To my future baby girl:

Dearest darling,

Okay – I must admit. I don’t even know if you will be a girl yet. We will find out very soon next week, after my second trimester ultrasound. But in my heart, you are.

For the past twenty-one weeks, you have transformed from a tiny, quiet presence inside my body to a still tiny fetus but who now can hiccup, kick, twist, move, and make me aware and amazed every time you do, that, yes: I’m a mother, a home to a little creature. To you right now, I’m the entire universe.

As you might or might not experience in that cozy nest you are tugged in that, today, I’m a bit sadder than usual. I know you know whenever I’m joyful, anxious, upset, or even hungry, because lately you’ve been reacting to these emotions with your tiny kicks. My heart flutters every time you do.

I want you to know that, no matter what happens, you will be all right. You will be born into beautiful sunshine surrounded by loved ones, in a carefree, full-of-wonder universe. With your eyes wide-open, you will discover colors, sounds, tastes, and shapes. You will grow up strong, daring, brave, full of heart. You will love and let loved.

Now, there will be a time, in the future, where you will feel a bit different. It might be the color of your skin, your gender (especially if you are a girl), your sexual orientation (I don’t know what yet, but I don’t care), or your family background - the fact that you were born to a nonwhite mother. You might be teased, even mocked, or hurt. In those moments, I want you to know: you are not alone. I will always be there for you. Your family will always love you. And you are stronger than you think.

I feel blessed to have always been surrounded by compassionate, understanding, open-minded people, ever since I was a university student in little Rhode Islands, to when I started working for an American company in a city where I met your father, to when I decided to move to this state Colorado to be closer to your grandparents, and to have you. Every single step of the way, I’ve been fortunate enough to be sheltered, protected, understood, and loved. I now know that it’s not how the rest of America, or even the rest of the world, works, but believe me when I say I will try my best to provide the same for you.

Your dad, your grandma Diane and I just finished watching one of the most beautiful, eloquent, compassionate speeches from one of my role models, Hillary Rodham Clinton, a woman who ran for president, twice, and lost. In the speech, she addressed all the little girls and young women out there, that: yes, this is a sad day. This is a painful loss. But she wants everyone to know that, someday, that glass ceiling will be shattered, and it might be even sooner than we think. It might not be 2017, the year you are born. It might not be 2035, the year you are old enough to vote. But it might be 2052, the year you are old enough to run for president. A woman can dream, right?

All this is to say that I love you, and I will always love you. You might even be a boy, in which case: no worries, all this applies to you too!

I can’t wait to see you soon, hopefully on March 14, 2017 (pi-day!!!), as predicted.

Your mother,

Linh