Open Letter to our baby...

Dear Baby C.,

We’re now seven days from your due date. That means at some point over the course of the next two weeks, I will officially become your daddy. I’m not sure who should be more frightened, me or you.

Here’s the thing. It wasn’t that long ago that I was riding a big piece of cardboard (named the Express) down a flight of stairs, racing beer that was flowing down a giant beer bong (called the Twister) wrapped around the banister. And now, I’m supposed to raise you and encourage you to stay away from the Expresses and Twisters of the world? Good thing we have your mother around.

I’d also like to apologize in advance. I’m going to embarrass you. A lot. I sing in the car, I dance in the living room, I make silly jokes, and somehow I still think I’m cool. The good news is… you’re probably going to think I’m hilarious… and then you’ll turn 9.

I also apologize for this sports thing. I love sports, I want to coach, I want to take you to games and I want to play 1-on-1 until you can beat me. I hope you adopt my love for the Buccaneers, but don’t feel like you have to cheer for your mother’s Dodgers. If you don’t love sports… well… we’ll figure something out.

The one place we will not compromise: school. You will be a good student. You have no choice, your mother is brilliant, and your father is a genius. We’ll try not to ride you, but we won’t let you slack. A little hint, come to me for the math help. Your mother is better at the English.

The last thing you can count on… love. There’s a lot of love in this family. Your mother and I may never have a lot of money, but this family will always be rich with love.

Despite my trepidation, I’m ready for your arrival. I’m soooo ready, and so is everyone else. We’ll see you soon.

Love,

Your daddy.

P.S. I also apologize for Sputnik. He’s not so bad once you get past the smell and the slobber!