Dear baby girl,
Although you're not here yet, I can already tell you're going to be quite a handful. At our ultrasound yesterday, you spent the entire time kicking me and moving around so much that the tech could barely get a read on the level of my amniotic fluid. And then when we tried to get a good shot of your face, you decided that would be a good time to put your hand up in front of it so we could barely see you. Although, to be fair, you did lower it for about 5 seconds to stick your tongue out at us. Touché baby girl, touché.
This weekend daddy and I are taking you to Santa Cruz for a little getaway. We never got to go on a babymoon since daddy has been really busy at work for a few months now, so this is kinda it. Unfortunately, work hasn't gotten much less hectic for him, so I've been warned that he may be holed up in the hotel room working while you and I go explore Santa Cruz on our own. Conversely, he's been warned that if that happens I'll be sulking and he'll probably be sleeping on the couch.
Only one more week left now until the 10 week countdown, and only eleven until you're due to arrive. Just tonight, daddy was talking about how he wants to hold you, and I replied that it would only be another eleven weeks or so. Then we both stared at each other in awe. Eleven! E-l-e-v-e-n. Eleven. That is not a lot. You'd think I'd be used to the idea since everything in my mind nowadays is tied to how soon I'll get to meet, but I still haven't totally processed it. Case in point: Yesterday, I was listening to NPR in the car when they casually mentioned that it's the last day of their fundraising drive, and that they wouldn't be doing another one for another 4 months. And the first thing I thought of was how by their next fundraising drive, you'll be over a month old. And then I had to pull the car over to breathe so I didn't crash into the nice old lady in front of me.