Something I hope I can make you aware of at an early age is how important it is to make time for people you care about. It’s so easy to get swept up in the grind of daily life that it will become very easy for you, as it has for me, to put off doing the things that will actually mean something to you later. I won’t look back eighteen years from now, when you’re a grown person, and remember that time I worked over the weekend to impress someone I barely know. But I will remember writing these letters to you.
I wonder sometimes what sorts of things you’ll be interested in, and how many interests we’ll share. I was at a University of Tennessee football game a month or so ago. The Pride of the Southland Band featured two soloists: one who was currently a student and member of the band; and his father, who was a member of the band several decades ago. They played together in front of 100,000 people, and it was poignant. It made me a little weepy to to think that we might be able to share something like that together when you grow up.
But I also know you’ll be your own person, and I won’t try to force any of the things I’m interested in on you. Whatever you’re into, I’ll take an interest in it.
All the books say you won’t really care what your room looks like for a while, but that hasn’t stopped us from trying to make it nice for you. We had a mural painted for you (with birds, naturally) and I put together your crib this past weekend. We’ve also been cleaning out some things we were storing in there to make room for your things.
So much else has happened since the last time I wrote. We’ve taken more classes, heard your heartbeat through the sonogram a second time, and your mom thinks she felt you move again. It’s all going by so fast, and before we know it you’ll be here.
That’s all for now. I can’t wait to see you on the ultrasound next week.