WHITNEY CAIN, PHD

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Dear Baby

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Dear Baby,

Just look at you.  You’re all crumpled and wrinkly and you look a little bit like James Carville.  Somehow it works, though.  You’re a gorgeous package of miracles. 

You must have come around to join this new pack of babies I’ve been meeting.  Some belong to nannies who took care of my babies.  Others belong to friends who’ve decided to go for another round.  Still others are the firsts of younger family members.  No matter how you got here, Baby, I’m so happy to meet you.

So listen, Baby. . . soon enough we will begin foisting all kinds of hopes and dreams onto your little shoulders.  But, for now, we’re enchanted by your humongous burps, willingness to let us soothe you on occasion, crooked smiles, and exquisite little enough-ness.  In fact, we’re so distracted we haven’t yet started cooking up expectations of who you might be for us.

I hope memories of this time stay nestled in you.  I hope you can access the comfort of having people think you are capable of everything, but not expecting you to make good on that capability just yet.  I hope you remember the sureness we have that any and all dreams are yours for the taking.  I hope you remember the long list of people who know you are just right.  I hope you remember the joy of just being.

Anyway, Baby, I’m going to hand you back over even though I’d rather hold on to you.  I wish you all the love and goodness and peace in this world, as well as the wisdom to know it when you see it. 

Love,

Aunt Whitney

p.s.  Your parents look tired, so you might consider sleeping through the night sooner rather than later, but, of course, that’s up to you.

Whitney Cain