On the morning of April 30, 2015 – my 33rd birthday – I woke up from a beautiful dream. In it, I’d been driving and chatting with my sister, Kayla. It was the first time in a long time that I’d dreamt of Kayla. It was also the first time, ever, that I’d dreamt of my baby daughter.
Three months earlier, Jenny and I were surprised and delighted to learn we were expecting. The previous Fall, we suffered a miscarriage, and now my worst-thing-that-can-happen-will-happen self wondered whether we’d ever have a healthy baby. But when our 8-week, and then 12-week, and then 16-week appointments passed with regular heartbeats, I let myself believe our most heartfelt prayers were coming true.
At five months, we learned our baby’s gender; more specifically, we asked the nurse to slip it into an envelope, which we’d open at dinner. I thought I detected the subtlest intonation in the nurse’s voice and ticks in her mannerisms, convincing me it was a boy.
I should’ve gone with the Kayla dream. Because sure enough, it’s a girl. We can’t wait for you to meet her in September!
Your nervous, in-over-his-head, soon-to-be father,