Little Miss Escargot R.M.,
I find myself wanting to always write little notes to you on here. Notes for you to read later. Maybe when you're a teenager and think the world is unfair and that I clearly am out to ruin your life. (I do hope it never comes to that, but me planning to be a mother not a friend means it's quite possible.)
I watched a couple movies tonight and in them there were dads with daughters. Your mama has been a crying mess all night. Your daddy and I spend most of our time talking about you, picturing you and he on the beach next summer, watching the waves lap at your feet, flying through the air like a seagull. I have never known a better man than your daddy, and he already thinks the world of us both.
I'll write it here to keep for posterity: you seem to know when I'm talking to him. Lately any time he and I talk you suddenly seem to fidget and move about right then. No really kicking, just lots of movement. Your daddy is convinced it's because you know he's "there." I don't argue.
I can promise that life will not always be rainbows and buttercups, but that you will be loved beyond measure. We have waited for you for a very long time.