Dear baby,
So, what's up... do you just really like it in there, or what? A couple of months ago I understood the appeal of your little balloon world, but now not so much. It's dark, subterranean, and cramped. You can't do somersaults or stretch out anymore, only slide your limbs around excitedly after you receive nutrition through your umbilical take-out window. It's better out here, I promise. You'll have your own room, and a swing, and a bouncy seat with little hanging toys, and stuffed animals, and a big yard to play in when your motor skills are better developed. In some ways it's not even so different--it's always a temperate 72 degrees, and you'll still get food on demand, plus you'll also get hugs and kisses and cuddles, which you're missing out on now. Plus there are other babies and kittens and grandparents and aunties and, of course, your dad and me who want to meet you.
Is that the problem, are you having reservations about us? Okay, let's talk about that. I know there are some potential causes for concern, such as the fact that your dad would still watch professional wrestling if I let him, and the fact that I have REO Speedwagon's Greatest Hits in the car right this minute. Yes, we will undoubtedly embarrass you at different times in your life with our choices of clothing or language, but that's one of the privileges of parenthood. But we're actually pretty cool, you know... we're fun, educated, well-travelled, and we have a decent handle on this life thing. We work and pay our bills and do all the other boring parent things that will make your life easier. And we're having you young enough that not only do you get many years with us, but also many years with your grandparents, who can't wait to start spoiling you. So, seriously, don't worry... in the jackpot of parents, I really think you made out okay.
If you still need to think it over, I feel it's fair to warn you that you only have two more days. On Wednesday night I go into the hospital to begin the process of gently suggesting, and later forcibly insisting upon, your eviction from Womb with a View Inn and Suites. We don't necessarily want there to be a 24-esque scene where you become surrounded by doctors and nurses and are made to emerge under duress, but we'll do it if we have to. You might do yourself a favor by giving yourself up before the deadline. What do you say?
Love,
your mom
So, what's up... do you just really like it in there, or what? A couple of months ago I understood the appeal of your little balloon world, but now not so much. It's dark, subterranean, and cramped. You can't do somersaults or stretch out anymore, only slide your limbs around excitedly after you receive nutrition through your umbilical take-out window. It's better out here, I promise. You'll have your own room, and a swing, and a bouncy seat with little hanging toys, and stuffed animals, and a big yard to play in when your motor skills are better developed. In some ways it's not even so different--it's always a temperate 72 degrees, and you'll still get food on demand, plus you'll also get hugs and kisses and cuddles, which you're missing out on now. Plus there are other babies and kittens and grandparents and aunties and, of course, your dad and me who want to meet you.
Is that the problem, are you having reservations about us? Okay, let's talk about that. I know there are some potential causes for concern, such as the fact that your dad would still watch professional wrestling if I let him, and the fact that I have REO Speedwagon's Greatest Hits in the car right this minute. Yes, we will undoubtedly embarrass you at different times in your life with our choices of clothing or language, but that's one of the privileges of parenthood. But we're actually pretty cool, you know... we're fun, educated, well-travelled, and we have a decent handle on this life thing. We work and pay our bills and do all the other boring parent things that will make your life easier. And we're having you young enough that not only do you get many years with us, but also many years with your grandparents, who can't wait to start spoiling you. So, seriously, don't worry... in the jackpot of parents, I really think you made out okay.
If you still need to think it over, I feel it's fair to warn you that you only have two more days. On Wednesday night I go into the hospital to begin the process of gently suggesting, and later forcibly insisting upon, your eviction from Womb with a View Inn and Suites. We don't necessarily want there to be a 24-esque scene where you become surrounded by doctors and nurses and are made to emerge under duress, but we'll do it if we have to. You might do yourself a favor by giving yourself up before the deadline. What do you say?
Love,
your mom
4 Comments:
She's not!
My official leave starts today. I probably could have gone to work but that seemed, even to me, like an unreasonable thing to do at 5 days post. Tomorrow morning I have a nonstress test to make sure she is still happy and an ultrasound to make sure she has enough fluid. Can you believe that by the weekend we will have a baby?????
This is the sweetest thing! love that you managed to write something that was touching that wasn't like "To the precious angel of my loins..." You have to keep this and write her a letter every now and then, a la Sundry.
I was IMing Joe earlier that I keep dreaming about you having the baby. I dreamt that you were in labor for 45 minutes and then she started walking. Sounds about right.
Is the past tense of "dream" dreamed or dreamt? Wait, I don't care.
If you're bored and want to have lunch this week, let me know! Rather, want me to bring you lunch.
Mine too. Hee-hee-hoo.
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