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  October

  Dear Abigail,

  This is my first letter to you. I wanted to be able to share with you how much your dad and I have loved you and thought about you even before you were born. Right now, you’re four months along and growing every day. I know because Aunt Lizzie keeps me updated on your developing progress every time we visit your Uncle Warren and her up in Vancouver. Your father keeps busy while he waits for you to come as he continues work on the house renovations by turning the basement into his own private studio since he doesn’t want to spend any time apart from the two of us. Your Godfather Riley and Uncle Rob just got back from their three week trip to Bora Bora. They loved it. Riley even sent a postcard to your dad and me every couple of days with the highlights of his trip like sleeping in a hut on the lagoon, getting massages at sunset, snorkeling by the coral reefs, and in every post card he sent love and kisses for you.

  I am keeping busy too spending a lot of my time eating my favorite snacks, and possibly some of yours too because I really have a thing for ketchup now. I put it on almost everything to the amazement of your father and then I take cat naps in the afternoon. I love to sit on the white rocking chair in your room and think about how much I can’t wait to hold you and sing to you and love you. Your father may have the better voice but I have the front row advantage so you’ll just have to bear with me and my little lullabies until you’re born.

  Love always,

  Mom

  November

  Dear Abigail,

  It’s getting colder outside but that just gives your father and I a reason to curl up by the fireplace together. You and I are five months along now and I like that people can finally tell that I’m pregnant enough so that they stop me when I am in Whole Foods to congratulate me. Your Aunt Lizzie finally broke down and mailed me a couple of pairs of pink maternity sweatpants and loose white cotton shirts because she didn’t think I should go out in public, even if it was just to the mailbox, dressed in only your dad’s oversized hoodies and a pair of brown UGGs. You see you’re already famous and there are these people who are trying to capture every stage of your development, even if it means dangling out of the side of a helicopter to get the shot. These overenthusiastic people really bring out the protective side in your dad though. He becomes like a big ole scary bear roaring on his hind legs ready to attack whenever they get close to you or me.

  You must have had your fill of ketchup because you’ve moved onto peanut butter. Just like the ketchup, I put it on everything now but your father’s rarely ever shocked by what I put in my mouth these days. That was until I put the peanut butter on a hotdog where the ketchup would have gone last month.

  Your father’s getting a little competitive with those lullabies I sing to you, he’s already written you at least ten of his own and insists that I only come in on the choruses when we sing to you. I may have lied once by saying, but she kicks when it’s your turn. (But don’t tell him that.)

  Love always,

  Mom

  Dear Abigail,

  I found this journal cradled in your mother’s arms while she was taking another nap on the couch. It’s one of my favorite things to do, watch your mom sleep. It’s strange how protective I feel when she looks her most vulnerable dressed in my 3X hoodies with her knees curled up on the couch. She’s become something of a marathon sleeper lately and can practically do it anywhere: on the couch, in our bed, in the car, or in your rocking chair after she’s hummed both you and her asleep. She can’t even seem to stay awake on game day when her favorite team the Pittsburgh Steelers are playing New England or Baltimore, which is saying something for your mom!

  Love, Dad

  P.S. Oh and about those lullabies, I want you to know that I only became competitive with them when I realized they weren’t actually lullabies, they were Dave Matthews Band songs. The only band your mom’s ever liked probably more than mine. Now that makes Daddy truly feel like a big ole scary bear roaring on his hind legs!

  December

  Dear Abigail,

  Christmas time is here and your Godfather Riley, Aunt Lizzie, and all of your uncles are in town for the holiday. It feels good to hear the house filled with laughter again. Your Uncle Harlow cooked us a turkey dinner with all the fixings like creamy mashed potatoes, stuffing, corn pudding, salad, and rolls. I think you enjoyed it just as much as I did because it took everything in me not to lick the plate clean.

  We then drank hot cocoa by a crackling fire and exchanged gifts. I got Daddy a new Gibson guitar that he had his eye on for quite some time and he got me a package for a day at the spa and a Pandora keepsake bracelet with a collection of baby charms on it. You got quite a few presents too. I especially liked the gigantic stuffed Giraffe from your Godfather Riley. Daddy and Uncle Warren then sang Christmas carols as we continued to snuggle in around the fireplace.

  I’m finishing this letter very early in the morning because you can’t get comfortable and I can’t sleep; must be from too much excitement. The view from your bedroom window is pretty to look at though with everything outside covered in a blanket of snow. Sometimes I feel so sad that you aren’t here to share this Christmas with your extended family. I can’t wait for you to finally meet your Godfather Riley and Aunt Lizzie. Now Daddy you know of course because he likes to sing to you and rub my belly but there’s going to be so many sweet memories I can’t wait to share with you like your first Christmas, your first snow shower, and all the peanut butter your heart desires. Even if I have the sneaky suspicion that you’re moving on to ice cream and root beer floats. Finally something Daddy can relate to.

