She’ll make you want to be the absolute best version of yourself.
You’ll get down on one knee. And I know you, you’ll plan something elaborate and beautiful and well thought-out, but you’ll keep the whole thing a secret. You’ll buy her the ring she cut out of a magazine when she was a little girl. You’ll look her father in the eyes and ask for his permission. You’ll ask her to be your wife. You’ll ask her to promise to give you the rest of her life, and you’ll promise to give her the very best of you.
She’ll say yes, of course. How could she not?
Just remember, I called you baby first.
You’ll walk me down the aisle to my seat on the first row. I’ll hold tight to your arm, but I’ll let you go. Love does that sometimes — it forces you to remove your grip on someone who no longer belongs to you, and cheers for them in the form of soft smiles and huge tears that flow freely as they take steps toward their exciting new life.
The big moment will come. Everyone will be looking at her, but I’ll be looking at you.
How your face lights up. How you still do that same thing you’ve always done where you work really hard not to bust out in a huge grin. How you fidget because being in front of all of those people makes you a little nervous. How you shine. How you treasure her.
Maybe you’ll live nearby.
Maybe you’ll live far away.
But the time will come for you and your wife to grow your family. You’ll call me up and say it’s happening. You’ll be panicked, but you won’t show it. You’re so good under pressure. I’ll tell you how proud I am, and what a wonderful father you’re going to be. I’ll tell you to hold her hand the whole time, and to reassure her, and to tell her she looks beautiful no matter what.
We’ll hop in the car, your dad and me, and we’ll rush to the hospital.
We’ll wait anxiously in the lobby until you grab us and tell us it’s okay for us to come in the room and there you’ll be — holding your tiny daughter or son, just bundled up in a white swaddle, screaming because coming into a brand new world is scary, and that’s just what newborns do. You’ll bounce them and you’ll shush them and you’ll calm them.
And the only thing I’ll be able to think is:
I am so, so unbelievably proud I got to call you baby first.
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