The Christmas Baby (On Thanksgiving)

Thanksgiving this Thursday kicks off the months long celebratory season colloquially known as “holiday” here in the US. My most eventful Thanksgiving by far happened two years ago, when what was supposed to be our Christmas-time baby showed up Thanksgiving Day instead. I think of that year as being the most and least “holiday” Holiday kick off ever. The most because of the centrality of family to the season, and I literally made some more of it that day. And the least because these dark days at the end of the year are all about looking back, while having a baby is inherently about looking forward.

I remember cradling my little one in my arms that day, and trying to imagine the best future for her. I gazed deeply into her large, searching eyes and thought: my sweet baby girl…

I hope you fail.

I hope you fail again and again because you’re not afraid to try, and failure is the only way to know that you’re using your full potential and experiencing all you can have, all you deserve.

I hope you skin your knees, both of them, every summer so that you know that you have squeezed every last ounce of play out of every long day.

I hope you lose a few soccer games so that you learn the importance of humility and tenacity, or else maybe discover that sports just aren’t for you.

I hope we fight. I know I won’t convince you, but I want you to practice thinking through what you are doing and trying to make a case for your actions so that maybe, just maybe, you’ll do the same thing when I am not there.

I hope that when you give your heart away, its handed back to you, shattered into a million pieces so you can put it back together the best way you see fit and that you understand a heart is not a gift given, but a gift shared together.

I hope that you fall down and get back up again, ready to face down whoever stands in your way, over and over again until the very end of time.

And know that I will love you even longer than that.