04.25.08 :: 2:36 pm

Dear Oliver,

Exactly 7 months ago you latched onto my insides.
And in exactly 12 weeks, we will start waiting for you to begin your existence as a Brand New Person on Earth.

I can't say enough about how eager I am to meet you or how thrilled and terrified I am to have my entire world thrown into upheaval, rearranged, and permanently altered.

I've been obsessively cleaning the house and spring cleaning in anticipation of your arrival. Throwing things out, disinfecting weekly, sweeping, mopping, folding and refolding your clothes...
Sometimes I still think I'm imagining this whole pregnancy.

Except today. Today you are either severely pissed or thrilled that I ate so much pad thai because you're doing that thing where you smush your butt and elbow out at me quite forcefully.
I think other people might be able to see my stomach through my shirt doing weirdly alien acrobatics.

There you are again. Hello.

Today, I read that you have opened your eyes and you can see, although I'm not really sure what there is to see. And that you can taste. Big big developments, mister!

I want you to know that I am about 88% sure that I am ready for this, for you, for being a mom.
I don't want to lie. I wish it were higher. But I hope you understand that this is all so new and nothing in my life up until this point can even compare in terms of realness and importance. And I'm not even sure I can do much more to prepare but promise you wholeheartedly:

Nothing has as yet happened, or will ever happen, that will mean as much to me.

I hope you like me. I hope we're friends. I hope you feel loved. I hope you grow up happy.

I think if I can make these things happen for you, I will have succeeded.

See you soon my Tater, my joy.


PS: Don't worry; if I completely screw things up, take comfort in the fact that we have your extremely capable Father on our team, who is entirely in a class by himself.

PPS: A little easy on the ol' bladder, k?

earlier / next