Dear Olive

Dear Olive,
Today I realized that I was well-overdue for a blog update. The only problem is, I don't have any pictures. I had planned for the current blog to be a tour of our new home, but your dad and I are taking our time getting everything ready, so that will have to wait. Now that we are back in North Carolina, it begs the question, "Who is this blog really for?" I think the best answer is that it's for you. Hopefully someday, you will read these entries and enjoy the pictures, and know a little bit what it was like as we prepared for you. That being said, this blog entry is all for you, little one.

Let me start by saying that being pregnant with you has been wonderful. You have been no trouble at all, and we're hoping that that is indicative of your personality. You only made me throw up once, gain 17 pounds so far, and frankly, you make a pretty cute bump. You like to stick your little fanny out on the left side, so it always looks a little funny and unbalanced, but cute nonetheless. Your dad loves how you wiggle and squirm especially for him when he gets home from work. I'm about 35 weeks along right now, and even strangers are excited for your upcoming entrance into the world. Everywhere I go, people smile at me, they ask if you're a boy or girl, when you'll be here, if we have a name picked out, etc. Even perfect strangers know you're something special. As nice as it's been carrying you around for the last 8 1/2 months, whenever I think about your upcoming birth, I have to admit, it makes me cry every time. Your Grandad would probably attribute this to "those pregnancy hormones," but I'm not so sure. I think it's an acute awareness that our lives are about to change so drastically, and for the better. Your dad and I are so excited to meet you, Olive, my love.

Ah, your dad. Let me tell you a little about him. He's pretty much the greatest guy in the world, and he'd do anything for us. When we found out you weren't a boy (and I really thought you were), he wasn't disappointed in the least. He went to a shell shop on our 6th anniversary, and picked out a lettered olive and your first owl. I hope you still have them today. Your dad might be embarrassed if I tell you this story, but I'm going to anyway. In November of 2010, I went to the Outer Banks to surprise my family. Aunt Brie, Uncle Daniel, and Uncle Ian were all running a half-marathon, and I couldn't stand the thought of our whole family being together without me. I got a last-minute ticket, and showed up at the door. Your dad decided to take this rare weekend by himself to go fishing in the Everglades. It's way out in the boondocks, and there is no cell phone or radio reception. On his quiet drive there, he says that he had a moment of clarity. He knew that when I got pregnant, it would be time to leave Florida, and move back to North Carolina. He said we'd need to put down roots, and that it was important for our kids to have family nearby. As much as we both loved Miami, he knew it wasn't where you should grow up. Just a few months later, we found out you were on the way. It was the happiest day of my life so far, but it will be a distant second to when you actually arrive. That's the thing about your dad, Olive. He always knows the right thing to do. Not only that, but he makes it happen. You can always trust and respect the advice your dad gives you, because he's incredibly smart, and he always has your best interest in mind. (I hope you also learn from your dad's experience that tattoos are generally a bad idea you will almost certainly regret later.)

There are so many more things I want to say to you, sweet girl. We have a lifetime to say them all. I love you so much already, and we haven't even met. I dream about you every night, and I am counting down the days until I can hold you in my arms.
Love always,
Mom