Dearest Daughter,

We are 9 weeks away from the day that you are supposed to join us in this crazy world.  Your mother and I have been making all kinds of changes to get ready for that day – changes that include an incredibly stressful home renovation, lots of studying, and lots of purchasing of baby clothes/toys/gear.  These changes are nothing, however, compared to the physical changes that your mother has been undergoing over the past few months.

Lately, there is absolutely no mistaking that she is pregnant.  And in spite of the chilly nighttime temperatures, she has been wearing tanktops.  This is incredibly odd behavior for her when you realize that her typical night wear is something with long sleeves and/or the skin of a Tauntaun*.  The reality is that most of her clothes don’t fit her at the moment.  Of course, the hilarious part is that neither do the tanktops, as they only seem to cover an inch past her belly button.  But I digress…

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I fully understand the monumental, amazing, almost primal experience that she is going through and I appreciate it more than I will ever be able to express.

…having said that, she is now snoring.  A lot.  Loudly.

Love Always, Dad

*Your mother won’t get that last reference BUT BY GOD YOU WILL…

Dearest Daughter,

I have to be honest – I wasn’t sure how to write this letter.  It’s been almost a month now since your mother and I had to make one of the most painful decisions of our lives. It has been an especially difficult time for me. Saying goodbye to a beloved, furry friend is never easy, but it is much harder when it was your shaky signature that sealed their fate.

There are so many things I want to tell you about Maya, the older “sister” that you never got to meet. She ate with the voracity of a lion. When she needed a bath, she smelled strangely like Doritos. She loved to sleep, especially if fluffy pillows, soft rugs, or baskets of laundry were involved. As a puppy, she was fearless, with a knack for taking on all dangers, whether it be a long fall from a tall bed or a frisky lab ten times her size. She took up an impossibly large portion of the bed. Most importantly, she was the best secret keeper.

In 1999, I was lost, struggling to adapt to college and living in America. And although I was surrounded by many good people, I kept my distance. In two short years, I found myself flunking out of school and life. Now, I have a history of making poor choices, so it is with mixed emotions that I think back to when I decided that getting a dog was the answer. It was less than two days later that I picked up Maya from a family in the San Fernando valley. In retrospect, it was completely irresponsible of me – I was barely capable of taking care of myself, let alone a puppy. Sometimes, however, the wrong decision can turn out to be the right one. Maya was the best mistake I ever made. Without her, your mother and I might never have gotten together, and you wouldn’t be here.

Maya was by my side for most of my adult life. She taught me responsibility. She started my education on what it meant to actually be a father. I cared for her, I confided in her, I cried with her, I protected her. And sometimes, I failed her. But I know that anything I do right raising you will be because of some lesson she taught me, and for that I will be forever thankful.

Some day you will ask for a puppy. Maybe your mother and I will say yes or maybe we won’t. Just know that if I have a sad look in my face, it will be because I know that sometimes the wrong decision can make your life so much better.

Love Always, Dad