June 20, 2014
I’m on a plane back from Los Angeles. I’ve been away for five days and I’m an hour from home. I’ve missed your mom a lot. She’s told me you’ve been quieter than usual since I’ve been gone and that when we talked on Skype you danced to the sound of my voice. You touch my heart in ways I can’t begin to explain and I haven’t even met you yet. But, we’re getting close. Seven weeks, to be exact.
I’ve been meaning to write a letter to you for a while now, but I’ve been planning my future so that I can give you a comfortable one. That’s why I took this trip. By the time you can read and understand these messages, you’ll already know that I’m a writer. Or like to think I’m one. It’s a strange profession, but I want you to know that, from the moment you’re born, I will support whatever it is you want to be. I grew up in a time when everyone thought creative careers were an impossibility. It’s nonsense. Just know that, like with most things in life, it’s not an easy path.
I’ve been thinking about the journey your mom and I have taken. The time has gone by at a terrifying speed and you continue to grow and change our lives. Mostly your mom’s, to be fair. You’re stretching her out and she waddles in hilarious fashion that I can’t help but laugh at. You’re insanely active, kicking the hell out of your mom, apparently the most when she laughs or when The Police come on the radio. Or when she sings.
Life for me has stayed much the same, externally. The life I live in my head, however, has gone from work related obsession to work related obsession plus you. If I’m being really honest, I’ve been feeling scared. I see what is to come and there’s a panic inside that I can’t shake. What if I can’t support this family? What if you get sick and I can’t help you get better? What if, what if, what if…
And that’s me. Sometimes I am fearful. But there’s also so much anticipation, Willow.
What if she looks like her mom? Or both of us? Or, worst case scenario, she looks like me? What will she love? What will she sound like? How will she feel in my arms?
I spend a lot of my time waiting for you. That time can’t pass soon enough.
I turned thirty five this year. I realized not long after it was the last birthday I’d celebrate as a man without a child. Your mom and I went on a trip to New York together, the last we’d take as a couple in this stage of our lives. My last father’s day without a child physically in the world. Next weekend I’ll attend my last comic convention as the man I am now.
But you know, despite my fears, you’ve made me ready to be a father in a world of firsts.
In seven weeks I will hold you, my baby girl.