21 Hours: A letter to Sprout.

You're going to be born in 21 hours. I can't believe it. People keep saying, "Are you excited? Are you nervous? Are you counting down the days?"

These are all incredibly stupid questions, in my opinion.

I had a baby shower this past Saturday that my friend Randi (you will know her as Auntie Lobstah) put together for me. It was a lot of fun and I got lots of sweet gifts for you. Then on Sunday your dad and I had some pictures taken by my friend Elishia. She did a really fantastic job, especially since I'm not such a pleasure to work with when my hair is being crazy and I feel like an elephant seal.

Not that I mind my curly hair all the time, I really love that you'll probably have it too.

And if I could gain another 20 pounds in the next 24 hours and it would keep you out of the NICU, I'd do it in a heartbeat, just so you know.

Your room is done, except for baseboards but I think your dad is doing those tonight. I can't wait to carry you around in there and smell your little head. 

Tonight I'm packing my bag for the hospital. I'm not sure yet what all I should bring, since I don't know how long I'll/we'll be there. I hope I don't spaz out and forget everything. Not that your dad can't go home and get things. 

Tonight the dogs (Malo and Maggie, you'll like them) are going to the clinic to be boarded. I'm going to miss their little faces while I'm in the hospital.

I have to go get ready for work now. I'll see you tomorrow, Liam Everett Powell.