“The water’ll make your boo-boo feel better,” you said into the silence.
We were on our way to swim class. Daddy and Mommy talked about swimming with you afterwards. But Daddy had poison ivy on my forehead, and Mommy didn’t feel good and had to stay home. Although we planned to swim, we explained that we wouldn’t.
Daddy’s poison ivy.
“The water’ll make your boo-boo feel better,” you said from the back seat while we were driving.
You’d been quiet for a while and obviously had been thinking about it.
“The pool water wouldn’t be good on it,” Daddy said.
“You can wear a Band-Aid,” you quickly suggested.
“It’s too big for a Band-Aid.”
You have an incredibly kind heart.
Swim class appeared to be a success.
Retrieving the ring from the bottom.
We’ve been buying and collecting baby items for a few months, now.
We didn’t tell our families about you until Thanksgiving and Christmas time. We don’t want to get everyone hopes up, and then be heartbroken and disappointed if we never get you. Some family members were more excited than others. I can’t really blame them. Your mom is 45, and I’m 47, and we’re going to be old parents.
But no parents have ever loved their little girl as much as we love you.
We bought a baby carrier just the other night. Your mom and I took turns strapping it on ourselves, and pretending we were carrying you around.
We’re getting the house ready for you . . . the Pack & Play playpen has been set up for nearly a week, and we’re getting more furniture soon.
Actually, we looked at buying a different house to raise you in. But then, we backed out, when we learned we might not get you.
This past week, we’ve looked at another house . . . we’re going to buy this house because it will be warmer for you, and you’ll have your own room. It’s a better neighborhood, and you’ll be able to walk to school. It even has a swimming pool.
I look forward to teaching you how to swim.