Dear Baby Girl,

I knew when I first learned of you, that the lessons in patience I’d that far learned were to be but little dots of color in a broader work; the fuzz of a Monet up close. I wasn’t so naïve as to think that I was prepared for all you, all your existence, entailed. I have passed these months in silent preparation for your arrival, quietly opening myself to the change following soon upon your heels.

But your heels, my beautiful girl, are faced in the wrong direction. So while I know that I am sent to you to open the doors of the world, and you to me as graduate work in patience and flexibility, there is one last thing that I would like to plan to a T, and that is your grand entrance.

So please, sweet girl, know that I have spent these months caring for you the way I will always care for you and do not make this the first exertion of your inevitably stubborn will.

I need you to turn around.

Turn around so that we can begin your life together free and unclouded. Turn around so that I may hit the ground running with you and not waste time in sluggish recovery. Turn around so that I may nurse you and not myself.

You will have plenty of opportunity to teach me how to handle plans gone awry and unexpected U-turns; how to go with the flow and follow detour signs. Plenty of chances to drive me crazy and dye your hair blue for school pictures. But on this, I plead with you; turntuRNTURN. A little flip so that I may bring you into the world in the way I had planned; in the way that is best for you.

Just a little turn. Please.


2 thoughts on “Make Like A Fetus, Please; A Prayer

  1. Happy thoughts, prayers, warm fuzzier, voodoo, whatever the hell works to get that girl outta breech. The manual repositioning that the docs can do hurts like a sonofabitch.

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