  Love always,

  Mom

  January

  Dear Abigail,

  I took you on a nature walk today much to Grandma Hawkins’ dismay. She doesn’t like the idea of me exercising with you now that I am seven months along but what she doesn’t know is that you get really still when we walk among the evergreen trees, hear the birds chirp up above, and listen to the babbling brook nearby. I like to think you’re taking in the sound and sights with me as we crunch along the snowy path that Daddy preapproved and already went over with a snow blower at least a dozen or so times by now. But Grandma Hawkins gets out her extra, extra big glasses and watches us every morning from her sunroom. (She could teach those overly enthusiastic people I told you about a thing or two.)

  What she doesn’t know is that I’m very protective of you. Ever since you stopped eating green M&Ms (I know it seems like so long ago to you now) I’ve lathered my skin in this protective thing called sunscreen, taken pills so large your Daddy has to cut them up so I don’t gag and spit them back out like the green M&Ms, and stay away from this overly uppity thing called caffeine (even though I think you’d appreciate the delicious sugary flavor of this drink called Mountain Dew, which is kind of like root beer, your new favorite thing.) It’s nice to know that your Grandma Hawkins cares though, and that she’s clear across the lake you have come to love so much.

  Love always,

  Mom

  Dear Abigail,

  I think it’s cute that your mom seems to be on a mission to have you experience as much as you possibly can, before you’re even born. She insists on listening to Vivaldi, Mozart and even me (and she swears you can tell the difference and actually prefer me the most, something that makes Daddy blush and Daddy doesn’t blush.) She loves taking those nature walks and indulging in any kind of food so you’ll have your favorites picked by the time you arrive. She talks of Van Gogh when she’s never painted a thing in her life and the latest political news as if the knowledge will simply seep inside. One minute she’s reading The Seattle Times and the next she’s rereading all of her Twilight books because she insists that it’s a girl thing and that you would approve.

  I already know that she’s going to make a great mother. At times I find myself marveling at her. You may not know this but your Mommy struggled to find her niche in life until you came along. But when I hear her whispering to you
as she sits on the porch pointing out things she will show you one day, I can’t help but think you complete her.

  Love, Dad

  February

  Dear Abigail,

  It seems like the days until your birth aren’t passing quickly enough but now that you’re almost here, I will miss this special time we’ve shared together. I love you already more than you know and your Daddy’s so excited to finally meet you. He’ll probably end up becoming your favorite because he’s my favorite too but right now these last few weeks are ours.

  Truth be told, you must be really eager to finally meet Daddy too because we hardly ever make it through a full night’s sleep, you’re so restless and excited. And I swear you perk up every time he leans in to talk to you. I think he’s pretty amazing too, especially when he does this really magical thing called a foot rub. Yes, it’s even better than the yummy taste of root beer floats. And somehow he still looks at me like I am the cat’s meow. (He must not own a pair of Grandma Hawkins’ extra, extra big glasses.)

  Speaking of Grandma Hawkins, she was here the other day when Aunt Lizzie threw us a baby shower. Aunt Lizzie must have forgotten that both Grandma Hawkins and Grandma Hall would be there and that the shower was really for you because she bought me a lot of little dressy things just for Daddy’s eyes. Don’t worry you still got a lot of pink cute things just for you. Aunt Lizzie’s just always looking ahead and already planning out my post baby diet and workout for those overly enthusiastic people I told you about, who Daddy hates, and she somehow loves.

  Love always,

  Mom

  P.S. Do I tell you enough how much I love you? I love you oh so much, my sweet Abigail.

  Dear Abigail,

  I wish I could do more for Mommy when she’s tired and restless and can’t sleep or when she cries because she’s tired and restless and can’t sleep. All I can do is hold onto her and crack jokes, usually at my own expense, to try to get her to stop crying until she’s laughing again. I’ll cherish these moments because she actually needs me to do something, other than just watch.

  Like just yesterday, I brushed back her messy tear soaked hair from her cheeks because she had burnt our dinner which complicated her dream of becoming a culinary chef by the time you arrived. She cried what kind of mother burns soup? So I told her Grandma Hawkins does it, often. I may have lied, partly because at least she’s trying, and partly because Daddy likes her cooking, even when it’s a little extra crispy. It sure beats KFC and McDonald’s fast food any day.

  And I know she worries about the extra weight she’s put on lately though she’s never looked more beautiful in my eyes. And just when I see her begin to frown at her reflection in the mirror or see her helplessly hold up one of the small pink frilly dresses given to her by Aunt Lizzie, I insist on having Daddy and Mommy bath time where I point out everything I love until she can see herself the way I see her.

  Love, Dad

  March

  Dear Abigail,

  Early this morning before the sun had even come up yet, on March 22nd, my water broke. Daddy was so sleepy, yet so excited that he tripped and then quickly caught himself going down the steps. Quick as a flash he grabbed up his keys and our emergency bag, which we had packed months ago for this exact moment before racing out the door and then quickly turning back around to help me. As we made our way down to the car, your Daddy spotted my every move like I had suddenly become prone to accidents.

