If all goes according to plan, I'll be a new father again in a week and a day. That's the time that has been deemed appropriate enough for a birth, and it's as good as any with me. I want to meet my daughter already. I'm hoping she wants to meet me, too. We've been conversing, but it's time I put a face to the name and the squirming she's been doing in her mother's stomach. I think she's anxious to see the world anyway. The other night she nearly punched a hole in her mommy's tummy trying to get out. Great punch this little has already. She'll probably need it in the house she's coming into. Brother and sisters to survive and all. But I have a feeling she'll do just fine and fit in without trouble. I almost think she's more ready than me, and although I wish that wasn't the case, we could have another nine months to prepare and probably wouldn't be ready still. But that's how it goes. Every day when I look at her ultrasound snapshots and every night when I pray for her health and well-being, I'm convinced I'll be ready even when I'm not. I'll always do what's necessary, from day one until I'm out of days. That's a certainty. That's the greatest gift I can giver her. It can't begin to compare with the gifts she has and will give me, but I'll work to make her life everything I can. That's a promise, kiddo.
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