I Didn't Know

I didn't know if I would have a son or a daughter.

I didn't know what the sound of your voice would be like when you hollered from your crib.

I didn't know that some days you wouldn't nap unless I was holding you.

I didn't know you would love to play peekaboo with the curtains, to open and close doors and items, and be obsessed with our pets.

I didn't know how hard you would giggle when your daddy would tickle you under your chin.

I didn't know how your face would light up when you would see your siblings.

I didn't know how much you would absolutely hate every single car ride.

I didn't know how pink your laundry would be.

I didn't know how much I would miss you when we happen to be apart or after I would lay you down to sleep.

I didn't know how little I would miss all the sleep I used to get when it was replaced by seeing and holding you.

I didn't know you wouldn't be a big cuddler.

I didn't know how good you would smell after baths and how pretty your hair would look.

I didn't know how gorgeous you were going to be.

I didn't know you. But now I do.