Baby, baby, your picture is on the fridge already. Your nose is the perfect silhouette against ultra-sound black. Your fingers, five little spots, are just what we need.
Your sisters gathered around you last night, hands on the skin that keeps you apart for now. They are patiently waiting for your bumps and squirms, and then they look across the room in astonishment. You kicked, a fighter.
Baby, without knowing your name, we love you. Without hearing your voice, we claim you. Without holding back, we wait for you, and call you life.