Dear Karlin -
I got the idea for a Letters blog a few weeks back. I'm starting with you, because you are the oldest. You were the ground breaker in our world of parenting and there are some things I want to tell you.
Your Dad and I knew we wanted a baby. We were excited and scared when we found out you were coming. (I think it actually took about 2 weeks before your father's feet touched the floor again.) Having a first baby, though, is scary. And intimidating. Just the initial trip to Babies-R-Us totally freaked us out. There's so much STUFF. And you are about to bring a PERSON - a real live PERSON into this world, and you are 100% totally responsible for caring for it.
There are the billions of questions: What do I feed it? What do I name it? How do I learn to change diapers? Do we need special furniture? Will the dog be OK with it? Will I keep working? Will I stay home? What if it gets sick? I could go on and on...
I always said I "wanted a boy", and I told everyone that I just knew you were a boy. Truth is, though, that deep inside, I knew you were a girl. I'm not a girly-girl, so the idea of a little girl scared me. (Not 100% unfounded, as I still have trouble doing your hair...) Now Aunt Karin - she was surprised. Remind me sometime to pull out the Ultrasound tape and let you hear her say - repeatedly - "Are you sure? Are you sure it's not a boy?" It was pretty funny. After we found out for sure, Daddy and I picked a little pair of pink and green baby socks from the box as a parting Ultrasound gift, then went to Ruby Tuesdays for lunch. I was in shock. You were a girl. A real live girl. A PERSON with a gender.
So, we did what any newbie parents would do. We went out and bought Un-Godly expensive baby furniture. (In all fairness, that furniture has now made it through you, Chase, Piers, AND Channing, so all-in-all not a bad deal.) We had the showers (no pink, I said. I won't have pink.) We picked a short list of names (Reagan, Isabelle, and Karlin.) We painted your nursery a pretty green, and my big fat pregnant self stood on a ladder for hours on end stenciling little zoo animals around the room. I loved your nursery. It was beautiful.
I won't get into the whole birth experience. We've already told you it was hard, and that you did NOT want to come out to see everyone.
What I will get into is this: we loved you. I mean, I knew we would love you, but what took us both by surprise was how MUCH we loved you. Immediately. Instantaneously. This chest-bursting, instinctive, all-powering, all-consuming LOVE for this tiny child who just came into our lives. It was staggering. At that moment, we would do anything for you. Sacrifice our lives to keep you safe. Do anything and everything necessary to protect you and give you what you need.
(This is one of those things you will never, ever comprehend until you have kids of your own. Then you'll say "ahhhhh - now I get it.")
You were beautiful and sweet and easy and perfect. And LOVED. I believe your Grampy - who had been so very sick for so many years - stayed around just a little longer so that he could meet you. That's how much you were loved. That's how much you ARE loved.
In coming letters, I may tell you about how you used to say "Pick you up!" when you wanted us to pick you up (in response to us always saying "Do you want me to pick you up?"), or how your version of "Cutie Patootie" came out "Cutie Tatootie." Or how you and your Dad took me to Talullah Gorge for Mother's Day a month before your 2nd birthday, and I caught you counting the nails in the park bench.
But today I wanted to share with you how much we loved you, from the very beginning. There are no words to describe this love. Just know that it exists, and that you have it always.
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