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.