Spring always feels like a new beginning, a quiet promise that everything will fall into place.

This weekend is a rainy spring one. It has been about two weeks since the weather started warming up, and I think this might be my favorite time of year. Spring always feels like a new beginning, a quiet promise that everything will fall into place. I grew up in a place where the seasons were subtle, their transitions gentle, and now I live at the opposite extreme. Moving and adjusting to this climate has made me appreciate warm weather in a way I never did before.

As we step into this new season, I’m also 33 weeks pregnant, and our family is preparing for a new beginning of its own. Soon, we won’t be a family of three but an even-numbered four. I can’t express how excited I am to meet the almost-new member of our family and watch how our dynamic shifts and grows into the family we will become.

I haven’t always had the best relationship with my own siblings, and one of my deepest hopes is that you two will be inseparable. The kind of siblings who plan trips together—not out of obligation when visiting a parent, but simply because you want to. The kind of friends who can be completely honest with each other, who pick up the phone when life feels hard or lonely. The kind of siblings who celebrate each other’s successes as if they were their own. And one day, I hope the partners you choose will also get along, that your future children will grow up loving each other too. But I suppose I’m getting ahead of myself—there is still so much time until then.

I love this memory—not because something extraordinary happened, but because it was just an ordinary moment that, for some reason, my heart decided to keep.

Lately, our weekends have been spent mostly indoors, partly because of the lingering cold but mostly because of some health issues I’ve experienced during this pregnancy. Spending so much time inside has meant more playtime, crafts, books, cooking, and cuddling. Delilah has started loving what we call our pajama days—lazy Sundays spent in cozy clothes, sometimes never changing out of them at all. And honestly? I love them too.

A memory has been replaying in my mind lately—one from my childhood, at my abuelita’s kitchen. She’s in her pajamas, her curly dark reddish hair a bit messy, making breakfast. I’m sitting in the small dining area, looking outside through the high rectangular window. The sky is gray, and I hear the call of a bird that sounds like coo-coo-lee. I remember mimicking its song with abuelita, the two of us giggling at our own silliness. A simple, quiet moment, yet one that has stayed with me all these years. I don’t know how old I was, but I love this memory—not because something extraordinary happened, but because it was just an ordinary moment that, for some reason, my heart decided to keep.

I wonder what memories will stay with you into adulthood. Maybe it will be a rainy afternoon spent playing outside, or making a craft together, or simply laughing as we cuddle. Whatever it is, I hope I’m in it. And I hope it’s beautiful.

This is the first letter I write to you, and to be honest, I’m not entirely sure how to shape it yet. Today, I simply decided to write down the thoughts that came to me, and maybe, with time, these letters will take better form. I’m excited about this project—I’ve always had this quiet wish to create something beautiful just for the joy of it, and I think this living scrapbook is exactly what I was hoping for.

I have to admit, I’m a dreamer. I love thinking up projects, but not all of them make it to the execution phase—or if they do, they don’t always get completed. I wonder if this one will be different, if I will keep up with it, or if it will eventually fade away like so many others. I guess time will tell.

For now, I’ll close this letter by telling you that I woke up early this morning and couldn’t fall back asleep. So, I made banana muffins for breakfast, tidied up a bit, and sat down to write this—to remind you both just how much I love you.