Monday, July 18, 2011

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.


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