I feel you inside of me, rolling about. Was that a hand? An arm? A leg? I place my own hand on my abdomen. Feeling you. Holding you.

I think of you often and I wonder who you’ll be.

Over two years ago, at Pidge’s “Yay Baby” celebration, I remember speaking to a colleague. “I am just so excited to get to know her,” I commented. My friend noted that most parents laden their children with expectations and plans, but instead, I was simply curious. In the last two years, I have learned so much about Pidge. She is funny and smart, observant, deliberate, and clumsy. She is quick to smile and laugh. She loves books. Despite her parents’ preference for all things neutral, Pidge is obsessed with pink and twirly dresses and flamingos. We laugh and support it—it’s who she is.

Who will this baby be? In what ways will she be similar to her sister? In what ways will she be different?

My mother tells me she was shocked with how different my sister and I are; she was expecting her second to be a carbon copy of her first. I don’t have those expectations. For one thing, these children will have a different genetic makeup. Sure, their donors are the same, but their maternal genes are different. But then again, how much of who we are is nature, and how much is nurture? How much of Pidge’s personality is simply who she is, and how much of it relates to how we are raising her? I’m sure it is a blend. And again, I’m curious. How will genetics and environment blend to shape the personality of our next child?

I take a sip of water and feel a little pressure. She’s moving again. I kiss my fingers and place them just under my belly button. I love you, little one.