Posted June 15, 2012 by
It’s Friday, June 15th and you were supposed to be here by now. At least I thought you were. I guess one thing I’ve learned as a parent is that you can’t plan on anything. Not anything at all.
And that’s fine, but really, we’re all just so anxious to meet you. Not just me, but your dad and your sister and your grandparents (who have been here from Ohio for a full week now!). And not even just them, but all of your cousins and our friends and even blog readers (some of whom even claim to be having trouble sleeping due to all the anticipation). Maybe you’re just enjoying all this attention, all the speculation and wonderment about who you are, but really baby, I can tell you, it will only get better once you’re here.
We all can’t wait to meet you and love you even more than we do already. You’re already intimately familiar with me, your mama, but you’ve got this amazing dad to meet (he’s so smart and funny and really handsome), and also this totally crazy-wonderful big sister who can’t wait to dress you up and change your diaper and lean so close into your little face as she coos at you that your eyes will cross. You’ve got a little house in Santa Monica, California to come home to, and I promise all the plants are watered, the laundry is done, your clothes are folded, and the bassinet is all set up.
Seriously, kid. All we need is you.
Maybe you’re waiting for Father’s Day, in two more days. While I’m definitely feeling impatient for your arrival, I will attest that your dad is worth making a fuss over. He’s a really good dad, baby. He’s so thoughtful and self-aware. One of the things that always strikes me about him is that when you argue with him, he actually listens to your side. Seriously. I can’t tell you how many times we’ve been in the middle of an argument and I’ve gotten all puffed up and ready to really get feisty about whatever it is I’m arguing for when all of a sudden he goes quiet, looks around the room for a minute, and then says, you’re right. And not in an acquiescing kind of way, but in a genuine, I-just-listened-to-what-you-said-and-realized-that-you’re-right-kind-of-way. I mean, it doesn’t happen all the time, since I’m not right all the time, but I’m just saying, your dad will be someone who will always really listen to you, and that’s one of the most incredible gifts anyone in your life could ever, ever give you.
There are lots of things you’ll come to know about me, baby, but one of them is that for a long time after my parents died I felt really misunderstood. I just felt like I had been through this huge, terrible experience that most people couldn’t relate to. This caused me to resent the people around me and that feeling was an awful burden to bear. For a long time the only way I could cope was by surrounding myself with other people who were just as damaged as I was. That was the only way I felt understood — by being around other people who knew pain as well as I did.
It was when I finally got over that part of my life that I met your father. He was the first person I really loved who wasn’t damaged. Part of me being able to love him had to do with me having worked really hard to get past all of my resentment and pain, but part of it was also due to your dad being such a true listener. I knew he could never truly comprehend the things I’d been through, but you know what, baby? That didn’t matter because he really listened to me and listened to my stories and he looked in my eyes, and he didn’t just nod his head like some people do. Instead, I could tell he was searching inside of himself for ways to understand me and let me love him, and it was the most overwhelmingly lovely gesture anyone had made to me in years and years.
Anyway, all this to say that if you have to wait until Father’s Day to show up, I understand. He’s worth it, your dad.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not tapping my foot.