Dear Baby, Part 1...

[This is the first in what I hope will be my "Dear Baby" series (as in, I'm hoping that I'll actually follow through and write a whole series!). I suppose this will be a good record of my time growing this kid...we'll see. For reference, we'll be referring to me as Mommy, and the wife as Mama. The kid will be 5 before that makes sense, but whatever...]

Dear Baby,

Tomorrow you will be 60 days old. You were conceived on 12/12, and we both have survived your growth from that tiny embryo to a fetus. It was obviously more important that you make it through, but I gotta tell you, I wasn't so sure at times that I would make it through. But I'm rather fond of you, and so I've tried not to store away too much guilt that I can pile onto you when you are 13. We'll see how that works out.

You were conceived in a petri dish, with the assistance of some nice lab person whom we do not know. I suppose this is less romantic than most conceptions...but just think...when I talk to you about the birds and the bees (I doubt your Mama can stomach that conversation), you don't have to think about your parents in that way. We were fully dressed, sitting in a waiting room. Actually, I think we were fully dressed watching TV at home while I made your Mama fetch me things...but I digress. I know I don't want to think about my parents doing that to conceive me...so maybe the petri dish will seem less disturbing. I hope so. We won't go into the fact that there is no way your parents would have been doing that anyways - conception really doesn't work that way in this family. But I'm trying to put a good spin on this...so just work with me...ok?

You currently have a strong heartbeat that we've heard three times. You have a big head, which I'm told is normal at this stage, but we're hoping that it is because you are growing a big old brain (somebody has to support us when we're old!). You are dancing in there, kind of spastic-like, so I guess you'll be like your Mama (I won't specify whether it is the dancing or the spastic I'm referring to there).

So kid, dance away in there. Grow some nice organs, and strong arms and legs. Your Mama is hoping you'll be taller than me, and more athletic. I'm piling this on you now, because the genes I gave you aren't conducive to that, but hopefully we can overcome that. The other half of your DNA was taller and more athletic, so maybe that will help. I hope for the best for you there - I can't help you at all. But I'll be there cheering on the bleachers, with a first-aid kit sitting close by. You never know when my genes will come popping out.

Love,

Your Mommy