Dearest Daughter,

By the time you are old enough to read this, you will likely already know that Daddy has a potty mouth.  With any luck, it will have improved dramatically, but I’m honestly not looking to make it a priority.  You see, somewhere along the lines, my brain associated truth and honesty with language so colorful that it makes sailors blush.  Four-letter words – and a slew of homemade 12-letter words, too – are as much a part of me as you are.  I’m not endorsing it, but it is who I am, and there’s nothing wrong with being yourself.

I guess, ultimately, I’m wondering what you will be like, and how much of you will really be a reflection of your mother and me.  Will you be quick to forgiveness or quick to anger?  Will your face be full of smiles or frowns?  Will you find intrigue in art; comfort in music?  Whoever you will be, I look forward to getting to know you.

…just please don’t become one of those ridiculous caricatures I see daily.  You’ll know these people some day.  Perhaps you’ll overhear them in an elevator, going on and on about just how UH-MAY-ZING such-and-such salad bar is because the food is just SO DE-LISH.  Fuck those people.

Love Always, Dad

Well, I suppose there’s no turning back now…

In just over 15 weeks, your mother and I will finally get to meet you; to hold you.  The truth is, I’m terrified.  Everyone says that you’re never really ready to be a parent, you just rise to the occasion.  And I hope that I will.  I promise to learn to be a good father every moment of my life, and I promise to project as little as possible.  (USC is still off the table, though.)

Soon enough, I will be Dad, Daddy, Papa, etc.  I will be all of those things.  It will be the most important title I will ever receive and I hope I earn it daily.

So, 15.42857 weeks and counting.  I can’t wait to meet you.  Until then…

Love Always, Dad