A Letter to My Fellow Traveler

To My Dear, Dear Fellow Traveler,

It was nearly two years ago that your father sent me the now-legendary text message: "Hey, want to move to Paris?", kicking off a short, frenzied series of discussions about whether or not we could possibly envision ourselves in a foreign country, learning a new language, untangling ourselves from nearly everything familiar and comfortable.  But we knew then, and that knowledge has since been solidified into a certain fact of existence, that we would always have a safe harbor in one another.  So why not take that harbor to somewhere with better bread and more vacation time?

Back then it seemed that life could offer no greater adventure than life and romance in another country.  But, dear one, as we looked at our first pictures of you (well, the first pictures where you had a face and no tail), punching your tiny fists at the ultrasound technician who was treating my uterus like bread dough in need of kneading, we knew that, once again, our lives were about to completely unmake and then remake themselves again.  Only this time, we will be the harbor, and you will be our little ship.

You, darling, our now our Fellow Traveler.  You have already expressed a preference for Alsacien cooking, but a distaste for fresh green things.  I'm hoping that next week in Rome that you find that you enjoy pizza and gelato.  And when we travel to Germany (by which time, hopefully, you will have made the tiny studio apartment of my uterus into something more condo-like), I hope that you discover a love of sausage and non-alcoholic beer.

But, my love, even if despite the best of efforts you come to demand chicken nuggets over poulet roti, powdered orange cheese over brie, Dora the Explorer over children's museums, you will still be the greatest adventure of our lives.  And we cannot wait to meet you.

Love,
Your Mother