At this point, I don't even know if you're real. I could be imagining those two lines on that test. That second line was so faint, it could be a false positive.
If it's real, then you are just a tiny, little thing, just beginning inside me. So small, in fact, that a microscope would be hard pressed to see you.
But regardless of your size, you are loved so very much, little one. I've been praying for you, hoping for you, trying for you, for such a long time.
I am scared though. I'm afraid you won't be real, afraid that I'll lose you, afraid to let that hope continue to blossom inside me.
But I will not be sad. How can I be with the knowledge that you may very well be tucked safely inside me for the next nine months?
You are my child. Regardless of what happens. Regardless of how long you are mine. You will always be my child, a precious piece of me that will forever be lodged in my heart.
So my dear, sweet spark of life, I will do everything I can to make sure you are safe and healthy and I will love you, so very much, until the day I get to meet you.