Dear Baby Girl.
I get to meet you tomorrow, precisely one day from right now. I will sleep—or attempt to sleep- exactly one more night before the rest of my nights will wait on you.
It occurred to me today that I need more night lights, the kind that plug into the wall and have a bright bulb, because after this night, the very last night, I will need to be able to find you at any time of day. I will find you in the dark, even when I’m tired, even when I don’t know why you need me.
I will find you, and I will come when you call.
Today, on the day before THE DAY, I will buy some night lights, so that when we bring you home you will know that you are never lost, especially in the dark, especially at home. Here you are safe.
Most mamas only know they are going to meet their babies in a window of weeks, sometime between here and there when labor arrives and contractions begin. Those mamas wait in mystery. They wonder. They ponder the days.
But the way you decided to grow in my belly made it important for us to schedule your arrival on exactly tomorrow, to make sure you arrived safely and quickly and happily. I sacrificed the mystery of your arrival for the safety of it, because you are worth it.
I know we are going to meet you tomorrow, probably in the morning and definitely before it gets dark. We will meet you at a hospital named after a park on a sunny day in San Diego with an estimated high of 70 degrees.
You will share a birthday with Jennifer Aniston, Thomas Edison, and Taylor Lautner, which means you will probably have great hair, a brilliant brain, and a strong aversion to vampires.
Your daddy is so excited to meet you. He is the tall, handsome one. The short, hairy one is our dog Bailey. The two should not be confused.
The daddy is the one who spoke to you through the mega phone of my belly button. It looked really funny from this side of the world, a grown man speaking to a belly, but he didn’t care and only did it when no one else was around.
You should know that the daddy, your daddy, does a lot of muscle exercises with heavy lifting weights, so you will recognize him by his strong arms that can carry a heavy load, but mostly just want to carry you. You will also know him by that soft voice that you’ve heard before, the one that came through the amplified sound system of my belly button. You will love him right away. He is the best.
The daddy has been thinking for weeks about the first words he wants to say to you once you arrive. I don’t know what they are; that’s between you and him. Don’t worry if you can’t remember them, because he will. It’s the parents’ job to store your memories until you can do it for yourself.
We will do this through the use of a shiny glass germ-brick called the iPhone. This device acts like a mega phone to the rest of the world. It captures voices and images that are helpful for announcing your presence in the world. You will see these glass bricks around your face often, but don’t be alarmed. We are just capturing memories on your behalf. Think of it as an obnoxious favor.
There are so many people who want to meet you, to hold you, to memorize your name and face and features. Soon your heart is going to become very full with all the love that will be lavished on you. In exactly one day you will know the diversity of ways you are adored and wanted.
But until that day, on this day before THE DAY, rest and grow and listen to the beat of my expectant heart. You know me already. I’m the mama, the one you’ve heard singing and shouting and laughing. You’ve known each time I’ve been excited or nervous or calm, because you have listened and learned the cadence of my heart.
All this time we have grown together.
Tomorrow is your birthday, baby girl. Can you believe it? We can’t wait to celebrate.
It’s all we can think about on this day before THE DAY while we buy night lights and pretend they are the last thing we need before you.