There are things I will not be able to tell you. Not for a long, long time, I don't think. Even before you were little more than a thought, this is how it has been. The only ones I've been able to talk about these things with are the ones who went through them too, with me. Like your father, and other friends of ours, all of them people you'll meet, in time. They are good friends, special people, and they'll look out for you in the places we may not be able to reach. But even so, I cannot tell you about what these things are. But I will be able to tell you of the impact of these events and other, important things. There are lots of those, little one.
Firstly, you are loved and wanted. Always, always loved and wanted, cherished and treasured . Once, we hadn't even thought a real, solid life together was possible. On the night your father told me he loved me, we thought there were only weeks left until our worlds ended. That his 'selfish' desire for us to have a life together would not be one that could last. I was also selfish, in this way. But the years stretched out, we finished school and university and found jobs , and lived together. Later, we married. As we did each of these things, it was with a sense of wonder as to how lucky we were. I cannot explain just how lucky we are, or how that luck was something we all fiercely fought for back then. So the fact that you are on the way is more than we could have ever wished for, as scared but hopeful fifteen-year-olds all those years ago. We're still having trouble believing it now, 15 years later. You are the best of us. I know this already.
That being said, we haven't mapped out your life for you. Oh, we have ideas, and dreams for you, for who you may become. I picture myself teaching you about the joys of science, letting you help me set up simple experiments, the works-two scientists working side by side with all that entails. I know for a fact that your father wants you to have a keen sense of justice, to stand up for what is right and oddly, he would want you to be mischievous. A weird one, because I think most parents despair over their children's mischief, but there you go. Those are things I know he dreams of for you. And we both hope you'll be a good older sibling, because you will end up one. We both grew up as lonely only children, and that fate, little one, is not for you. We also have an idea of what middle school you'll go to, when you are of that age. The friends we have, the ones who shared our secrets, they would be opposed to that, and I understand, but your father and I believe that things can't be changed if you avoid them. In time, despite what we cannot say, you'll understand, I am sure. But it's not set in stone, that. You might grow to be a child who would suit a different school, we have no intention of deciding such things before we even get to know you. We don't even know whether you are a boy or a girl. We have shortlisted names we'd like to give to you, but we won't decide on one until we have laid eyes on you. Together with our friends we have amassed all sorts of books and toys for you ranging from the archaic to the modern, from manga to encyclopaedias. Lots for you to choose from, so that you can decide what you are interested in. You are the best of us, and we do have dreams for you, but you are your own person, too.
But you should know that we might get it wrong. We haven't had the most normal of lives, or the best of examples, to know how to parent like anyone else. We were never going to be conventional parents, some of the things we'll teach you are not things other kids will learn, and there will be times when we do or say the wrong things, when your father will seem an enigma or I will be worrying too much. When it seems like the things we tell you are pointless, or stupid. There will be other ways in which we mess up, for sure. But not for lack of trying. For the rest of your life, for the rest of our lives, we will be trying to do right by you. I can promise that. Because as I said, fifteen years ago, we never thought that you'd even get a chance to exist. Every moment with you will be cherished, we won't be those forever absent parents. We will be there, and we will try, and we might get it wrong, but we will keep trying, because of us, because of you.
What else do I need to tell you? What else should you know now? Oh, your father is here. I can see him, coming up the road. He's almost home, and he's waving at us. The moon-always a crescent- lights him up. You'll be able to see that soon, and at some point you will be able to wave back. Eventually, the moon will illuminate you, too. Once it was a symbol of how we thought we wouldn't have this life, now it is proof that we do have this life. Perhaps, in the same way that I look at the moon while writing, you will sit under it when you read this. Maybe you'll read it on a sunny afternoon or rainy morning. Or I might read this to you while you sleep one night so the words are in your dreams, keeping you safe. There's no way of knowing, but we have the rest of our lives to find out, you see. So it's fine.
Ah, your father is at the door now. So I think I will stop this here, and go and greet him properly. Chat to him, commiserate, eat dinner, snuggle up in front of the TV, go to bed. Little details of a life lived together. A mixture, of love and friendship. But these aren't the last words I'll say to you.
After all, we have the rest of our lives ahead of us.