rhythms
Above all else, I hope you love life and learning. I hope you're infinitely curious about the world and that you recognize that there's beauty there behind all the ugliness and misery.
You're a restless sort; like me, maybe you have a bit too much sugar in your system to begin with, or like your mother, you're wondering whether you left something on, or something unsaid, because you're tossing and turning around in there. Maybe like someone in a dream, but I don't think it's a bad dream. You're highly active when you sleep in there (although you've surprised the hell out of me with just how active you are, I don't think I should be surprised -- after all, you're my child), and you don't really like us eavesdropping on you.
But we do anyway.
You sound like a shortwave broadcast from an alien race, or maybe the engines from a particularly insistent undersea submersible -- which, really, is what you are to begin with. The probabilities are staggering: the right chemical elements, the right electric charge, the right chance meeting of molecules, the right adaptations over millions of years, the right asteroid falling, the right adaptations in intelligence, the right migrations, the right turns in history and social upheaval, the right people falling in love, the right sperm meeting the egg on the wrong night...
...I've done the math and I'm convinced I was drunk on the night you were conceived, little one. Your father, while intelligent, funny, and damn sexy, is neither rich nor does he set the best example at times...
...but we wanted you pretty badly, and now you're here. Stop tossing and turning a little and get some rest. You'll need it, because the world is an extremely frustrating place once you're in it. Sometimes the only sane response really is to take a crap in your pants. And then you drool a little, say a few words of "ooogy dabadadadadada", and then you can face the day. It's not that easy, but it's a start.
We love you, and we can't wait to meet you. See you soon,
Your goofy dad