I want to tell you a story. It has happy parts and sad parts and parts that might make you cringe. I want to tell you that it has a happy ending but I can't. Not because all the characters of the story die, although they ultimately might, but because I do not know how or where it ends.
Here I sit in the midst of this story, the one I wish to tell you.
You, I have no doubt, you are an amazing creature. But right now, in the middle of my story, you do not actually exist yet. Not for a lack of desire.
We are working toward having you.
Everything I do is focused on us having you. I imagine what it will feel like carrying you around inside of me. Will I love it, will I hate pregnancy. I will admit I am nervous that it will be a let down. Only because of my high hopes, my overwhelming desire to have you.
I wish I could tell you everything, but I must edit to keep the parts I need to tell, and others I simply wish to. I want to fill you up with knowledge and strength. I want to protect you and empower you. More than anything I want you to be a proud, honest soul. A person I would call friend.
No road is entirely easy, we all have the burdens of the past unfairly and unceremoniously dumped on to our shoulders. Your road will be hard, and harder perhaps because of who your parents are. For that, I beg forgiveness. My dear child, if I could protect you from this world and its cruelty I would, and will when I can. But here I am to tell you what I can, to let you see how and who I am. This is not the story to justify or win your love, just the story of me and in large part also your father