dear eip & muse,

it is currently Feb 8th. Christmas wasn’t packed down until Jan 31st. muse will tell you (now that she’s had a year to think about it) whether it was a matter of circumstance or laziness.

as you can tell, your handwriting has not improved. i assume that by xmas 2022 this remains true (ed note: it does)

i am writing this sitting next to my heavily pregnant wife. those last two words were not on the radar this time five years ago but here we are; and i hope you are all the better for the unforeseen additions to the life plan (that you never had).

by now, excepting a ridiculous tragedy, there are three of you reading this, excepting the cats whom muse wanted to include but cannot read. muse is half in tears thinking of all the things that could go wrong.

i hope you can stick your tongue out at her and make that stupid noise that is universally understood as

I TOLD YOU SO.

in the tragic event that you are unable to make said noise, i need you both to remember something.

YOU TRIED YOUR BEST.

you took the Elevit.
you finished work early.
you made the dinners when she couldn’t.
you bought the back support belt.
you slept with the weird pillow.
you vacuumed the sheets.
you went to see the OBGYN even when you were unsure what your money was buying you.
you took care of your body.
you hydrated.
you googled the medication before you took it. just in case.

you did everything in your power, as far as i can see (sitting here having just done it) to ensure that your child had the best chance possible.

when it comes down to it, although it’s difficult to rationalise within yourself, you can only ask for your own best.

looking here at my crying, exhausted, sore, extremely pregnant wife, i feel that we have given our best.

i hope you two can agree, given the gift of hindsight.

with much love, a little fear, and way too much optimism.

eip & muse
2021(ish)