FG 3 - The Wedding Blitz (24 page)

Love always,

Mom

Dear Abigail,

I think it’s cute that your mom seems to be on a mission to have you experience as much as you possibly can, before you’re even born. She insists on listening to Vivaldi, Mozart and even me (and she swears you can tell the difference and actually prefer me the most, something that makes Daddy blush and Daddy doesn’t blush.) She loves taking those nature walks and indulging in any kind of food so you’ll have your favorites picked by the time you arrive. She talks of Van Gogh when she’s never painted a thing in her life and the latest political news as if the knowledge will simply seep inside. One minute she’s reading The Seattle Times and the next she’s rereading all of her Twilight books because she insists that it’s a
girl
thing and that you would approve.

I already know that she’s going to make a great mother. At times I find myself marveling at her. You may not know this but your Mommy struggled to find her niche in life until you came along. But when I hear her whispering to you as she sits on the porch pointing out things she will show you one day, I can’t help but think you complete her.

Love, Dad

February

Dear Abigail,

It seems like the days until your birth aren’t passing quickly enough but now that you’re almost here, I will miss this special time we’ve shared together. I love you already more than you know and your Daddy’s so excited to finally meet you. He’ll probably end up becoming your favorite because he’s my favorite too but right now these last few weeks are ours.

Truth be told, you must be really eager to finally meet Daddy too because we hardly ever make it through a full night’s sleep, you’re so restless and excited. And I swear you perk up every time he leans in to talk to you. I think he’s pretty amazing too, especially when he does this really magical thing called a foot rub. Yes, it’s even better than the yummy taste of root beer floats. And somehow he still looks at me like I am the cat’s meow. (He must not own a pair of Grandma Hawkins’ extra, extra big glasses.)

Speaking of Grandma Hawkins, she was here the other day when Aunt Lizzie threw us a baby shower. Aunt Lizzie must have forgotten that both Grandma Hawkins and Grandma Hall would be there and that the shower was really for you because she bought me a lot of little dressy things just for Daddy’s eyes. Don’t worry you still got a lot of pink cute things just for you. Aunt Lizzie’s just always looking ahead and already planning out my post baby diet and workout for those overly enthusiastic people I told you about, who Daddy hates, and she somehow loves.

Love always,

Mom

P.S. Do I tell you enough how much I love you? I love you oh so much, my sweet Abigail.

Dear Abigail,

I wish I could do more for Mommy when she’s tired and restless and can’t sleep or when she cries because she’s tired and restless and can’t sleep. All I can do is hold onto her and crack jokes, usually at my own expense, to try to get her to stop crying until she’s laughing again. I’ll cherish these moments because she actually needs me to do something, other than just watch.

Like just yesterday, I brushed back her messy tear soaked hair from her cheeks because she had burnt our dinner which complicated her dream of becoming a culinary chef by the time you arrived. She cried
what kind of mother burns soup?
  So I told her Grandma Hawkins does it, often. I may have lied, partly because at least she’s trying, and partly because Daddy likes her cooking, even when it’s a little extra crispy. It sure beats KFC and McDonald’s fast food any day.

And I know she worries about the extra weight she’s put on lately though she’s never looked more beautiful in my eyes. And just when I see her begin to frown at her reflection in the mirror or see her helplessly hold up one of the small pink frilly dresses given to her by Aunt Lizzie, I insist on having Daddy and Mommy bath time where I point out everything I love until she can see herself the way I see her.

Love, Dad

March

Dear Abigail,

Early this morning before the sun had even come up yet, on March 22nd, my water broke. Daddy was so sleepy, yet so excited that he tripped and then quickly caught himself going down the steps. Quick as a flash he grabbed up his keys and our emergency bag, which we had packed months ago for this exact moment before racing out the door and then quickly turning back around to help me. As we made our way down to the car, your Daddy spotted my every move like I had suddenly become prone to accidents.

Once we were at the hospital, you wasted no time in coming. After what felt like the most excruciating pain I have ever experienced, seconds later you cried your first cry. You have all your fingers and toes, I know because I must have counted them at least dozen times. You blinked up at me with the brightest blue eyes, which you got from your father, and I felt my heart ache as you looked up at me in wonder for the most beautiful silent seconds of my life.

How did I not know? How did I not sense that you were really a baby boy? It was quite a shock to your Daddy who was so overcome with emotion he cried. My dear sweet Abigail, you’re really Jackson Wilfred Hawkins, in honor of both of our fathers’ names but to Daddy you’re just J.W.

Now that I think it about it, it’s not really that much of a shock. You were a happy, contented baby while I carried you—not so unlike your father, and I knew deep down inside that you loved those singing sessions he had with you. When they took you away from me for the first time ever, I cried. Thank goodness for your father, who shares your same big heart because he took my hand and kissed my tears away until we were both laughing and overjoyed. I know without a doubt that I am the luckiest person in the world today.

