Baby 2, Letter 3

Dear Baby,

Ready or not, here you come.

The panic has set in.  Your nursery is a mess.  I don't have a swing yet.  Your father only gets a week off work for your arrival.  Your brother is so excited for your arrival, I'm afraid he'll pick you up by the leg to play with you like he does Buzz Lightyear, his favorite toy.

I need to sterilize things and paint things and fold things, but most of all I need a big fat nap. You are exhausting me.  I still have 7 weeks to go but I look like I'm going to give birth to twins tomorrow.

We made it through Thanksgiving relatively unscathed, and now I'm gearing up for Christmas and at the same time gearing up for you. December, you rat fink, why did you come before I was ready??  I meant to have this baby stuff all wrapped up neatly with a bow before the holidays struck, but look, here we are.  Ready or not.

Still, none of it really matters, does it?  All you really need is a drawer full of diapers and one full of soft things to sleep in.  Got that covered.  You have places to sleep and two parents who adore you and a  big brother who is over the moon at the prospect of a baby sister.

I tried to avoid the pink explosion in your nursery but apparently it's endemic to the whole "girl baby" thing and I cannot get around it no matter how hard I try.  Welcome to the sea of pink, little muffin.  It's gonna be gorgeous in there.

I wish you'd come tomorrow.  I'm ready in the way that really matters.  Ready to hold you and nibble your tiny baby cheeks and sit for hours with you in a chair, blissed out on what your Aunt Kalli calls "baby Xanax".

All my love and then some,
Mama