kiddo.

I'm wound up.

Got me a gin and tonic, a Burt Reynolds movie rolling, and an ornery retriever dog laying at my feet.  My wife is upstairs, in bed.  She's pregnant.  And you know what?  That's about the coolest thing there is.

We're going on year number four of trying to have kids.  It isn't easy for some people, present company included.  And it isn't cheap.  This kid has already cost us as much as a luxury automobile, and she's still got four months left to hatch.  But I wouldn't trade it for a million dollars.  And yeah, you heard me...she.

I'm having a little girl.  Just typing those words makes me grin real big.

I'm not in the mood to sit here and have a discussion on if I'm going to be a good parent or a bad parent.  I don't really feel like fantasizing about my daughter being a brain surgeon, or an astrophysicist, or the president.  I'm not there yet.  I'm just happy she has a healthy brain, a healthy heart, all her appendages and phalanges, and is kicking my wife from the inside.  That's what's important right now.

"Oh my God, I'm not sure if I'll be a good parent or not?"...is something I haven't said since 1997.  And rightfully so...no child would ever want 23yr old Matt raising them.

I'm fucking 40 now.  I'm ready.  I'm so ready I could puke.  And speaking of...I'm ready to clean up puke, poop, and whatever other disgusting messes babies make.  Bring it on, baby--I'm not afraid of you.  I'm gonna parent the crap out of you.  You're going to be raised well.  Other babies will be jealous of how phenomenally you are being brought up.  You will be exposed to such wonderments in life as a loving family, dear friends, great food, Burt Reynolds movies, the outdoors, not being an entitled asshole, manners, how to pour a good drink at a young age, and not making fun of your dad for being old.

All I can think of right now is pigtails.  That's honestly about as far as I can get without kicking myself in the ass and being reminded to take it a day at a time.  I'm enjoying the kicks from inside April's belly, the fruit and vegetable size comparisons, the occasional name that we throw around, and the designated driver.  Everything after that is...well, after that.

I can't wait to meet you, whatever your name is.  You're going to be a kick-ass daughter, with parents who already love you dearly.  Please take care of yourself, and I'll see you in July, kid.

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