Dear baby girl,
As I write this, I've just finished rocking the little girl I nanny for to sleep, and was finally able to put her down. I have to say you didn't make my job any easier. For some reason, you decided that as I sat rocking her would be the perfect time for you to start kicking ferociously. So ferociously, in fact, that your kicks kept bumping my stomach out into her and jolting her awake right as she was starting to drift off, and then I'd have to start the process all over again. What's up with that? Perhaps you weren't happy with all that attention I was giving her because you've already inherited my jealous streak. You know, the one I inherited from your grandpa that he inherited from your great-grandma. It's only fair I continue to pass it on-- we wouldn't want to break a proud family tradition like that now would we?
I still can't believe that every time I write you one of these letters, I'm a week closer to meeting you. Some days it seems so far off- almost three whole months left to go. But then other days I internalize that means you're only 12 weeks away, and realize how short of a time that really is. It's probably even less time than that because I've been told that shorter women tend to go into labor earlier, and I'm less inches away than I'd like to admit from being able to qualify for a handicap pass due to my, um, "petite" statute. Plus, while I don't get a whole lot of premonitions with this pregnancy, something deep inside me tells me you'll make your appearance a bit early. All this to say I better sign you up for a pediatrician and pack my hospital bag. Oh, and apparently I also have to enroll you in preschool. Before you're born. Which is whack. Feel free to quote me on that.
I really hope you're not too early though, because we're planning on moving to our new house mid July. Yeah, you know, when I'm right about 37.5 weeks pregnant with you. No biggie. We'd move in earlier except, OOOPS, our house still doesn't have any walls. Or floors. Not to mention toilets. I think if you came before we moved I might have a heart attack. I know technically all would be fine-- everyone has assured me that as a newborn you won't need anything more than my boob and a tiny space to sleep in. But it's not all about you, you know. I need to satisfy my nesting urges by creating a beautiful nursery for you, and so far I haven't had the chance to even get started. And you know what that means? That's right, too much time on mommy blogs, pinterest, and etsy looking at design inspiration and finding things I NEED that I didn't know existed 5 minutes ago.