Hopes and wishes

Dear Baby,

Daddy and I have so many plans for you. On Thursday I will be 8 weeks, which is far far too early to start thinking about colleges, or even Preschools. But I was thinking today about all the wonderful things in the world that I want to show you, and wondering if you’ll love some of these things as much as Daddy and I do. For instance;

Will you be a Whovian like we are…or by the time you get old enough to watch it, will it seem silly because its only 2 dimensional?

Will you love Pickles like me, or Spicy things like Daddy?

Where will you sit on the Lost question, Island mysteries or Character love?

Can you speed read like me, or are you a Whiz with numbers like your dad?

Then there are the things I hope you inherit: I hope that you’ll get my “perfect” skin as apposed to Daddy’s oilyness. I hope that you get Daddy’s “Get it done” attitude instead of my propensity to drag ass and hurry it up at the last second. I hope that somehow in the genetic code floating around, you’ll have a little curl to your hair.(And maybe a bit ginger? Auburn at the least?) Unfortunately, genetics do seem to point to you being a chunk, like we both are.

In becoming your mother, I also have hopes for myself:
I hope that I am more patient with you than I ever have been with anyone else. Patience is not a virtue I own much of, and if I could learn anything before you come, its that.
I hope that I am always Kind to you. Kindness is something else I struggle with, as wry quips tend to shoot from my sharp tongue without me noticing.
I hope that when you need an answer I have one, and its a correct one.
I hope that I never ever make you feel as though I don’t love you. I think that when you get to be a teenager this might fall by the wayside, but know that I do love you, and only want whats best. Your Dad has never ever made me feel unloved by him since the first time he said it, and that was one of the many many reasons I married him.
I hope that I can do this right enough so that you never feel like you can’t come to me and talk. I had 2 entire sets of parents and I still sometimes felt like I didn’t have anyone to talk to and understand me. It wasn’t their fault, but it was the way it was.

I guess the point is, I wish I knew what you were like. I wish I knew if your handwriting sucks (Both ours does) so that I can go ahead and tell you that its alright. I wish I knew what you were afraid of so that I could protect you from it forever, or help you beat it to begin with. I wish I knew your favorite color, so that I’d never give you any other one to wear. I wish I knew your Sexual orientation, so that I could keep an eye out for potential loves of your life.

I’m sure all mothers go into this with the best of hopes. I’m sure no one rubs their pregnant belly and plots how to make the baby inside miserable for their whole life. But you, my dear, are special.
(I’m sure that they all say that too)