You and I have been a team for a while now. From the first few months where I was sick, to the first little flutters that turned out to be your feet kicking. And now you are an ever present part of my day, only you don't flutter anymore. It's more like you're moving furniture in there, especially during the song service at church. Just so you know, no one really dances during services. But if you want to in a couple of years that's OK with me.
Your dad, however, has been a little bit out of the loop. You don't kick him. Or get the hiccups while he's trying to go to sleep. He doesn't get to go to the doctor and hear your heartbeat all the time. But I think you should know... he's every excited about you. And when you get older and think everything we say is the dumbest drivel in the world, I hope you'll reread this, if only to remember how lucky you are to have your Dad. And how excited he was about you, even before he knew you.
Your crib came on a Saturday right in the middle of a very important football game. It wasn't important to me, but your Dad was totally immersed in it. But that didn't stop him. He went right to work setting things up for you.
And as much as he loves football, he eventually forgot about the game all together. Instead he got totally immersed spelling out your name in a retro Lite Brite he wanted especially for your nursery.