I dreamt of you last night. I dreamt of you in your bassinet, in your home, with our dog. I dreamt that you were a quiet baby, kind of like how you've been in the womb. I dreamt that you didn't have much hair, like me. I dreamt that you were hungry, but you know what to do. I wonder if it will be that smooth? The day we come home, it will be a few hours until my mom, your Vovo', joins us. It will be a few hours of, "now what?" And I hope that we get along famously. I hope that I don't worry too much. I hope that we can just relax. I hope that the noises in the apartment that seem so normal to me (dishes clinging, the vacuum cleaner, Mort's random roos and barks) don't startle you.
I'm excited to learn your favorite sound. To learn your favorite book, your favorite food, your favorite toy. I can't wait to put you in your little clothes, your little swaddle blankets, your little car seat. I can't wait for you.
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