come out just yet. And all this time exercising and taking yoga classes, I thought I was making myself stronger for you when in fact it is already too late. You’re already a force to reckon with.

But I have been distant for I am a selfish woman. I want more than to be defined as just a mother. And already my body and mind is consumed with the sleepless nights of gas and bloating. The rock-like hardening of the abdomen. The painful stretching of the ligaments to support the extra weight. The discovery of sleep apnea’s hands wrapped around my throat, at the end of which my lungs fervently gasping for air. The carpal tunnel that cracks and crinkles within my finger joints, and the trapped blood that thickens beneath the flesh of my swollen limbs, hence leaving my wedding ring forlorn. The appearance of dark murky skin under my arm pits and thighs. The leakage, from the mouth, the eyes, and all other orifices. And the worst of these are the damned hunger pangs, as if you’re eating your way out of me. All these disgusting and defiant modifications. Unruly and unyielding adaptations. What will become of me at the end of all this transformation? Will I have lost myself completely?

I know I will lose my time. The time that is needed to find myself. My incomplete and dissatisfied self. That the loss of this time to write more, design more, read more, will be replaced by you is perhaps the thing that makes me uncomfortable. Not because I don’t want you. I do. But to place myself on hold is something that is hard to bear, because I always thought that by now I’d be strong and ready for you. I fear I will disappoint you. That this new metamorphic life will prove to be overwhelming. That I won’t be cut out to live this dedicated life of changing, feeding, burping, washing, and the constant crying and needing. Perhaps I will cry with you. There will be times I will cry alone. Lose my edge. I may scream and storm out of the room. And the worst part is you will one day remember.

My prayers these days is not for my ailments to go away as they were during the first trimester. I now accept that they are necessary for your creation. But my prayers are to keep you well and safe inside me for another twelve weeks at least. It seems as though this new fear of potentially losing you overwhelms my previous fear of losing myself. I will pray for the will to gladly lose myself in the opportunity to discover you. That even in my discomfort, perhaps you’re just as impatient as I am. Cramped inside me the way I’m constrained by our seemingly small queen mattress with all my five pillows, my snoring husband and two cats. That I should persevere when my joints ache, a small thing to endure for it’s a reminder that yours is only getting stronger. For I hope, it is this thing we endure together that will make our bond greater.

So forgive me Lucas for being a late bloomer. For not having the pregnant “glow.” For complaining and bitching. For not taking tummy selfies and not loving my disproportionate body. Forgive me for all my selfish fears and worries. And do regard me for my honesty. For I want this to be our corner stone. Truth to be the root of our relationship. That from this, unconditional love may flourish in its own time.