Old Letters. I wrote Munchkin letters while I carried her, but some have been lost or misplaced. I wasn’t always all that organized; I apologize for that, Miss Munchkin. I came across tanuary owing letter that I wrote on the 1st of January, 2004, just a few weeks after she was born.

Dear Munchkin,

Happy New Year, little one. 2003 is finally behind us, leaving nothing but a clean slate for 2004. In the next year, you will grow and change more than any of us know. While I won’t be there physically, I will be with you everyday.

I must admit, I was looking forward to the end of 2003. It was a hard year for me. So much happened. So much. And then when the clock struck midnight (and after I gave Jy a good smooch), I felt a pang in my heart. 2003 may have been hard, but it was the year that you grew inside of my tummy. It was the year that we fought against all odds to make sure that you were a healthy little Munchkin. It was the year that I made sure you would be well provided for with a loving family. And it was the year that I handed you over with teary eyes.

I miss you everyday. I know that I’ll see you in 2004. But 2003 will always hold those precious memories when it was just the two of us. I miss your kicks, you little kicker.

Love always,
Belly Mommy

I cherish those memories of 2003. I try to block out the “bad” stuff (hospitalizations, the fear, the loneliness, the wondering if I could pay rent, etc). Instead, I remember standing in the shower, washing my belly with English Rose body wash and singing a melody with the words, “Washing the baby.” My belly was small, as I was so sick, which made it even easier to see as she stretched her butt and back up when I rubbed my belly. (Strangely enough, this memory made washing my HUGE BigBrother belly kind of bittersweet but he also enjoyed bath time with Mommy.)

I remember setting the remote control atop my belly as she would swirl around, kicking it on one side and then the other. This provided hours of entertainment; who needed the television when I had real life action!

On lonely, dark nights, I would sit and hold my bare, growing belly in my hands and tell her the Story of Us; how much I loved her, what I was like, what I thought she might be like (but reassuring her that she could be whatever she darn well pleased). I can still feel myself, sitting on my bed, “holding” her in my hands.

These were the days when she was “mine.” It was just the two of us, no matter who was involved in daily goings-on. I was hers and she was mine. And 2003 will forever be our year; no matter how hard it really was, it is a part of our story. And sometimes, oh, sometimes, I wish I could go back to those days to feel her swell in my belly when I ran my fingers over the tight skin.

Oh, Munchkin.