Man, even that feels odd- I haven’t settled yet on what I’m gunna call you. Sometimes it The Kid, other time TK for short. Kiddo, Maddie, Laney, Maddie-Lane- I’m all over the map. Who knows…
I love you. Right now, you barely even exist- you’re just a dream and a bump in my mind and your mothers belly. You kick back when I give you a jostle, much to your mothers delight and then pain. Sometimes you’re moving around so much and so forcefully I know that with all that energy, you’ll definitely be more like your mother than me. But then you listen to what we’re saying, and I swear you’re responding to it, and I know you’ll be like me just enough.
I talk about you all the time, we just had a baby shower yesterday where so many friends came together and just gave overwhelmingly and genourously to help with the random stuff I never knew I’d need if we had a kid, and some things we knew we’d need.
I’ve never truly loved anyone but your mother, and your name-sakes in this world. I struggle with sociopathy, and it’s been one of my life’s greater fears that if I had a kid, I wouldn’t love them the way I know I should. That my list of people for whom I feel genuine human emotion is so short, that if you didn’t get loved like that, I’d be broken about the damage I’d be causing you.
But you need to know, that’s not a problem. You haven’t even shown your face yet, and I’m so head over heels in love with you that I can’t stand it. I was walking down the hallway last night, and thinking “this is the hallway I’ll be a dad in. Here’s where she’ll live, and I’ll have to storm down the hallway at one point when she gets in trouble!” Even in that thought, the idea of being your dad, revealing the love that Jesus and your mother have had for me, in the way that I love you, sounds like so much fun that I can’t hardly wait to get started.
Right now, you’re a little over a month from showing up. I’m working at a church, Morning Star, and I spend my side time doing projects to show you I love you, that you’ll never even notice or think about. I painted your room last week, cleaned out all of our stuff so we’d be ready when you showed up with a safe and pretty place for you. I’m making sure your mother eats, because she’s pretty bad at that, and I constantly, with a smile, remind her to not starve my child.
I think all the time of what sort of person you’ll be. What you’ll look like, what you’ll talk like. The personality you’ll choose, the way you’ll live. I went to a wedding for a young lady that I mentored this weekend and about burst into tears thinking of the day when you do the same.
Then I worry and wonder what sort of dad I’ll be. Will you know me as a stern disciplinarian, will you think of me as your dad, daddy, father or papa? I hope that this growth God has started in me to more and more feel empathy and love continues, so that you get to grow up with a dad that you know beyond a shadow of a doubt loves you and only wants the absolute best for you. I’m sure you’ll hate it when I’ve got to punish you, but I hope you grow up knowing you’re loved even when feeling it might be more difficult.
Anyway, kiddo, I can’t wait to meet you. I’m praying for you like there was no tomorrow, dreaming of all the ways I want to pour out my life so that you would know you are loved beyond measure. We haven’t even held hands for the first time, but you’re holding my heart.