Dear Mariposa: You are almost here

Dear Mariposa,

It's Dad writing to you. It's been a long time since Mom or I wrote anything like this. One of these days I think it's something you may learn - life sometimes gets the better of you. Between the jobs to work, bills to pay, chores to do, and life to live, we sometimes stop doing things we want or put it off because exhaustion and habit can take us to a place where we want to be comfortable.

All that matters when that happens, Posie, is that you get back to doing it eventually. And today that's what I'm doing. For you.




In twelve days you are going to be here. In twelve days you are going to come out of Mom's belly crying and letting the world know that you've arrived. Your sister's cry was what woke up the Dad in me. I was ready but nothing compares to that cry and gasp and cry of arrival. It is a sound that cleans out all the blood and the pain and the exhaustion. The excitement of a hundred thousand festivals in your name.

Mariposa means Butterfly, and I can't think of a more fitting name for someone who will be coming out of her nine month cocoon soon.

It is a bit vapid and pointless for a Dad to say, "I wish I could have carried you," whether because we wished to ease Mom's pain, or to get close to that feeling of motherhood ourselves. The fact is that every Dad has that little hole somewhere in his psyche. A longing not for the sacrifice, martyring, or pain that Motherhood entails in pregnancy, but to feel how you feel in-between our organs and bones. To know that you grew from our bodies and came into the world as perfect and loud and great as any of us do. To be part of the cycle of life.

I want to see your sister's face the first time she realizes that you are her sister. I want to see the smiles, giggles, grumps, and jealousy that that moment will inevitably incite. I can't wait for the first hugs she gives you. I can't wait for the first toys she brings you. I can't wait for the misunderstandings that are caused only by the excitement being a big sister gives her.

And I can't wait for the first time you lay on me, asleep and breathing, like your sister once did in a hospital room not as long ago. I can't wait to be your Dad, both emotionally and physically again, as I have done for a little girl before.

I cannot wait to see what new color I find in the world once you are here. And I become not just Dad, but Dad x 2. Dad squared. Double the children and infinite times the duty and servitude to providing this house, these lessons, and these words. So one day you might read this and realize that even before I could touch your toes and pinch your cheeks I loved you like a father loves his children and that I know this love lasts until the last time my lungs breathe life into my skin.

This is our journey, and I can't wait to see where yours go, beautiful butterfly - Mariposa.

Kisses and hugs coming your way incredibly soon.

Love,
Dad