Originally published on 18 September 2018 on my old blog._
Dear Daughter,
I know you are only five months old, but I already love you with every fibre of my being. I can hear you moaning in the room as I write this. Your mom, who is the most incredible woman in the whole world (by the way), is giving you a bath right now.
You are very vocal about your displeasure about the matter. I feel sorry for your mom because she is so absolutely devoted to you (even while you scream), but I hope you never change. Always be vocal about your displeasure; always be honest with yourself.
Always be you.
Your dad (and mom) love you and will always support you. You are my heart and soul. I will do anything for you and be there for you always. Straight, gay, religious, atheist, nerd, jock — you choose; you be you. My love for you doesn't vary depending on who you choose to be.
Your mother and I made a decision together, and I also made a decision on my own. Our decision was to create you; my decision was to let you take the rest of that creation into your own hands.
Those hands are little right now, and they mostly decide to shit in your nappy now or shit in your nappy later, but one day those decisions will become much bigger. They may be different from the kind of decisions that I would make, and that's okay.
I am just a person like you. A living creature constantly getting older. Experiencing this existence one second at a time. I feel happiness; I feel fear. I feel confident sometimes, and I also feel scared sometimes.
I'd like for you to share all your feelings with me. I'd like you to trust me always. I'd like for you to feel cared for. You're so small right now, and it's probably easy to say these things. You have two much older sisters and a much, much older brother, and they were all raised by your mother, and they are wonderful. She knows what she's doing. We're both very lucky to have her; let's always make sure to remind her of that.
Give me a second. I need to get you from your mom.
Okay, so now you're tied to me (in this baby carrier), you have hiccups, and typing this just became a million times harder. I smell your head; you smell like Sagan, and your tiny little hand is the size of two of my fingers. You are so aware and awake; I see you watching my fingers zoom around on the keyboard. I enjoy your company. I treasure these moments.
You're squeezing the shit out of my arm right now; it really hurts. I have patience, though, and I'll always make an effort to have patience.
I hope you get to read this one day.
Maybe I'll read it to you. Maybe at your wedding (maybe at your pirate inauguration). Whatever it may be. I'm there for you, my darling.
Dad loves you.
<br>
