Sleepy, baby...?

Dear son,

Every time we've looked at you on the ultrasound machine, you've always been squirming and rolling around. I worry that you can hear the noise of the ultrasound itself, and are writhing in discomfort because of it. That concern coupled with any baby's somewhat alien-looking appearance makes me think of Edvard Munch's painting, The Scream. But I digress.

You're big enough now that your mom can feel you moving around. Earlier today, when you had apparently been still for a while, she said you were sleeping. I don't know why, but I thought that was really cute to say--the image of a tiny baby sleeping and all that. She and your grandmother went to the mall this afternoon. She got herself some pantyhose for pregnant women, which are supposed to be much more comfortable. I was trying to take a nap when she came home early complaining of a stomach ache, and I've been waiting on her hand and foot till a little while ago. I don't really mind, though. She's pretty great, your mom, you'll see.

I love you.

--Dad

Room talk...

Dear son,

Today your mother and I talked about how we were going to set up your room when you arrive. We plan to move the bookcases we keep in there to either the bedroom or the living room. Up until now that room's been my office, and I still plan on using it even after you get here. You won't have much use for anything for the first several months except for your bottle and your bed. I was thinking we'd put your crib in the corner. We discussed getting you a mobile for over your crib, and some kind of white-noise generator, like a windup clock, to soothe you. We'll probably need a nightlight, too, since we're going to be busy watching over you at all hours, at least at first. There's this cheesy-looking red recliner in there now, and we also thought it would be good to replace it with a new La-Z-Boy or something to make better use of space and also to be able to nurse you and rock you to sleep. Your mom emphasized how she wants to get all the best stuff for you. I suggested that a cardboard box with some straw would be entirely adequate, at least for the short term.

These letters are going to seem pretty uninteresting, I suppose, at least until you get here, but you never know. I'm sure we're in for some surprises.

I love you.

--Dad

Hello, Nicholas...

Dear son,

Today your mother and I went to St. Luke's Roosevelt Hospital for her twenty-week ultrasound. A nice nurse named Beulah scanned you and took some pictures to make sure everything was okay. Everything was nice and normal, which was great to hear for your mother and me, since we are first-time parents. The ultrasound images were really amazing. We could see your heart beating, your spine, your kidneys, the bones in your fingers, your face, every tiny inch of you. You sucked your thumb, opened and closed your hands like you were waving, and had the hiccups. We heard your heartbeat, too. It sounded like a powerful engine. We even saw inside your head into your brain, so growing up when you thought we could read your mind, now you know why.

You moved around a lot, which was why it was a little difficult to determine your sex for sure up until now. Dr. Headley, the OB/GYN told us over three weeks ago that she was eighty percent sure your were a boy, but we wanted to wait till we were a hundred percent sure before we told anyone. I mean, what if we told everybody you were a boy and it turned out you were a girl? You'd be stuck with all these pink clothes and dolls and stuff.

Nurse Beulah could tell right away and when she confirmed it, your mom burst into tears. We were both so happy and proud to have a son. Neither one of us would have minded a girl, of course. Our primary concern was that our child be healthy, and you are, thank God. All we care about is that you're happy and healthy. But I know both sets of your grandparents are thrilled out of their minds, because you're their first grandson. I'll be honest with you, son, I'm proud as hell, too. I love you already and I haven't even met you yet. I know it must sound totally illogical; you'll only fully understand when you become a parent yourself someday.

We're going to name you Nicholas Peter, after my father and your mom's father. I'm trying to convince your mother to let me give the middle name of "Danger," so you'll always be able to say things like, "Danger is my middle name." She doesn't seem too thrilled with the idea for now, but I've still got about four months to work on her.

Four months is hardly any time at all, and yet I think it'll take forever. Hurry up and get here safe, kid. I can't wait to meet you.

Love,
Dad