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.
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