IT'S TIME!!!

Whoa.

It's April 30th tomorrow and we're going to the hospital to get this show on the road. Holy crap.

I know it's been a while since I wrote you, Ella, but I realized you probably wouldn't care so much about what happened before you got here. Suffice to say your mom kicked some major butt and the time flew; I can't believe mom has been pregnant for this long! She must love you, kiddo.

And despite the long hiatus from writing you, I don't have much brilliance to pass along at this point. My brain is mush, pulled in a million directions. All the directions are great - don't get me wrong - but I keep jumping from anxious to controlling to panicking to, well, numbness. I just can't even begin to imagine how this weekend will feel for us. The name Ella will go from a name we see on T-shirts (and onesies, keychains, etc.) to the name of our daughter. Whoa.

And how about how it will feel for YOU, eh?! You're about to become part of the population, little miss! In just a few days you'll meet Earth. It's pretty great if you have the right attitude. You'll start learning things, saying things, thinking things, arguing things, dating things... okay, there I go in one of my million directions.

Earth holds a million adventures for you, Ella. But for now - for the next few days and weeks - mom and I are going to enjoy you in our own little world. We will have visitors from other planets: wonderful people like all four of your super-cool grandparents, your uncle Joe and all your unofficial aunts and uncles. But before you see all of Earth and what it has to offer, I hope you won't mind if mom and I kind of keep you to ourselves.

We're amazed by you, Ella, and you're not even here yet. Well, the time has come. I've said it before but it's even more true tonight:

See you SOON, Ella. Your dad loves you.

Some Requests, Prior to Arrival

Hi Ella, it's been about 12 days since I wrote you. It's also just about 72 days until we see you... unless you're impatient.

Daddy likes math, Ella. Yes, just another reason to be embarrassed of me. Daddy looks at those numbers and thinks, "6 more of those 12-day lengths of time and I will be a F-f-f-father. Yikes." Of course you know daddy also counts down the days until he can see you and hold you oh-so-gently in his arms.

Before you get here, I have a few requests. These are not rules or grandiose ideas of what and who you will become. They are not expectations or ways you will be measured. These are simply requests, take them or leave them. But take them. Seriously, they're really good.

- I humbly request you always remember you are loved
We will always love you and we will always strive to tell you and show you, every day. But mom and I will fail, occasionally. I hope you never forget how precious you are.

- I firmly request you always remember how strong you are
Human beings are fragile. I haven't even touched you and I'm already afraid of breaking you. You will cry, you will be hurt, you will be embarrassed. These things are temporary. Remember us talking about being afraid? That's not weakness, that's your brain telling you to keep going. Keep going, Ella. Even when your heart is broken or the world seems out to get you. You will prevail because you are strong. You will prevail because you will never forget how powerful one person can be.

--- Hang on. I just realized your heart is broken in my example. Who did it? What's his name? Seriously, it's no big deal. I just wanna text him. Check in, see how he's doing. I'm not gonna do anything to him, I won't drive by house or follow him to school... seriously. But you just say the word and I will END HIM.

Okay, I feel better.

- Lastly, I lovingly request you always remember to make the most of each day
I'll admit, every parent wants this. I'll admit further: Every parents wants this because every parent - every person, in fact - has felt like they've wasted days (or sometimes longer) of their life. To a point, this is natural. We always wish we could have achieved more, seen more, laughed and loved more. But Ella, hear me when I say: Each day is precious. You will hear cliches like, "Every day is your masterpiece." Cheesy, right? Yeah, well it's also as true a statement as one can make. Each day is a challenge to make a stranger smile, help a person in need, move closer to your goals, or create something beautiful.

I know these are lofty requests. I also know how much your mom and I will try to help you move toward these feelings and actions. But we are not perfect - and I get the feeling things are about to get a bit chaotic here - so I thought I'd might as well jot these down before Hurricane Ella shows up.

Love you Ella, see you in 6 x 12 days.

We'll See You Tomorrow!

Tomorrow's a big day for us. I'm guessing you won't really think anything is different.

It's been two months since we saw your face and your, uhh... girl parts. And your hands and feet; you get the picture. Or, wait, you don't. We get the picture. We're on the outside, looking in. You are in your own universe, in no uncertain terms.

Those preceding three sentences seem important. I feel like I should learn some sort of lesson, read between the lines.

I will. Later. For now, I'm just excited to see you. Judging by mom's belly, I think you've grown about 20-fold since we last got a picture of you. It's hanging on our fridge, by the way. A picture of you, an arrow pointing to your... undercarriage:

"It's a girl!"

It sure was/is. But now you're not just a girl, Ella. You're Ella.

I'd estimate you've gotten about 20 times cooler in the last two months.

Love you, see you tomorrow.

Just Kick a Little Harder; I'm Sure Mommy Won't Mind...

Hi Ella,
It's been a few days since we talked. I mean, I've talked at you in mom's belly, it's just hard to know if you're listening. I imagine you with your arms folded, face like you just ate a lemon. Maybe you're even chewing gum or texting your boyfriend.

I know that's not you. In fact, I don't think I am jinxing it to say I expect you to never, ever, ever give me a sour look or ignore me for a boy. Reasonable, right?

