The sweetest gift

I LOVE this blog. (Mine, I mean. Stop rolling over that sentence waiting for a hyperlink to pop up.)

I am getting out stuff that's been bottled up, and putting it all into words is giving me the most amazing perspective.

This is for my baby.

I worried about how I would explain to you why some of your friends have mommies and daddies, and you just have me.

I waited all my life for you. I dreamed about the little girl I would have who looked just like me (the ONLY PERSON I KNEW who would look like me), who saw things the way I saw them, and who I could love forever. When you arrived, you were even better than that. You were born three months early, and stronger at 2 pounds than most 200 pound grownups I know. You clutched my finger and held on and screamed to be held and loved, and we held and loved you. You were and are and always will be the best thing that ever happened to me.

We found out that daddy has something called Asperger's Syndrome, that makes him think differently than you and I do. He loves computers, and sort of thinks like a computer. He can tell you anything you want to know about space. AS makes him so smart because he can only focus on the things that interest him and that he can easily understand. He has a very hard time understanding people. He loves you so much that he wanted you to be with me, so we could paint our bedrooms pink and have peanut butter sandwiches for dinner and go to the drive-in in our pajamas, because he doesn't really think that kind of stuff is fun. He and mommy are still good friends, and love you to pieces. His parents also love you, but also have a hard time dealing with people. They don't hug like you and I do, but they're very, very nice. I'm very glad he's your father. He has beautiful blue eyes, and a great laugh, and he does the best Simpsons and Sponge Bob impressions I've ever heard.

For the first year of your life, we all lived together. We never got married, because it seemed like an awful lot of fuss, and we were too busy playing with you, and biting your toes. During the second year, we all had our own bedroom in a three-bedroom apartment. Daddy wasn't ready to leave, and I wanted him to earn the right to know you, because you are a precious princess. He changed diapers, and cleaned poop, and got woken up in the middle of the night when you were hungry. He also made you laugh, and fed you, and read to you, and watched Stargate-1 with you, and spun you around by your ankles while you laughed your head off. He got to know you and love you and appreciate how smart and kind and funny and loving you are. I didn't think it was possible, but you created a little soft spot for yourself in his heart by just being yourself.

Daddy will always be my buddy, but I want him to be happy too, and for him to be a good dad to you, he needs to live alone.

I am a thousand times happier when it's just you and I.

One day, I might fall in love with a man again, and he might be a part of our life, but only if he is happy, and loves us both, and is kind, and blindingly brilliant, and a respectful gentleman, and gainfully employed, and financially solvent, and ethical, and grounded, and can cook and push a vacuum, and loves to hear us laugh, and wants to be a family with us, specifically, but that is very, very, very far into the future, and possibly never. Perhaps while you're working on your PhD, but if he doesn't meet that important criteria, I'd rather read my books and teach you how to cook, and travel, and hang with aunt Kara, who's been mommy's friend since we were 12, because she makes me laugh until I pee my pants, just like when we were 12.

Sometimes families don't always look like they do on TV, but the real stuff is better than TV. We have love, and you're my best friend in the whole world, and we are fantastic.

I love you.