I guess this is my last letter to you before you’re born, and I’m afraid I don’t have an exciting story. In the week leading up to your birth, your mother and I were both busy trying to fight off a cold given to us by your uncle Mark. That meant lots of chicken soup, naps, Candy Crush, and cursing patient zero for infecting us.
We also started sleeping in separate rooms so that I could sleep better through the night and boy was it peaceful. I consider it the calm before the storm, but I wonder whether this is how it always starts for couples that regularly sleep in different rooms? I hope not, but I expect to be back in the same bed after tomorrow to share in your mother’s misery whenever you decide to show off how loud you can be in the middle of the night.
On the day before your birthday, I learned something about myself. It turns out I’m also a nester (although in your mother’s opinion, I’m the only one in this household with a real nesting instinct). I went into a cleaning craze the moment I woke up with only one thought running through my head: “We gotta get this place in shape for Milo!” I dusted, I vacuumed, I took out the trash, and I even set up the air purifier where you’ll be sleeping. We can’t be welcoming you home to a messy place!
As for your mother in particular, she’s approaching the event of giving birth like she would a marathon: plenty of rest and carbo-loading the couple of days before. I like pasta, but I think I’m ready for some of that frozen food your mother’s prepared for the next month.