Letter to my son: Hopes

Dear son,

You don't know me yet. Well, you sorta do. I'm the deep voice you've been hearing for the last few weeks, the one that's usually laughing. Obnoxiously. Sorry 'bout that.

Anyhow, the point of this is I have some songs to sing and some things to say, things that I just don't really want to wait another two months for. While you won't understand much of it now - or any of it - I feel the need to get them off of my chest. Sometimes dad will have a problem with this, other times not so much. Most likely the latter, unless I have laryngitis.

The beginning of life always holds so much hope. It's in this vein, that I give you a small list of my hopes for you:

• I hope you are healthy.
  
• I hope you love baseball.
  
• I hope you only like soccer.
  
• I hope you have Mommy's eyes, hearing, and smelling.
  
• I hope you have Daddy's eyesight.
  
• I hope you have Mommy's blood pressure, teeth, and heart.
  
• I hope you have Daddy's cholesterol.
  
• I hope you don't fall apart like Daddy seems to be...
  
• I hope you have the courage to face your fears.
  
• I hope you love.
  
• I hope you hope.
  
• Most importantly, I hope you find God.
  

Trust me, Rerun, I have many more hopes and dreams (and fears) that I would like to share with you - and a handful Mommy would just as much assume I wouldn't. But there's time - you won't really start talking for quite some time. However, when you do, I have one more hope I'd like to share with you - I hope that your first words are "Payton is a girl."