Tomorrow, if all goes as scheduled my baby girl, my only girl, will enter the world. I’ll look into her eyes for the first time and gaze upon her lovely soul. She’ll be wonderful in every sense of the word and my heart will grow exponentially in order to contain the love. It’s going to be a great day – filled with awe and hope. Filled with strength and beauty. Filled with labor by my beautiful wife and a shared kiss as baby girl screams for the first time.
But today is different. Today is the day before. For the last 29 months we have been a clan of 3. A beautiful and adventurous clan of 3. I’ve loved every single minute of this clan of 3. Our rhythm, our candor, our understanding of each other, and our helping each other. As Wes has grown into a toddler my love for him has only grown. He is a wonderful kid. Kind hearted, tender, and smart. He apologizes when he gets upset. He picks up his toys. He even does dishes – complete with loading the dishwasher. He tells me he loves me every morning when I get him out of bed and he (so far) is not afraid to leave a wet kiss on my lips. It’s magic. All of it. Pure magic.
So tonight I grieve. I grieve a deep grief for the ending that is occurring. Yes, I know. colloquial wisdom tells me I should be happy, excited, overjoyed, etc. And I am. Trust me. I’ve wanted a daughter since I could procreate. But I also grieve.
I need to grieve. For her. For him. For Michelle. I need to grieve. Because I want my heart to be as open as possible for her arrival. And to care for his heart as he too grieves. And to care for Michelle’s body and heart as she too transitions to a clan of 4. I need to grieve because I want to be fully present. I want to be overwhelmed. I want to feel all the emotions. I want to cry deep guttural tears of joy.
So tonight, as we ate our last dinner of a clan of 3, gave Wes a bath, and kissed him good night I did so with just a bit more intention. I want more than anything to remember what it was like to be a clan of 3. But undoubtedly I will forget and it will be fine. Because everything about our clan of 3 will be replaced by memories of our clan of 4. Our family will be complete. A week and change before I turn 40 and our family will be whole.
And to you baby girl. You, my love, you are going to be such a gift to us. Until your teenage years, and then we just hope we all survive. Just kidding, kinda. I wrote you a few words, which you may never read, but that’s fine because these are truths that I will teach you, over and over and over.
- NOTHING worth having is easy. It is the curse and blessing of this world. If it’s easy, then it’s cheap. The most valuable things I have did not come easy, they often came through heartache and suffering.
- A good therapist is only value add and worth every cent. Feel free to talk about us, your parents, often. We aren’t perfect and the therapist will help right our wrongs.
- Your word is only as good as it is honest. Words are cheap, often they come out of our mouths without much thought. Well used words and lies are both life changing. Lean on the former and sway from the later.
- Your body is yours only. Do not give it away freely. And do not seek your worth through your body. Most importantly, when you do give it away make sure it is consensual. If it is not, tell your mother or I and know that we love you no matter what.
- Look people in the eye when you are talking to them. The most honest data always comes from the eyes. If you aren’t looking in their eyes you are missing their soul.
- Mistakes always have a growth opportunity attached to them – but it too, needs to be earned. It’s the diamond in the rough.
- You love who you love. Period. Doesn’t matter who he/she/they are.
- Adventure grows the soul. Take many. Short and Long. But always call.
I can not wait to meet you tomorrow little girl. I have felt you kick around for a few months now and I can’t wait to chase you through the halls of our house, to tickle you, to kiss you, and to love you deeper than I ever thought possible.