I am writing this letter to apologize in advance for the lack of attention your father and I have put into your arrival. After crawling into bed last night, I turned to your dad and said, "I should really start thinking about getting ready for this baby".
I spent most of the night fighting off small contractions. Mostly braxton hicks, with a few uncomfortable and painful ones thrown in between. I started thinking about the three trash bags full of clothes sitting on the floor in your sisters bedroom waiting for closet space, or the empty hospital bag in our closet. By this time in my pregnancy with your sister her room was painted, crib was put together, blankets laid in perfect piles, clothes were clean and put away, car seat was in the car, a list of contacts printed, prepped for calling and we were ready. She was 6 days late and even after she was born it was a month before we stepped foot into her perfectly prepared bed room. She slept lazily beside me in a bassinet crafted by your great grandfather and usually wore the first thing we could find in the drawers. Between the diaper changing and feeding schedule of the first month we barely got out of the house. And this is why I write you this letter. To tell you that we have not forgotten about your upcoming presence in our lives, and to remind you that we are still ready regardless of how unorganized it looks in your future home.
With you, I just feel prepared. Prepared for the late night cuddles and two hour feedings. Prepared for the long nights awake, straining my ears to catch your tiny rhythmic breathing. Prepared for the soft coos and the cries that never end. I don't need my bag packed and the car seat in the car to know that you are coming or to feel a sense of "preparation". It just is and I just am.
We are ready. Armed this time with the knowledge that organization of the "little things" will come. If I am pulling a new outfit out of a clothes stuffed garbage bag or putting you to sleep in a crib that is still set up as a toddler bed, you will survive. I will survive. So baby boy we are waiting for your arrival with open arms, a messy house and an empty hospital bag. Please join us soon.
We love you!
Your anxious family
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