  Once we were at the hospital, you wasted no time in coming. After what felt like the most excruciating pain I have ever experienced, seconds later you cried your first cry. You have all your fingers and toes, I know because I must have counted them at least dozen times. You blinked up at me with the brightest blue eyes, which you got from your father, and I felt my heart ache as you looked up at me in wonder for the most beautiful silent seconds of my life.

  How did I not know? How did I not sense that you were really a baby boy? It was quite a shock to your Daddy who was so overcome with emotion he cried. My dear sweet Abigail, you’re really Jackson Wilfred Hawkins, in honor of both of our fathers’ names but to Daddy you’re just J.W.

  Now that I think it about it, it’s not really that much of a shock. You were a happy, contented baby while I carried you—not so unlike your father, and I knew deep down inside that you loved those singing sessions he had with you. When they took you away from me for the first time ever, I cried. Thank goodness for your father, who shares your same big heart because he took my hand and kissed my tears away until we were both laughing and overjoyed. I know without a doubt that I am the luckiest person in the world today.

  Love always,

  Mom

  Dear J.W.,

  I wish your Uncle Dylan was alive to see you born today. Your mom says you have my eyes but I know they’re really his. I was so overcome with emotion when you looked up at me that I wept tears of joy and sadness. You see, your mom helped me finally find some peace after his death. She gave me a reason to keep going when I was ready to give it all up. Seeing you today with his eyes as bright and blue as a summer sky, I knew I was meant to find her. I don’t usually believe in a lot of strange things, but I swear a piece of his soul lives on in you.

  I’d already envisioned you as a mini-version of your mom, and was ready to adore you, if in fact you had been a baby girl because of how much I love your mother though I would have spoiled you rotten and bought you whatever your heart desired, until you ended up more like a mini- Aunt Lizzie than a mini-Mommy. But now that I know that you’re a boy, I have so many memories from my childhood that I want to share with you like going camping and there are so many things I want to teach you to do like how to throw a curveball. Something your Uncle Dylan was really, really good at.

  Love, Dad

  April

  Dear J.W.,

  You are the best baby ever, quiet and introspective like you’re taking in every detail of the world around you. When you do finally make a noise it’s usually a giggle because Daddy’s tickling you again and oh, how you love that game! Most nights, you sleep with us because Daddy thinks you’re going to develop a complex with all that pink stuff in your bedroom, which makes me giggle. He’s already talking about repainting the room in a chocolate brown with white trim.

  Besides meeting all of your grandparents, we’ve had you all to ourselves for the past month. Daddy would like to keep it that way but there are these people called ‘Managers and PR personnel’ that keep trying to call Daddy to get him ready for this thing called a ‘Summer Tour.’ You see, as much as you like Daddy’s singing (and oh my, how you do) so do others. But Daddy doesn’t seem to care about them right now. In his eyes, you’re the only fan that matters and he’d like to keep it that way for now.

  Oh by the way, Aunt Lizzie shipped me this nasty thing called a ‘Treadmill’ and I had them put it downstairs in Daddy’s empty studio because like Daddy’s Manager, Aunt Lizzie would like me to get ready for the ‘Summer Tour’ and her upcoming wedding to Uncle Warren. Oh how Daddy and I both giggled at that!

  Love always,

  Mom

  P.S. How I wish the three of us could stay in this tight little bubble forever!

  Dear J.W.,

  Your mom laughs because she insists that I hold you the most (and that I’m a bit of a hog really and I guess that she’s right.) She predicts that you’re going to be connected to my hip until you become too big for me to carry you any longer or until you’re at least five years old. Though she rarely complains and loves that I’m the first one to jump out of bed at night when you need fed or changed. Finally something I can do!

  All of those times I secretly smiled at your mom’s attempts to show you the world while still in her womb, but now Daddy gets it because when we snuggle together as a family on game day, I murmur key parts of the Steeler’s game and scores to you like you actually understand. You even have your own black and gold striped outfit. You look like quite the stud, if I may say so myself.

&n
bsp; Your Aunt Lizzie’s already talking about how cute you’re going to look with your own set of noise protection earmuffs on the summer tour. Though ever since having you, Daddy has thought about cashing in all his stocks and bonds and trying to live off what money he has left so we never have to leave the house again. I may not be a mathematician but even I know I’d have to rejoin the band eventually, probably best that it not be at age fifty-five. I’ll save you that embarrassment now. You can thank me later.

  Love, Dad

  May

  Dear J.W.,

  You’re growing stronger every day and discovering new and exciting things like the way water splashes you during bath time and you giggle when you fart—such a guy. You love kisses time with Mommy and squeal for another and another. You also love sleepy time with Daddy on the couch, nestled against his neck. I know Daddy’s growing that beard out for you since sleepy time’s just not as fun if Daddy’s face is prickly. You’re not much of a fan of picture time, with the blinding flash in your face, but Mommy is so insistent on capturing every moment like those strange people flying over the house in the helicopter! Daddy says you get that from him since he’s not a fan of getting his picture taken either, unless of course it’s Mommy taking them and he doesn’t get a choice!