Letters to Jory

When we took you home, I drove like I had the most fragile egg in my hands. When we got home, I remember looking you up and down, I remember flipping you over and checking every inch of you from head to toe. I counted your fingers and toes hundreds of times.

You were not a pretty newborn.

Haha.

No newborn is good looking.

They are red, swollen yet wrinkly and look like aliens; but you were my alien. Over the next few weeks, any time you would breathe, cough, yelp, or cry, we’d rush to your side. We had no idea what we were doing, but me especially. I tried getting you to lay next to me to watch baseball but I couldn’t watch the screen, I couldn’t keep keep my eyes off of you. I loved you so much, and you had no idea who I was.

My favorite thing to do used to be watching you make weird funny faces as you either pooped or had gas.

You were so fragile, and yet at the same time I wanted you to be tough because you were a boy.

Your baby breath was my favorite.

I used to put my nose near your mouth so that you would hurry and bite it, you really were so perfect to me. You had so much hair and it was pitch black, and all I wanted to do was play with it, but I didn’t want to hurt you.

Watching you grow was the most amazing thing ever. It seemed like from one day to another you’d get bigger and less alien looking. I would talk to you in Spanish and then switch back to English because I didn’t want to confuse you.

I wanted the world for you when you were little.

I want the world for you now.

All my life I wanted to be a dad, and when you were born and I took you home, I realized all my life I wanted to be your dad.

My Jory Jude. My one and only.

I couldn’t be happier to be your dad;

And your dad alone.

-Dad