Here we are, kiddo. Just about 12 hours from our first meeting, the first time I see your little face and count your tiny fingers. I can think of nothing else right now. This is what it sounds like in my brain: babybabybabybabybabybabybabybabybaby.
There's so much I want to tell you about the world you're about to enter. But most of it can wait. Someday I'll tell you about what a cold, snowy, gray winter it's been -- how I sat around gestating through the entire winter, too big and clumsy to dare walk outside, while your father shoveled almost 80 inches of snow. Someday I'll tell you about how each day I try to watch the news but turn it off after 5 minutes because it just makes me sad. Someday I'll tell you about the political and financial blech that grips our country right now, the anxiety and uncertainty we all face each day. Someday I'll tell you about the giant earthquakes striking across the globe that make me think that Mother Nature is, in fact, trying to eject us.
But today I will focus on telling you these truths: For months now, you have been the glimmer in my heart, the bright spot in each morning when I wake up and feel you moving inside me. In a year of constant often frightening changes, you have brought hope and wonder and excitement into our little family like I've never known -- even moreso than when your brother was born because we now have him to share it with. You've lessened the sadness of losing loved ones and eased the shock of losing a job. You've already moved into our hearts and changed our perspectives.
Today I sat in the sunshine watching your daddy and big brother play on the playground and I thought, wow, life is so good. And it's about to get better. I'm so excited to meet you, my love. I've waited so long.