Dear Little Girl,
You’ll be here soon. Maybe you’ll arrive on your due date, or maybe fashionably late. Or maybe you’ll be so excited to meet us that you’ll arrive a few days early. And I can understand that — you have a lot of people waiting for you.
You have a big brother who is anxious to show you all of his toys. A big sister who will give you her whole heart. And a Mom and Dad who are counting every contraction, thinking to themselves: is this the real deal? Is it go-time yet?
You have grandparents and aunts and uncles — some who are related by blood; others, simply by love. You’ll be passed around like a hot potato, kissed and snuggled all day long. (And perhaps all night long, too, if you’re keeping us awake a lot.)
But before you get here, I want to tell you a bit about where you’ll be spending the next 100 or so years of your life.
It may seem a bit intimidating at first — there’s a lot more light, sound and space than the place you’ve been hangin’ out for the past 9 months. There are oceans so big that your view will run out, and mountains so high that they’ll get lost in the sky. There is music so beautiful that it will become part of you, and rhythms so powerful that you can’t help but tap your feet (or shimmy the night away). There are thousands of flavors of ice cream and millions of twinkling stars. But there’s only one you. And that’s what’s cool about the whole thing.
Because as much beauty and possibility as the world holds, you hold even more.
I just wanted you to know before you get here.