Every day, when I get to the point that I’m tired of people coming by to hang out at my desk (it’s a THING with engineers), I’ll sit here with my headphones on and browse Amazon.  It gives the impression that I’m intently paying attention to an online training course.

But it’s a lie.

Welcome.

Okay, so you’re not here YET.  But you should be, you rotten boy.  You are torturing your poor mother.  She has been feeling your pangs of delivery for five days now; can’t you just come already?

Anyway, back to the welcome portion of this letter.

I can’t even imagine how tiny your hands will be, or how delicate your feet.  Your skin will be petal soft, and your head will be shiny and conehead shaped.  But one thing I know.. your lungs will be strong.  You will scream, and scream, and scream.  How do I know this?

Hi, I’m Aunt Sarah.  I’m your mom’s best friend.  And honey, it runs in your family.

I also know that you will be strong.  You will be smart.  And you will have an intimidating presence that masks a gigantic heart.  All of these run in your family as well.

Your mother has had a hard go of things since you’ve joined us.  Although you probably don’t remember, you spent a large majority of your life in Harlem.  New York.  You know, where the gangs and stuff are.  Your mother taught at the roughest schools in the nation; she was the token white girl in the school.  She worked hard to keep you safe, to keep her safe, and honestly, to keep all of her other children safe as well.  I half expect you to come out throwing up gang signs.  But, as a courtesy to your momma, I think you should just save that for Aunt Sarah time.

I’m looking at a bazillion pictures of your mother as I type.  There are pictures of us in costume, in PJs, in jeans; they’re a very diverse group of pictures.  Your mother does a million things, and she does all of them well, so you’re bound to come out multi-talented in ways I haven’t yet conceived.

I have met your father twice, so I can’t really say much about him.  He has a nice smile.  I hope you get his smile.

If I wanted to impart any wisdom to you, and I’ll give you tons of “wisdom” (which is in quotes because half of it will be lies just to see if you believe it) is NOT TO BELIEVE ANYTHING I SAY.  You will be much better off if you just find things out the hard way on your own than if you listen to me.  I am notorious for bullshitting through life.

And cussing.  But we’ll talk more about that later.

No, seriously, the wisdom I want to give you is what your mother and I really, really sucked at: slow down.  Move slowly.  Sleep in.  Relax.  Enjoy drinks that take time to make.  Wait for a good table.  Realize that patience IS a virtue.  Walk places instead of driving.  If it’s raining before an outdoor event, don’t count the event out.. just wait for the rain to pass.  Don’t look for your Christmas presents; wait for them to all appear on Christmas morning.  Waiting, slowing down, and relaxing are things your mother and I have never truly mastered.  But we hope better for you.

And maybe, hopefully.. you’ll teach us a thing or two.

I can’t wait to meet you.  You have a fantastic life ahead of you, and getting to watch you take it will be a joy that I didn’t think I’d feel.  You always have a bed in my house, and you will always have a place to stay. 

We will TOTALLY stay up all night and I will tell you stories about your momma that you won’t BELIEVE.

I love you already,
Aunt Sarah

So, Delle was admitted this morning at 5 a.m.

They started her pitocin drip and they began giving her drugs.

Not surprisingly, she’s in a REALLY good mood.

I called a minute ago and, of course, they were administering her epidural.  Did I think I’d call in a free, leisurely moment?  No, of course not.. I had to call when they were sticking a 6-inch needle into her spine.

Anyway, nothing very new on the baby front.