July 26, 1997--Annie, It's 4:48am, it's also my birthday. I was woken up by a loud noise from the street, I think the crashing of cars, and also from a bad dream. Now I'm up, filled with anxiety, convinced that I have not eaten correctly during my pregnancy with you, and that you are going to come out of me in trouble. I don’t know, missing fingers or brain damage or SOMETHING. I hesitate to write in this book because it shouldn’t be all about my fears. But I suppose if it were all about the joy and bliss of being expectant parents, it wouldn't be written by your dad and me.
You move around a lot, I only wish you could let me know you're okay in there.
Bye for now my little poppy seed.
Mom
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