Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Dear Baby,
First of all, I promise, pinky promise, double promise, that we will give you a name. You won't be one of those kids who goes months being called "Baby" or even better "the new one." We just haven't settled on anything yet. It's nothing personal. Girl names are hard, much harder than it was with your brother.

Speaking of, he'd really like to meet you soon. Apparently he told his teacher yesterday that you were going to "try really hard to come today." He's a fun kid. I think you'll like him a lot more if you come out here. Up to this point all you know is that he pokes you in the back a few times a day and then wants to kiss your bum or your eyeballs. That probably won't stop, but will be much more endearing on this side.

I am sure that one of the things I will be proudest of is your ability to think for yourself and to do exactly as you please. This will also be the thing that drives me craziest, much like your brother. For example, I'd really like for you to come on out. Seriously. My back hurts. I can't wear shoes because my feet are so swollen, and even if I could I couldn't tie them because my fingers are also swollen. My clothes don't fit. People point and stare and the enormousness that is your home. You have a literal ton of cute little outfits and tiny diapers just waiting to adorn your adorableness. The house is filling up quickly with people who would very much like to hug and kiss you and change your poopy diapers. If you stay in there, you'll miss all of that and instead have to hear all of your mama's comments, under her breath of course, about people trying to telepathically break her water and stop looking at me and I'm not a freak show and what-not. I promise, the first is the better option.

In three years, when you insist on wearing nothing but tutus and superhero underwear, or in fourteen years when you dye your hair green, join an eco-band, and insist on being called Rainbow Butterfly Warrior, I'll look back on this and think to myself "Shoulda seen this coming." Hopefully I'll also remember that as crazy as it drives me, you are my daughter and I want you to think for yourself. I really do, and I will try to encourage that as much as I can (ask your brother, who went to school in soccer shorts, cowboy boots, and two t-shirts today). But I also really really really want to see you and to have my insides back. So anytime you want to come out would be great. We're anxious to meet you.

Love, Mama

PS- You should know that Mama ALWAYS wins. So if you're not here by Monday the nice doctor's coming to get you. But I'd much rather you come on your own. There's some yummy milk in it for you. And we won't name you Esther Myrtle.

1 comment:

  1. I love this post! So funny and yet so sweet. Clever writer you are.