Dear Piper Bell,

Only 9 weeks left until you are expected to erupt into the world. Yesterday your dad said, "wow, this time went by really fast." I said, "for WHOM?! Certainly not for ME!" But really, when I think about how much there is to do (emotionally and otherwise) I sort of agree with him. There has never been an instant when I haven't been thrilled at the idea of you being in our lives; even though I don't know you yet, I think I will quite dig you. But the ways in which everything has already changed for us is sometimes very scary. And the tasks to be done? Endless.

In the past few weeks, the preparations for you have become a whirlwind. Happily, you've got family and aunties who are already showering you with the things you need, which is overwhelming for your dad and I, who feel somewhat undeserving of this kindness. Then I remember that these people seem to already like you too, which must cancel out any unfortunate feelings they have for us! But for every onesie that comes into our house, there is something bigger and scarier to worry about. What if you are not healthy when you are born? How would we take care of you? What if you get hurt while you are on your way out? What if I do? What if something happens to your dad? How would we make it by ourselves? What if something happens to me? How would your dad know how to make pigtails in your hair when you grow up?

And then there's all the other things that we worry about every day that are compounded because now we worry about you too. Last night your dad and I were eyeballing the new neighbors who are moving in downstairs. Your dad observed that the Neighborhood Drug Dealer had parked her car in front of our house and was visiting our new housemates (your dad often has useful information like this-- don't bother trying to get away with anything). I was instantly furious and felt a sick feeling in my stomach. Before you came along, I wouldn't have cared. I probably would have set up shop over the floor vents so I could play detective (okay, so I've already done that). And then last night I panicked. We've got to keep everything locked up all the time. We've got to make sure they're not smoking/making meth in the house with a baby (or anyone in my family, for that matter). Your dad told me that he's pretty sure the dealer mostly deals pot, but still. I really was surprised at how pissed I was and how that anger was making my whole body hot. Mama Bear, anyone?

One day, several months ago, an attorney came to our door asking for your dad. He wanted to ask him questions about some things that happened when he worked for the state. The attorney was clearly looking for some pretty juicy material that your dad may or may not have known something about. From the couch (where I was sprawled out in just a t-shirt) I heard the lawyer prodding your dad, asking questions that could definitely get him subpoenaed and smack-dab in the middle of a lawsuit. Though I really didn't even know what I was doing--it was autopilot--I rushed to the door and jammed myself between your dad and the lawyer. It must have looked ridiculous, this chubby woman in underwear and a t-shirt, blocking off a 6' 10" grown man, barking at the guy at the door. And until he walked away, I didn't stop telling him where to go. I felt like a wolverine.

This has been what it's been like, being the mama in the family. I think that I've only ever come close to feeling this fiercely protective of anyone before when someone/something's threatened my brother. But siblings are that way-- early practice for protecting your own brood. I'm happy I get to do this job, and I know your dad feels the same way. I am so grateful to the people around me who assure me that everything will be okay (a platitude that is useful at times like these). I feel relief that there are backup troops who will swarm in should I need them. I hope that you feel this as you grow up. You are never alone.

love,

your ma