I have wanted you since I was 4 years old.
In my 20's, I wanted you so bad, I had vivid dreams of you in which we would have conversations about you, your life, my parenting, and my growth.
In my 30's, once I was single, every "oops" or delayed period became anticipation and dread.
Dread that I conceived you with the wrong man, done you an injustice, given you something less than perfect love in both of your parents.
Even when I had that moment with a good man who I was in love with, I still feared for you:
The circumstances weren't right and I feared you would grow up without adequate love, with pieces missing the way I had in my childhood and I didn't want that for you.
So I prayed my body would continue to malfunction and you would have no life.
But each time, I felt anticipation anyway.
I've wanted you since I was 4 years old.
Maybe this time my body will do as bodies do.
Maybe this time is the time I'll get to look into the eyes of the child I dreamt of.
Maybe this time...and I would dream of you still more and imagine our life together.
I would think of all I could do to keep you safe and happy. The ways in which I would rearrange my life in order to accommodate yours...seamlessly integrating you into my plans for myself; that's how much I wanted you, wished for, dreamed for you.
But not this time, dear child.
Not this time, not anytime.
My body does not function in such a way that will allow you to live and I've always known this, even before the first time I heard the words, "You will never conceive."
I am sorry, my unknown child:
You will always remain a person of my dreams.