So, mom and I have known that you were on the way for quite some time now...going on 4 and a half months or so. Still, for all that time having this information, there is a substantial difference between "knowing" you're coming, and feeling the immediacy of your arrival.
Today changed all that. We went to USC School of Medicine for a level 2 ultrasound. They basically got all up in your kool-aid and measured just about anything one could think of. Mom and I saw your head, and, arms, and fingers, and legs, and toes, and kidneys, and hiney, your back bone, and that thing that used to hang out of your belly button. We also saw that you were wearing a dress, and that's how we knew you were a girl (Not really, but that's what we're going to tell your uncle James, who is presently 7 years old. Just go with it...).
It was very impressive. You seemed to be all there. Often I wish I was.
I know it's going to be a few years before you will be able to experience a ride on a rollercoaster with me (your mom won't go, she is too much afeared). But I'll go ahead and describe the experience so you'll know a bit of what I'm feeling right now.
The first thing you'll notice is the line. With any good rollercoaster, you'll spend a great deal of time waiting to get onto it. The queue will seem to take forever as you snake and wind your way through an intricate maze of some person's brilliant design. You will see signs which remind you that you have to wait. "2.5 hours from this point." Your thoughts will wander here and there. "My feet hurt." "The giant rodent kinda creeps me out." "Who gets to decide that i have to be 'this high'" "Was it so wise to scarf down those greasy chicken fingers at the mediaeval-themed fast food restaurant?"
As you wait there, you will feel a vague sense of excitement, that something cool is about to happen. That vagueness ends about a half split second after you see the corrals which are used to divide up passengers for the individual cars. The immediacy of your (very near) future starts to set in.
Looking from the outside of the ride- rollercoasters, like pregnancy- don't offer a whole lot of mystery ... at least on some level. You can step back and watch every single twist and turn that a rollercoaster has to offer. You can see exactly what path you are about to take on a macro level.
Corkscrew, loop-de-loop? Bring it on!
You can talk to others who have ridden the ride before you, they can relate their experience to you. You can read a book on the history, development, construction, and physics of that exact amusement. You can know all this, and it will all matter to you...until you see the end of the line.
The end of the line, like your mom and dad finding out that they are going to have a little girl, means that you can see the carts. It means that in a mere few seconds you will be reacting to the direct corkscrews and loop-de-loops at the micro level.
Bring it on?
You will soon be staring at your exigent future. It will look a lot like the back of another cart.
Beyond that point, past the plastic and fiberglass, in the far sunlit unknown, will be a passel of twists, turns, loops, and near panic (and vomit) inducing snapbacks.
Although you have seen all there is to see, and heard all there is to hear, and read all there is to read about the trip on which you about to be swept, you will still wonder "how will I manage to deal with the sheer immediacy of it all". You will alternate between feelings of the terrific and terrifying, delight and disquiet, awe and agitation, fantasy and fear, contentment and contention.
You will wonder if you are truly prepared for this. You will wonder you will make it through this jaunt. You will wonder if those chicken fingers were such a good idea. You will wonder if your keys will fly out of your pocket and lodge themselves into someone's face. But mostly, you will wonder about those chicken fingers.
Ready or not, this ride will start. You will go. It will take you. You will deal with the forces as you meet them. I'm sure along the way, there will be some uncertainties, some screaming, and some doubt.
Such is life.
But in the end, the ride will stop, our feet will again meet solid ground. Our hearts and stomachs will return to their natural anatomically correct positions.
And at that time I look forward to looking over to you, gazing in wild wonder like we're meeting for the first time.
Metaphorically speaking, it won't be far from the truth.
Love,
Dad
