A Letter To My Newborn Baby Girl
Dearest Baby Girl,
We are all so thrilled you are finally here.
Doctors expected you to arrive quickly given my commitment to jumping on a trampoline for the duration of my pregnancy and the fact you were the fourth child to fully gestate inside my uterus. I had hoped you would arrive on an even day, because as you will learn I have an absurd obsession with numerology. To make this happen I scheduled an induction early on September 16th. You, of course, had other plans.
During a routine cervix examination the nurse looked at me with a tilted head and furrowed brow and said, “what is in there?” “What is in there?” I responded. You mean besides a baby?” You had your hand lodged on top of your head like a synchronized swimmer. You twisted your finger around hers while still living inside my lady cavity. I couldn’t figure out if that was your way of assuring her that you would vacate the premises or an audition for the Poltergeist remake. 12 hours later you decided you had psychologically tortured me enough and wanted to launch your way out, and on an odd day nonetheless.
You will note I was heavily sedated at this point, but with the love and support of several friends who had stayed at the hospital with me well into the night. Consider them angels on Earth who may still be suffering from post traumatic stress disorder after taking a look at my ejected placenta.
It’s a good thing you were so adorable.
The next day your sisters and brother greeted you at the hospital. Your brother, though dissatisfied that we had created another girl, remarked at your beauty and the size of your feet. Your sisters fought over who could hold you first. Your father who had temporarily forgotten how much another college education and wedding would cost him was overwhelmed with gratitude for your safe arrival, good health, and the fact that another baby looked so much like him.
You remind us so much of your brother as a baby with your rosy cheeks, perfect pout, and the twinkle in your big blue eyes. We marvel at your sweet disposition and your long legs and fingers.
Some things you should know about your new family:
- Your house is loud. If you want to get something done, say for example read a book or listen to music, you should probably go somewhere else.
- Everyone talks at the same time. You will need to learn quickly how to maintain two conversations at the same time while someone throws balls at your face.
- Your father is obsessed with the Tennis Channel.
Things you should know about me (your mother):
- I get our couches and family room rug steam cleaned regularly because I probably have some form of obsessive compulsive disorder.
- I hate dairy.
- I will kiss and hug you constantly until you become a pre-teen and act like you have no idea who I am in public places.
Things I will need from you:
- Love and adore your siblings as they will adore you.
- Limited interest in toys that require assembly.
- A love of comedy and 80s music.
I promise that I will always let you know how much you are loved and that you matter in this world. You are a reflection of the love that I have for your dad, who loves you with equal measure. Of all my life’s accomplishments I am most proud of the family we have built together. So forgive me when I look at you from time to time and have tears rolling down my face. I am so honored that I get to be your mom. I will always be your confidant, advocate, and protector, even when you don’t take my advice or decide it is better if you go to a university on the other side of the country. I can’t assure you that I won’t embarrass you, in fact I am already thinking about the way we can both dress up as aerobics instructors this year for Halloween.
Welcome to the World, Sutton.
I Love You,
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