Dear Alex,
As I am writing you this letter, it is the week before Halloween, 2010. I imagine right now you are probably in the “jumbo shrimp with exaggerated Muppet eyes” phase of your gestational development. It's okay. We all start out shrimpy.
You are very lucky, dear Jumbo Shrimp Alex, because not only are you young enough to have all of the world's splendor and excitement ahead of you (Harry Potter, ice cream, sex and REO Speedwagon among many, many other things), but you are also about to be born into a family that will love and cherish you more than Lucy wants to sing at Ricky's club.
They will love you when you are at your worst. When you are at your best. When you are at your most in-between of behavior. These are the people who will scold you for flushing an entire roll of toilet paper down the toilet, causing the whole bathroom to flood with malodorous TP soup. These are the people who will obsessively tell their friends how wonderful it is that you moved away from formula (Because Alex likes his big boy food. Yes he does. Oh yes he does!). They'll gush about how you got your first pair of training underwear, ate your first crayon, got chewed on by your first goat at the petting zoo, watched your first movie in the theater, lost your first tooth, tied your first lace, stuck your tongue out at your first crush, went on your first school bus ride. These will be the people who will grin with pride when you walk down the aisle of the high school gym to accept your diploma. These will be the people who will help you paint your first single-serving apartment. They will cry when they take you toaster shopping for said apartment.
There is no doubt in my mind that you will have a happy childhood.
True, I do not know your father's side of the family very well. I went to high school with your dad, but other than my trying to embarrass him from time to time by telling fart jokes and other such instances of immaturity, we did not have a tremendous exchange of dialogue.
However, your mom and her side of the family have made a very significant and positive impact on my life, as I'm sure it will on yours—and on a much larger scale. You are a very lucky fetus.
I want you to know that your mother is a wonderful lady. Unfortunately, it took me a while to realize that my mother was a fantastic lady as well. You see, in my case, I saw my mom as my soda pop rationer, my homework slave driver, my own personal disciplinarian and the wiper of my butt. It wasn't until I got a little older that I realized my mom was her own person with her own talents and interests, only one of which is mothering my sorry ass.
Our moms are both multifaceted people. I want you to understand that, because your mother is one of my closest friends. I know how amazing she is. But I know how easily one can lose touch with that concept when that amazing person is using a turkey baster to suction snot out of your nostrils.
I met your mother the summer before we went into sixth grade. That's, like, an eternity if fetus years. We have been friends ever since. We've had millions of slumber parties. We prank called boys together. We went through our ugly scrunchy, Winnie the Pooh, bibbed overall phases together. We've gotten to travel together. Drink together. Get kicked out of Mr. Lewis' class together. Snicker at my father's “horny toad” and flatulent iguanas together. Drive down Main Street blasting opera music with the windows rolled down together. Your mother is a weirdo. However, she is also a whole lot of fun. She has one of the biggest hearts I have ever encountered. She is a wonderful person.
Your mother chose to be your mother. Other than drawing hilariously misshapen airplanes, I've never known her to do anything halfheartedly once she decided that was what she wanted to do. Her heart is all in it. And her heart is with you. Please be good to her, my shrimpy, little Alex. You have a whole lot of awesome to get done.

I sincerely hope I get to be a part of your life.
Love and best wishes,

Trish