To my first baby,
It’s been a long time since I’ve woken up in the dead of night, wide awake, with someone on my mind. But you make me do that.
And it’s been a long time since I’ve looked at your dad with a total new admiration. But you’ve made me do that. He’s cooking and cleaning and walking to the bodega to get me ice cream. He carries my bag on our commute and puts his hand on my back to push me up the steps because five flights of subway steps is tough for me some days. You’re going to love him, by the way. He’s steady and fun. He cares about making spaces beautiful—which is why your nursery is the sweetest little spot in Brooklyn. He’s going to teach you about sports and will make you laugh everyday. I know, because that’s what he does to me. When we say goodbye in the morning, he always gives my belly a kiss. We’re usually standing in front of a bunch of construction workers by the Nobu in FiDi, and I love that he loves you so much that he doesn’t care.
I like to tell people about how you were given to us with little effort on our part. You’ve made us lucky and thankful. That I was surprised by the ultrasound tech and I factimed your dad to surprise him too. And all day we just kept texting each other, “Nothing else matters.” Because nothing did. We’re so grateful for how quickly you came, so much so that your name means gratitude. But just so you know we are scared too. It’s okay to be scared about things you want.
We’re going to do so much together—already you’ve ridden the subway and gone to photo shoots and swam in the ocean and traveled to all the way to California. And I’ve been trying new things because of you too, like learning to say no and relishing the season I’m in. When you’re bigger and overwhelmed about something new coming your way, I’m going to remind you of all the things you’ve already done so it doesn’t feel so scary.
It’s been a long time since your dad and I have opened ourselves up to something so new. But you’ve made us do that—and will continue to do that for a long, long time, I think. We welcome the way you’re going to wreck our schedule and sleep and wallets, because just the thought of you has already wrecked our hearts. We are praying big things over you, little girl.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been nervous to meet someone — but you’ve made me do that. But still, I’m ready to see your teeny tiny self. So come quick and come soon, after nine months and 5,000 bagels and ice cream cones—we are ready to put predictability on hiatus.
And we have one last hurdle—pushing through the pain and unknown of birth to get you out here, with us. And I don’t want to do it, but it doesn’t really matter, because you’re making me do that.
Baby girl, thank you, for the fear and the wonder and 9 months of learning and leaning on others and praying for providence. Thanks for letting me sleep most nights and for not making my feet swell. I feel the most at peace with the unknown than I ever have in my whole life, it’s a place I never knew I could arrive.
But you made me do that.
With all the love that I don’t even know yet,