A Letter to My Daughter

Saturday, July 19, 2008, 11:50 PM
Dear ________,

I got this idea from another blog that I read sometimes. It’s a little weird to write a letter to someone who isn’t here. Well, you’re “here”, but not here. I mean, when are you ever going to read this? And does posting it on a blog negate the sweetness or the sensitivity that I want to try and convey in this? Probably, but I’m going to write it and post it anyway.

Your mother and I have waited a long time to see you. And not just in the whole almost eight months of your gestation. Four prior, um, attempts(?) and a lot of heart break for your two parents means that you’re coming in with a little bit of pressure. I feel kinda bad for you. I hope it’s not more than you can take. We’ll try not to expect too much from you. I mean, you’re only human. And so is your mom and dad. People have asked me if I’m ready to be a dad. I tell them our first try was almost 5 years ago and I guess I was ready then, so I’m as ready now as I’ll ever be. I think I’m not completely ready because from what I understand the change is my life will be so drastic that I wouldn’t believe it. But with only one month (at the absolute most) to go, we are ready, I guess.

Your room is all ready to go. It’s painted a nice shade of green with pink accents. Your mother loves pink. I hope you don’t grow to hate it. You see, there’s a lot of things we hope. We hope you’re healthy. We hope your arrival comes with a minimum of trauma to you and your mom. We hope you grow and become big and strong and wise and happy. Your mom is great. She’s going to be an awesome mom. She loves you so much. She had to get shots twice a day since the day we found out about you all the way back in December. (Hopefully we won’t hold that over your head.) Your dad loves you too. That’s about the only promise I can make to you. I will do everything I can to make sure that you are safe, healthy, happy and, above all else, loved. Sometimes it hard to show that. I’m probably going to worry alot. Heck, you aren’t even here yet, and I worry. I worry about the future. I worry about you and your mom. I worry about am I going to be a good dad. Am I going to be able to take care of you? Am I going to drive you crazy by worrying to much? Probably. You’ll just have to forgive me. More than anything, I hope that one day when Jesus calls your name, you’ll hear Him and come to Him, and that, somehow, my love for you will have been a picture of His love for you.

You are a special girl who is already loved by lots and lots of people. I can’t wait to meet you.

Love, your dad.

PS. You may have noticed the blank where your name should be. You already have a name, but we aren’t giving it away yet.