I was just thinking about you. And I haven't written you in a while.
You're getting so big. Now you have arms and legs that carry you places. You sit yourself in little chairs and make your way down little stairs...You're a real little person now.
I don't have much to say...partially because if I really sat down to write you it would take forever. But I was just thinking...
One day, when you're still little...like you are now...I'd like to tell you stories. The stories about how your mom and I met and became friends and fought and learned to rely on each other... About your Uncle Brandon and your Grandma and your Grandpa... About our drunken nights (we won't tell your Dad that I told you those stories)... About how we've grown up. About how you were born and suddenly all these people were just enamoured with you. About the first time I babysat you and we fell asleep on the couch. You were tiny and cradled in my arm and I felt like I was with one of the coolest people in the world.
People grow old and friends fall out of pictures. Things change, but you should still know the stories. And I'd like to tell them to you while you're little, and don't really understand them. Because it'll look cuter that way.
One day soon, we'll do that, you and me.