Seriously though, I still don't have any physical evidence of you. Mommy says you kick her all the time and, although I wouldn't exactly say I'm jealous of her, she does get an ever-present reminder of you. For me, the reminders of Ella are in the world around me. I think I see you in kids at the mall, students on stage, or characters on TV. I imagine your voice just like I do with the dog (except the dog's voice sounds like a baby-talk Eeyore).

I am so anxious to see, touch, hear you, Ella. Wait, maybe I should take back the hear part. Yeah, that's going to jinx it for sure.

So kick harder. Let your old man see what you've got. I won't tell mom we planned it.

It's Okay to be Scared

Actually, it's more than okay. It's really good to be scared.

I told you a few nights ago that I'm scared. I'm sorry to report I have not been cured of this affliction; in fact, I may be more scared than ever. Every day brings me closer to you, Ella - and the responsibility I have always been afraid of.

I just started a new job. I know your schedule is full so I won't take up your time talking about it. Suffice to say I am scared, often. I am scared of failing, scared of letting people get to know the real me, scared of spilling coffee on my nice clothes; the list goes on and on.

But it's good for me to be scared. It means things are changing. I am facing choices, decisions. All the time. Every day.

I recognize this is just a test for taking care of you. Being your dad will come down to a million decisions, every day. All the time. I will be scared each time, knowing every choice I make could lead to a disaster. And you will face these choices, beginning when you crawl up to your first electrical socket (Don't worry, they'll be covered. No, you don't need to take the plastic thingy off. No, it's not yummy.)

And let me be clear: It never feels good to be scared. Being scared is good because you know you are at an important crossroads. Anything scary is really just a choice; the scarier the situation, the more important your decision becomes.

And one more thing, just to clarify: Being scared does not mean you should take the "safe" road. When you are terrified - the more terrified you are - is just your brain is telling you, "Ella, let's just take a quick sec'. Is this a chance to move in a new direction, to challenge ourselves, to explore new and wonderful things? Or is this a chance to make our super-cool daddy super happy by being home before curfew?"

I am confident you will make the right choices, more often than not. That may mean fight, or run, or jump, or hurry home. Remember that fear is just a way to know we are at a crossroads. The fear leaves the moment you pick a path and take a first step.

This is that step for me, Ella. I was scared to start writing this. But it has made me even more excited to see you. And even more scared. And that's okay.

Good Night, Ella 

A Quick Note on Mom:

Hi Ella.

Mom tells me you're doing well. She feels you kick several times each day and I tell her you're just practicing your goal-scoring. Or defending or goalkeeping. Remember, I will always love you, no matter what position you play.

But let's take a quick minute on mom. Or as you know her right now, "Home." I told you last night that your mom is a star and I wasn't kidding. Typically she stars by getting on stage or by wrangling a room full of teenagers. Occasionally she stars at Yahtzee or, before she was pregnant, on the Gold Fish slot machine.

You know where this goes, though. This is the part when I tell you how your mom is the strongest person I've ever met. About how she has become even more beautiful than she was before you took up residence in her belly. It's all true. She is wonderful, but not just in the cliche ways you hear every dad and husband talk about.

Mom is composed. She's thoughtful. She cares about people more than she needs to and, often, more than they deserve. She is gentle but also never afraid to fight for what she wants. She is fragile when she knows she can vulnerable, made of steel when she must show her resolve.

Last night's post was for daddy, like I mentioned. Tonight's sounds like it's for mom but it's not. It's for me again. Please take note of this important lesson: You can say too many nice things about the person you love. I promise you, Ella, that I will tell mom everything I've just told you. She deserves it.

I will make one more promise while I'm at it: I promise to write the next post for YOU.

I love you, Ella. See you soon.

So This is Happening...

Hi Ella. I feel like I can call you that now because, well, we just decided on it. I would say, "I hope you like it," but you don't really have much of a choice. I could tell you it came from Ella Fitzgerald or from your great-great grandmother... but it didn't. We just liked it. And boy, do I hope you like it... wait, I said I wouldn't say that. Oops.

Your middle name is Celeste and we don't really know where that came from, either. I can, however, tell you appropriate the name is. Your mom is a star; I fell in love with her the first time I saw her on stage. You are a star and you aren't even here yet. I am your biggest fan, no matter what you do. I can already picture you on stage like your mom, or on the soccer field (okay, maybe that's my own bias), or behind the podium of your Valedictorian speech. I will be proud of your accomplishments, no matter how and when they come.

But you are a star, Ella Celeste, before you accomplish a single thing or we see your face for the first time (except those creepy 3-d ultrasounds). Mom and I waited a long time before you came into our lives and, before you did, we had no idea how bright the universe could be. You are our universe, our star-lit night.

I plan to make this a habit, jotting down notes to you as they pop into my head. I'm sure you'll thank me when you're 12 and the mere sound of my voice makes you roll your eyes. Or when you're 15 and I pull up the blog on my virtual-reality hologram and read the entry about your first poopy in the potty.

And I'll be honest, Ella: This isn't really even for you. It's for me. I'm nervous, if you really want to know. I've never cared this much about a single thing. I have no idea what I'm doing. I still feel like a kid.

So go easy on me, if you don't mind. And try hold off on the eye-rolling whenever you read this: After your graduation, the week before your wedding, when you have kids of your o..... okay, blog post over. Go to bed. Daddy's crying.

I love you, Ella. See you soon.