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.
