Dear Baby Boy,

I have to admit, I'm kind of afraid of you. Of who you might end up being, of how you're going to be my responsibility, and of the manner in which you plan on your making your grand entrance. For the longest time, I was hoping for a C-section- that I'd have a pre-scheduled appointment at the hospital, show up, maybe have a cool glass of water, and then they'd cleanly slice me open and gently lift you out into the world, all without any real pushing or effort on my part. Then I did some reading about C-sections, especially the recovery time involved, and now I'm all about trying to have you the old fashioned way (with drugs, of course). And thinking about all that's involved in THAT whole train wreck- well, let me just say, I'm terrified.

But, aside from the birth, there's the here and now, and then there's the future. I will tell you that being pregnant is not as joyous and wonderful as I thought it would be. Please don't take it personally; it's not you, it's me. See, your little kicks and jabs thrill me beyond belief- but it is extremely difficult to be a part of this whole process without really knowing what's going on in there. And knowing if I'm somehow inadvertently screwing things up by eating, drinking, touching, inhaling the wrong things. The pressure and the responsibility I feel is ridiculous. I am so afraid of doing the wrong thing and harming you; you should see my internet search history. Every week I'm discovering a new chemical or toxin in my environment that I'm afraid is somehow making its way to you, and it scares me beyond belief. Phthalates in the plastic. BPA in the canned food. Triclosan in the soap. Pesticides in the water. It's so hard to do everything "right" and to avoid all of the possible bad things that have so seamlessly integrated themselves into our modern environment, and sometimes the weight of worrying about the negative potential is too much to carry. Being pregnant is not easy. I wonder how I will feel once you are here and there's a whole new host of potentially harmful things to worry about. How the heck am I going to handle that?

I do know that, despite this fear of hurting you, I absolutely cannot wait to meet you. What are you going to look like, and who are you going to be? Number one, I want you to be healthy and happy. I want you to have a happy, normal childhood, and I can't wait to be with you as you reach all of your little milestones. I can't wait to hear the sound of your first words or see your first smile or hear your first giggle. I can wait to hold you and to look into your eyes and to touch your little cheek. I think you're going to be pretty amazing. So amazing that my heart is going to burst every time I look at you.

I'm going to try and do the best I can for you. You just have to promise me that you'll forgive me if I'm a nervous wreck time and time again. I've never been in charge of anything this important before. I hope to raise you to be a good man. I don't want you to be a douche. Every time I see some punk asshole teenager, I just hope that that won't be you some day. I want you to be respectful and kind. And smart. And, of course, funny. I want your comedic timing to be impeccable. Oh, just so you know, you don't have to be interested in sports. At all. So don't feel pressure to want to watch football, unless it's something that you're doing with Chris- I mean, Dad- while I'm out shopping or something.

Anyway, before I end this letter, I'd like to apologize for all of the time I am spending worrying about you and imagining all of the things that could be wrong with you before you even take your first breath. That's not cool of me; it's awful that I am so afraid of something being wrong with you, because, even if there is, I'm going to love you anyway. Not that I have any indication that there will be anything wrong- so far, I seem to be growing a healthy little baby. But, I'm paranoid and scared and in wanting only the best for you, my mind has manifested fears that reflect the worst. I am sure this is normal, or at least I hope it is. But, normal or not, it's not cool of me to sit here with you inside my big, growing belly imagining every possible thing that could be wrong with you. I just hope that you're not absorbing too many of my dark thoughts. That's not my intention. If you are absorbing these bad thoughts, please just shake them off. Shake them off and realize that every time I drink a glass of milk, it's for you. I never used to drink milk, now I drink it just for you. Every time you get a vitamin or an orange or what seems to me to be a ridiculous amount of water, it's all for you. When I fall asleep on my left side, even though I like sleeping on my right side, that's for you. And all of the wonderful things that I've denied myself- wine, sushi, smoking, salami- it's all for you, you, you, you. Ever since I found out about you, 100% of the things I do (or don't do) are with you in mind. I never forget about you. And when I rub my belly, know that I'm thinking nice, sweet thoughts about you, and that I'm trying to let you know how much I already love you.