sweet baby girl

My sweet baby girl,

Tonight you had a rough night. I put you to bed a little before 8:00 p.m., and you screamed in your crib. This wasn’t any trivial scream – it was blood curdling. I felt so bad. I went and picked you up. Your little body was trembling. With each scream you completely tensed. You scraped and clawed at whatever was around (mostly my face, arms, and one not-so-lucky missing tract of skin on the back of my neck). I’m sure you were in some kind of pain. I hate when you’re in pain. It almost doesn’t seem fair that someone as sweet and perfect as you should have to suffer pain. But I guess we all have different things we need to learn in this life don’t we? Here are a couple things I’ve learned (you’ve taught me) so far:

1. Without you, I could never have imagined what it feels like to be completely head-over-heels for someone so small.

2. You’re in the process of teaching me patience – you’re a pretty tough teacher. But like many tough teachers, I’m expecting to learn far more than can be expected otherwise.

3. You’ve allowed me the chance to let my emotions flow. I don’t cry often, but thinking of you often brings tears to my eyes.

4. Your hugs melt me. They are the sweetest things on earth. Oh how I love when I squat down and throw my arms open and then watch as you stop in your tracks, turn toward me, and run as fast as your little legs will carry you until you collapse in my arms.

5. You will always fit in my arms…always.

6. You’ve taught me what is important. When I found out about your diagnosis, the whole world faded away.

I love you little darlin’ – and always will!

Daddy