Dear baby,
I'm getting anxious for you to get here. This whole time I have imagined you in some embryonic state, moving around slowly in an alternate world, a world distinct and distant, wholly apart from us for 9 long months. And suddenly 8 and a half months flew by, a blur of Seattle rain, and then sun, and then more rain. I learned things, and played things, and thought about you as some intangible, although pleasant, being. And suddenly, today, I realized that you are REAL. You will exist! And I can't wait to hold you and play with you and watch you grow. You will have so many people kissing your cheeks that you might be overwhelmed. But don't worry. Later on, when you are grown up, you will be glad. And someday you will be eight, and then twelve, and then twenty-one, like me.
This is what is happening in my life right now: I was elected to be co-director of the UW Student Food Cooperative for next year. I am working in a cooking school, and my boss loves to yell at me. I live in a sorority, I sleep until noon, and I am studying backyard chickens while working on getting a college degree. I go to coffee shops in the morning, and bars at night, and people amaze me. When you know me later, will you think it strange that I did these things? Will I be old and weird? Will you find the music I like incredibly old and strange? Probably so. Either way, I can't wait until I can hang out with you.
There is so much to tell you, and lots of time to tell, although it feels so urgent to teach you all the things I have learned in my (somewhat short) life. The thing I want to tell you today is: life passes quickly, little one. Don't let it pass you by too quickly! Embrace the day! Do things! But you will learn this lesson later.
Endless love,
Marion
