Miss Nola M, little girl of my heart, tiny light at the end of a thousand tunnels,
If my math works out right, we are now number forty-one on the wait list. That’s not very far from here to you. I’ve been buying you more stuff, it’s true–so many dresses and gDiapers on sale and a hippo in a dress (to match you, of course). I hope you like stuffed animals and a single maraca because that’s pretty much all you’ll have to play with if the current trend continues. We might get you a MagnaDoodle for the car; you can hold out hope for that. Someday you may want to wear jeans and play with toy cars, but for now my taste is what you’re stuck with, so dresses and softies are it.
We’ll probably get you an abacus at IKEA. Nerds do that, and you’re joining a couple of nerds. Sorry about that.
Or maybe I’m not sorry.
Oh, you will suffer when you are a teenager; we are so uncool.
But for now you are soft and small in our minds. You are giggling and gurgling and crying, and we are laughing and smiling and soothing. We are holding you close and never letting go.
I am struck today by how your arrival will make us a family. We are two, with cats, but soon we shall be more, and you are the gift that will begin it all.
We are grateful, in advance, for what you will make of us.
Love, love, love,