Imminent Arrival

We are officially in single digit countdown days to your arrival. It's hard to imagine that before we know it, you will be snuggling with us out here in the real world, and yet it's already impossible to imagine a world before you. Our lives have been a steady stream of baby preparations, and I think your daddy is nesting even more than I am. He is currently building you a dresser/changing table (the chances of this project being done before you're born are ummm a little on the lowish side) and he has been helping to make your little world so special. Your closet. Seriously, it's better than mine.

He has agreed to, and participated in all of the shopping required for your needs and my wants. This is a big deal. You will learn when you are a little older that mama is the one to go to when you want to splurge on something. I am quite proud that I found your rocking/bouncy seat for a deal though! This is what I will use to counteract his arguments that you don't need another pair of shoes you can't even walk in (have you seen baby shoes? how do you NOT need more baby shoes?) or another decorative and clever thing to hang in your nursery. 

My plan was to have my hospital bag packed by the end of the weekend, but it's not quite ready. It's much more difficult than packing for a weekend away. How can I really know what I'll need when I'm packing for a new life? What if you are too chunky to fit in those sweet little newborn onesies? I realize I won't look and feel too much different than my current state of enormously pregnant right after you're born (which is totally unfair, btw), but will I have more than 2 garments that actually cover this belly? Luckily, we live very near the hospital, and daddy is sweet enough to come back to the house and get anything we need, so that's likely adding to my procrastination.

Still to do:

• Car seat installation (using actual directions, unlike your daddy's first attempt to "wing it", resulting in a hot mess
• gallery wall installation in your nursery
• light hung in nursery*
• Getting you into this world (preferably without being induced because mama no likey all that nonsense. we've had enough help getting you in there, it's your turn to pull your weight, sweet boy)!

This may be the final pre-birth post from me here. I am just beyond anxious excited overjoyed to meet you face to face. We have had such a great time these past 9+ months, I've been so fortunate to feel so well throughout, bonding with you through every kick and hiccup (so many hiccups!). I am ready to share you with the world, and especially with daddy. You've already made us the most proud parents ever.

Love,

Mama

*Once those final touches are in, including your amazing rug, I will post pictures here.

Hearing

Hey Nugget,

All of the baby development books claim that you can hear while you're in there. Not in your first few months, of course. You were still pretty much a blob back then. But now you're basically a fully formed baby. We couldn't be happier with how things have gone during your time in the womb, by the way. Don't think we haven't noticed your two glorious nostrils. Well done, buddy.

But as far as hearing goes, the science says you can hear your mama's voice, maybe mine too. With that in mind I feel like there's something I should let you know about just in case you heard more than we think today.

The world isn't ending just as you're set to make your debut, though it may have sounded that way. You see, we have something called a President. The President leads our country and helps to shape how we experience it. They're always male because of our bigger brains. It's science. Also they've almost always been white, but that's for another conversation.

Anyway, we get two candidates with differing opinions on how to be a good President and then we vote on who we like. This time around there was one candidate who said a lot of nasty things. Nasty things about women, about people of color, about veterans. Really he said nasty things about almost every type of person. He didn't have any experience for this very important job and every time you thought he couldn't get any worse he somehow managed to get worse.

Well, he ended up winning the election and now he gets to be President. Your mama and I are extremely disappointed and considerably worried about whether or not he will run our country the way he ran his campaign. I think I speak for both of us when I say that no matter what happens, and hopefully he ends up doing a serviceable job, we'll work our butts off to make sure that you have a good life regardless.

Here are a partial list of things we will do:

We'll smush on your face and tell you we love you.
We'll give you smooches and make sure you know that we have your back.
We'll pick you up when you fall down.
We'll teach you to be kind to and respectful of others.
We'll teach you that it's called a raspberry and not a zerbert.
We'll give you raspberries.
We'll (I'll) blame farts on you.
We'll fake you out with airplane noises and make you eat gross but healthy food.
We'll teach you math using finger counting like in Stand and Deliver.


We'll trick you with very obvious magic until you get old enough to know better.
We'll try our best to make you love what we love.
We'll (I'll) make you love 90's rap.
We'll shave any Bieber hair you try to grow.
We'll enforce a very strict No Douchebag policy.
We'll (I'll) teach you the keys to UBM (Unexpected Boner Management)
We'll screw some things up but apologize profusely with hugs and kisses.

You can count on us, buddy. So don't listen to the hate. We got this.

Now before I go, a quick word of advice:

If opportunity doesn't knock, build a door. Then close that door so a window will open. Climb out the window unless it's on a second or third floor. Once outside, look for opportunity. Realize it isn't there in Trump's America because you're 1/16th Comanche Indian. Sneak back in and never speak of this again.

~ Your Dad

(Full disclosure: We have no Comanche blood in our lines and I really am trying to stay optimistic about Trump despite the jokes)

Real Getting

Shit is getting real, nugget. How do I know? Laundry.

We're less a month away from your due date but you seem intent on growing faster than planned. I can tell you're impatient and that's normal. You inherited that trait from both of us. Nobody likes to wait but I'd just ask that you hold on long enough to let me finish my work travel and not leave your mama freaking out because I'm at a VA Hospital in Biloxi when she goes into labor. Can I get your word on that, buddy?

Thanks.

Mama couldn't work with the metal shelves in your closet so I was tasked with making some new ones out of wood and brawn. I think you'll like them and I'm quite proud of the job I did. Building is not my chosen profession but as it turns out I can turn an above average wrench. I've built our dining room table, the entertainment center/dog crate, a small set of drawers for my office, and soon I'll have a dresser built for your room. I'm just as surprised as anyone else at how good it all came out and the side effects of building things (increased testosterone production, testicle fortitude, arm hair growth, and hands callused enough to open beers without even really trying) have been well received. 

We've only got a few more big things to get and then we'll be ready to usher you into this world and do our best to not let you grow up to be a douchebag.

I like our chances.

Well, as is my life these days I need to go catch a flight. But before I do, a bit of advice...

The future depends on what we do in the present. Remember that when you're hitting puberty and thinking we have no idea why you go through so many tube socks.

~ Your Dad