Love always,

Mom

Dear J.W.,

I wish your Uncle Dylan was alive to see you born today. Your mom says you have my eyes but I know they’re really his. I was so overcome with emotion when you looked up at me that I wept tears of joy and sadness. You see, your mom helped me finally find some peace after his death. She gave me a reason to keep going when I was ready to give it all up. Seeing you today with his eyes as bright and blue as a summer sky, I knew I was meant to find her. I don’t usually believe in a lot of strange things, but I swear a piece of his soul lives on in you. 

I’d already envisioned you as a mini-version of your mom, and was ready to adore you, if in fact you had been a baby girl because of how much I love your mother though I would have spoiled you rotten and bought you whatever your heart desired, until you ended up more like a mini- Aunt Lizzie than a mini-Mommy. But now that I know that you’re a boy, I have so many memories from my childhood that I want to share with you like going camping and there are so many things I want to teach you to do like how to throw a curveball. Something your Uncle Dylan was really, really good at.

Love, Dad

April

Dear J.W.,

You are the best baby ever, quiet and introspective like you’re taking in every detail of the world around you. When you do finally make a noise it’s usually a giggle because Daddy’s tickling you
again
and oh, how you love that game! Most nights, you sleep with us because Daddy thinks you’re going to develop a complex with all that pink stuff in your bedroom, which makes
me
giggle. He’s already talking about repainting the room in a chocolate brown with white trim.

Besides meeting all of your grandparents, we’ve had you all to ourselves for the past month. Daddy would like to keep it that way but there are these people called ‘Managers and PR personnel’ that keep trying to call Daddy to get him ready for this thing called a ‘Summer Tour.’ You see, as much as you like Daddy’s singing (and oh my, how you do) so do others. But Daddy doesn’t seem to care about them right now. In his eyes, you’re the only fan that matters and he’d like to keep it that way for now.

Oh by the way, Aunt Lizzie shipped me this nasty thing called a ‘Treadmill’ and I had them put it downstairs in Daddy’s empty studio because like Daddy’s Manager, Aunt Lizzie would like
me
to get ready for the ‘Summer Tour’ and her upcoming wedding to Uncle Warren. Oh how Daddy and I both giggled at that!

Love always,

Mom

P.S. How I wish the three of us could stay in this tight little bubble forever! 

Dear J.W.,

Your mom laughs because she insists that I hold you the most (and that I’m a bit of a hog really and I guess that she’s right.) She predicts that you’re going to be connected to my hip until you become too big for me to carry you any longer or until you’re at least five years old. Though she rarely complains and loves that I’m the first one to jump out of bed at night when you need fed or changed. Finally something I can do!

All of those times I secretly smiled at your mom’s attempts to show you the world while still in her womb, but now Daddy gets it because when we snuggle together as a family on game day, I murmur key parts of the Steeler’s game and scores to you like you actually understand. You even have your own black and gold striped outfit. You look like quite the stud, if I may say so myself. 

Your Aunt Lizzie’s already talking about how cute you’re going to look with your own set of noise protection earmuffs on the summer tour. Though ever since having you, Daddy has thought about cashing in all his stocks and bonds and trying to live off what money he has left so we never have to leave the house again. I may not be a mathematician but even I know I’d have to rejoin the band eventually, probably best that it not be at age fifty-five. I’ll save you that embarrassment now. You can thank me later.

Love, Dad

May

Dear J.W.,

You’re growing stronger every day and discovering new and exciting
things
like the way water splashes you during bath time and you giggle when you fart—such a guy. You love kisses time with Mommy and squeal for another and another. You also love sleepy time with Daddy on the couch, nestled against his neck. I know Daddy’s growing that beard out for you since sleepy time’s just not as fun if Daddy’s face is prickly. You’re not much of a fan of picture time, with the blinding flash in your face, but Mommy is so insistent on capturing every moment like those strange people flying over the house in the helicopter! Daddy says you get that from him since he’s not a fan of getting his picture taken either, unless of course it’s Mommy taking them and he doesn’t get a choice!

Godfather Riley and Uncle Harlow were so taken with you when they visited this past week that they’re talking of adopting now. You loved Godfather Riley, like how I knew you would, because he cooed in baby talk and bounced you on his knee and then taught you this new game called ‘flying.’ And you
liked
flying.

Godfather Riley was only here to see you, but Uncle Harlow came to stage a thing called an ‘intervention’ and he convinced your Daddy to turn his cell phone on again. With a heavy sigh, your dad knew he couldn’t put off the arrival of ‘Summer Tour’ forever. But you had not a care in the world because you were flying!

Love always,

Mom