There are so many things I hope you know,  Luke.  Or come to know from wherever you are.

You were SO wanted.  So very wanted.

I know that when we first found out we were pregnant with you, I really wanted you to be a girl.  So much.  When I found out that you were a boy at that ultrasound, it took some adjustment for me to be excited.  For some reason I never saw myself having a boy as our first child.

I can't tell you how much that hurts me to think about now.  How stupid it was--to think that way.  You were a blessing.  Whatever you turned out to be.

So many people were waiting for your arrival.  Obviously, Daddy and me were the most excited.  But you have SO MANY people in your family, Luke, who couldn't wait to meet you.  Nana and Grandpa.  Nana was so excited to take care of you when I would go back to work.  Grandpa couldn't wait until you were able to play catch with him. Vovó couldn't wait to see your sweet face.  Grandpa Ken was excited all the way from Virginia.  Your Aunties...Ali, Lauren, and Lauryn...they couldn't WAIT to spoil you.  Everyone wanted to babysit you.  Uncle Chris couldn't wait to turn you into a Dodgers fan, and Uncle Andy would have taught you how to play guitar.  Uncle Pooter couldn't wait to have you as his permanent baby model--All he wanted to do was take adorable pictures of you.  And they would've been SO perfect, too.

And PJ was going to be your best friend.  Sure, she's a dog.  But she was finally getting used to seeing the stroller and your carseat and your toys laying around.

Mommy and Daddy's big extended families were waiting for you too.  And our friends.  And our work families.  When they say "It takes a village," I truly believe that your Daddy and me have that village.  And now all we're missing is you.

Literally the day before you left us, Daddy and I had finally breathed a sigh of relief--we were finally ready for you to come home.  Sure, we'd procrastinated a lot--but at almost 39 weeks, we finally made it.  And I was so glad you decided not to make an early appearance like so many other babies.  We'd gotten so much laundry done for you, and the rocker finally came in and we picked it up.  The car seats were installed in both of our cars.  I cleared out a space in the kitchen cabinet for your bottles, and I'd sanitized them already. The baby monitor was set up and we'd tested it out--it was so cool--we could watch you from our iphones.  We could watch you sleeping or giggling from wherever we were.

I had finally packed my bag for the hospital and loaded music on my ipod.  I had a nursing bra and pajamas, and the house was as  clean as it was going to be.  

I know it took me and your Daddy a little bit longer than most parents to be ready for you...I hope you didn't sense that.  Because by that Friday, we were there.  All we needed was you in our arms, and we'd be complete.

Instead, now we're left with empty arms and your empty room, and a gaping hole in our hearts.  And all  I can ask myself is "Why?"  Why did this happen to you?  To us?  To all of us?  Seeing so many other people with their babies hurts me so much.  I keep telling myself "It's not fair."  Somehow people have kids who are "accidents."  And they're fine.  This is the most unfair thing that's ever happened to me.  I remember when we were kids--We used to complain to our Mom and Dad that something wasn't fair.  And my Dad would always say "Life's not fair--You better get used to it."  Somehow...I don't think this is what he was thinking.

I was robbed.  I feel like you were stolen out of me.  You were stolen from your family.  We were robbed of the privilege of being your parents in this world.

I  know we'll always be your Mommy and Daddy.  But that doesn't take away the pain that we'll never get to know what kind of person you'd grow into.  That we'll never get to cuddle or hug you.  I'm so glad that we did get a chance to hold you at the hospital, even if it wasn't while your spirit was still with us.  It's the closest we'll ever get to you, and I hope you know how much that means to us.  I wish I could hug you every day...but until we meet again, those short cuddles will have to do.