Inside the Mind of Kurtis J. Wiebe

This is a letter to you about two things. The first part being how you made your presence known over the weekend. And, I say this with absolute loving kindness, but your mothers scream broke me from a creative headspace to which I didn’t return the rest of the day. That seems to be the status quo, you little munchkin. Disrupting my life, tossing it all about, and I acknowledge that what we’ve tasted so far is nothing compared to when you arrive. So, I’m going to enjoy these little hiccups of you.

Saturday was your first announcement to your mom that you were quite awake, thank you very much. To be fair, I actually ignored your mother’s first scream because I thought she was being silly about a spider or squirrel or other related fear she has and wanted me to come deal with the situation. To which I coolly responded, “I’M WRITING!”

Small aside, you’re probably going to be annoyed by ‘in the zone’ Dad. He’s pretty obnoxious.

The second scream made me realize the spider or squirrel or other related fear wasn’t simply going to take care of itself. That was a man’s job. And since I was the only one around, I would have to do. I huffed as I put down my computer and walked into the living room. You mother sat there, this wide eyed look on her face that was equal parts terror and joy.

“It’s MOVING!”

And then she put my hand on her belly. And then you said hello in the only way you can right now. I can’t really explain how that made me feel, so I won’t even bother. Just know that you made me smile.

Today we went to take a better look at you, which brings me to the second part of this letter. Every week we’ve looked online at how you’ve grown, to consult this parenting website to see where we were in the journey. The diagrams were weird, the pictures of how you might look stranger still, and yet we still were very excited for our peek at you.

And you were more beautiful than I could’ve imagined, even though you’re still just a human looking lump of DNA. We saw your silhouette, a small glimpse of a promise of who you’ll become. You were moving all over the place. We saw you yawn. You acted shy, as though you didn’t like to have the spotlight on you. A feeling I know so well.

“These aren’t always 100% accurate, but…”

Then she told us.

And then my stupid eyes watered and I held your mothers’ ankle, which is strange, but it was the only close part of her nearby. We looked at each other and laughed because we had this silly bet. Two days of laundry and dishes to whoever guessed wrong.

I guessed right.

When the nurse left, I hugged your mom and felt this sense of certainty wash over me. It’s all falling into place.

“I was right all along. Me and my two girls.”

I can’t wait to meet you, Willow.

Love, Dad

PS: This is how we see you.