Henry Jordan. My son.

Yesterday, for a few minutes I saw you wiggle. I saw your tiny feet dance and your little legs kick. I saw your itty bitty belly and the obvious evidence that you are indeed, a boy. For five minutes I imagined what it'd be like to have you in my arms. Without the fear that my body might reject you before you get the chance to thrive. I need you to make it. Do you understand me? Now that I know who you are, Henry. I can not imagine February coming and going without you. You have to stay in mommy's tummy for a 19 more weeks. They told my body may be doing what it did when I was pregnant with your sister. But I wanted you so badly, I had surgery to help keep you inside my tummy. And right now I'm laying on my side. I have been for weeks. I want to give you every chance possible. Because I need to buy you a blue car seat, and baseball hats, and little toy cars. I need to. I need you. You have to fight in this family, for a chance. I do it, your daddy does it, your sister did it, and now it's your turn. But if you are anything like your big sister, you'll make it just fine. Hold on tight sweet heart. I love you.