Dear Baby Perry,
Hello, my darling.
I am awake now because of you and you're not even here yet! For some reason you are making me nauseated. I think your daddy is probably as sick as he can get of hearing me say "The naaaaausea. The NAAAAUSEAAA" in very melodramatic fashion. Perhaps you do not like what I am feeding us. You seem to hate sugary things. I don't crave those at all. I crave salty, savory. Today I made Daddy go get me these chicken on a stick things that the local Chinese take out place sells. You and I love some chicken. I ate 3 out of the 4. And that's only because Daddy snuck one in the car on the way back. Otherwise... No question, it would have been 4/4.
On Sunday I will have been growing you for 10 weeks. I feel like it should be 20 by now. I am impatiently waiting for you. I thought this round I wouldn't be as anxious, as nervous. Nope. I think I am actually more anxious and more nervous. This comes with the vast amount of knowledge I collected while pregnant with your brother. I know everything that can go wrong and how 99 percent of the time there is nothing I can do about it. Which is terrifying. Some people would allow this fact to free them. Not I. It just makes me stay up at night Googling horrible things. You don't even want to know.
You are the size of a kumquat. I honestly have no idea what that is. Babycenter tells me that's what you are. But Lord knows you are so much more than that. You are my most special surprise.
Nausea and kumquats aside, I am so happy that you happened. I want you to know that, first thing. Because I know you hear me complaining a lot.
You are already so different from your brother. But that is exciting. The best part of you is the not-knowing. I wonder at least 2056 times a day who you are and what you will be like. Not just the sex of you, which is the most obvious. (If you're a boy you're Henry. If you're a girl, it has yet to be decided because Daddy hates every name I suggest, yet suggests no names in return other than Zola. Ugh. No worries. You will not be a Zola.) I think about silly things, like your eyes. Will they be like mine? Will they be something completely different? Will you look like Oliver? Will you love Oliver? Will you be in one another's weddings? Will you want to share a room or will you fight all the time? Will Brandon love you as much as he loves his Ollie? Will you love music? Even pop music? (I do) Will you be full of energy like Brandon? Or more subdued like Oliver? Will you love me as much as Daddy? Or like both your brothers, love him the most of all? Will you let me read you the Narnia books? If you're a girl, will you read all of Judy Blume? Will you watch Full House reruns or will they seem like old episodes of Leave it to Beaver are to me? Will you be scared of the dark like I was? Will you need your back rubbed every night like Brandon does? Will you lose your shit over Mickey Mouse Clubhouse like Oliver does? Will you reach out your arms from the crib and say "MommyMommyMommy" like Oliver has recently started doing? Will you smile and laugh as much as all of us do every day that we all get to be together in this complex, sometimes cruel, sometimes beautiful, sometimes indescribable universe we live in? But most importantly... Will you love me as much as I love you?
I only know the answer to that last one: Never. Not in a million years.
Goodnight, my kumquat. See you in my dreams for now.