Letter to my newborn

Baby girl,

You sleep on the dining table in the kitchen under streaming sunlight. Doctors told us to keep you near windows until your jaundice settles. Your newborn clothes still puddle around your tiny frame. As you dream, your lips contort into different shapes, occasionally revealing two dimples — a deep one on your right side and a subtle one on your left. I am enamored with you. My munchkin. It feels so right having you nestled on top of me for naps or up against me on walks. You’re taking to nursing, albeit with some work. I love our bubble.

Before I was pregnant with you, I thought I wanted a boy. But baby, was I wrong. I knew almost as soon as the stick read positive that you were a girl, and we had a connection that ran deep. Throughout my pregnancy, I would talk to you, sometimes in my head, sometimes out loud. And you responded. If you were quiet for too long, I’d ask you for a sign, and you'd oblige with a gentle elbow or kick to ease mama’s worries. On the morning of your birth, you were clear: “It’s time.” I waited for about an hour—just you and me—to be sure. You were absolutely ready. Two days early, you answered Dada’s incessant coaxing, “C’mon baby girl, it’s more fun on the outside.”

I hope we harbor our connection with each other forever, Nellie love. Nellie. Light, illumination, sun ray. You are exactly that to us. We don’t know yet how much joy you’ll bring to our world, but I can guess it’s going to be pretty stellar. And I hope the world we show you (though broken in many ways) is equally exciting and intriguing to you. I hope you grow to be kind (especially to yourself), curious, loving, fair, spunky, and silly. But beyond anything, I hope you enjoy your life as it’s happening, baby girl. It’s a blessing, and you’re our blessing. Love you so much.

Now let’s go explore that world.

Mama

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