I love it here in your belly. It's warm and cozy and positively fantastic. But soon enough, I'm coming out. And I'm going to rock your world.

Dear Momma,

I love it here in your belly. It's warm and cozy and positively fantastic. But soon enough, I'm coming out. And I'm going to rock your world.

I will fall asleep snuggled against your chest, and you will let the drool puddle on your skin because it's mine and it's perfect. I will give you open-mouth kisses, and you will call me the love of your life. I will smile and squeak and giggle, and you will dance me across the kitchen and firmly believe that no mother ever loved her child as fiercely as you love me.

Of course, I am a boy, so it won't be all roses and sunshine and Instagram-perfect moments.

Two months from now, the first time you and Daddy try leaving to go on a date, I will puke all over your pretty dress.

Eight months from now, when you decide it is possible take me out to dinner because your bestie posted a photo of her little girl quietly enjoying Cheerios at Lindey's, I will squirm and whine until you vow to not take me in public for at least another year. (Spoiler alert: I'll be 4 before you can safely take me to any decent restaurant. And even then, it will only be because you've realized that iPads are, indeed, manna from heaven.)

Three years from now-after a 37-minute dinner-table standoff over a green bean and a time-out for talking back-while carrying an armload of laundry upstairs, you will step on one of the Legos I was supposed to put away, and scream a word that I will later get in big trouble for repeating, and on Friday you will go drink wine with your friends. But you will still pour warm bath water gently over my head, read me a bedtime story, sing me a song and sneak in to kiss me one more time before you go to sleep.

And while I may delight in dumping cold water on you while you shower and will break your heart the first time I roll my eyes at you, I will also melt your soul when I draw a picture of us with the word "LOVE" on top. I will make you weep when, the day we bury Grandpa Sonny, I crawl on your lap and softly squeeze your hand, because I understand that you hurt. I will make you beam when the teacher tells you she hopes her baby boy grows up to be like me.

It's not always easy, Momma. And I might not always say these things. But I know that nobody will build a family room fort as awesomely. Or fix a boo-boo as quickly. Or cheer as loudly when I score a soccer goal.

I know that when you send me to kindergarten, you will pep talk me, smile widely, wave proudly and then go home and cry. That when I ride my first roller coaster, you will do it with me, despite the fact it will make you sick for two days. That when I have my first real crush, you will help me craft the perfect Valentine.

I've heard people say I don't come with an instruction book. Not true. I've been working on it. I'll leave it in your gut.

Just trust it, and you will never be wrong.

Because you're my momma. And you know best. Always have. Always will.

I love you,

Baby Boy

Kristy Eckert is a Powell mom and founder of Kristy Eckert Communications. You can reach her at kristy@kristyeckert.com.