I’ll babysit badly so you can nap properly, and I mean it.

You said you’re nervous about crying in front of them, and that’s allowed and real.

You pinned a sticker to the calendar the day they kicked, and I still grin thinking of that.

You admitted you’ll need help, and I’ll show up without being asked.

You showed me the tiny blanket tag and laughed, and I loved that laugh then.

I want to rescue you from hospital boredom with the worst magazines and good snacks.

You wobble between impatience and awe, and I’m paying attention to both.

I kept your note about feeding preferences; small lists mean you’re already thinking for two.

You said you don’t know how to sing well and still promised to try nightly.

You touched the car seat base like it was fragile and I liked who you were in that moment.

I’ll answer stupid calls at 3 a.m. and then bring you caffeine like it’s urgent.

You admitted you’re excited to see who they get your laugh from, and that made me laugh.

You found a tiny hat at the market and put it on the counter — that sight stuck with me.

I want to stand in the kitchen with you at 2 a.m. holding a bottle and bad conversation.

You said you were worried about bedtime routines, and I’ll help make one that works.

You told the dog the baby’s name and the way you did it made me smile crookedly.

I’ll bring the extra pillow for your naps and take the dishes afterward.

You told me you’re already protective in small ways, and that will matter to them.

I love that you kept the sonogram photo in your wallet like it’s a concert ticket.

You admitted you’re terrified of not knowing what to do, and that truth is brave.

I’ll come over just to fold tiny socks with you and say nothing else if you want.

You said you were worried about mornings, and I believe you’ll find steady rhythms.

When you practice lullabies off-key, I love how honest and human you are.

I remember you smoothing the tiny sleeper and thinking, they’ll have someone who cares about hems.

You named a stuffed bear already and it made the whole thing feel real to me.

I felt proud hearing you promise to read silly stories every week.

I’ll bring you takeout and a clean towel on nights you don’t want to move.

You whispered the nursery paint color and I liked hearing you decide small things.

I want to be there when you change the first diaper, even if I’m awful at it.

You looked at the baby name list and smiled — I keep that smile in mind.

I’m keeping the dented mug you used at our last sleepover because that’s where we’ll sip later.

You’re going to make midnight bottles and still tell the worst jokes, and that makes me happy.

I like that you cried at the tiny sock, it mattered to me that it mattered to you.

Your hand on the crib plan made me think, they’ll have someone who plans snacks well.

When you said the ultrasound felt unreal, I heard steady hope in your voice.

You’re going to be a tired, laughing person and I’m already ready to bring you coffee.

I noticed how you kept the spare blanket in the car, and I love that for you.

I picture us still sending each other one-line check-ins that mean everything.

I want simple future mornings where you steal my cereal and I pretend to mind.

I'll keep offering to help paint rooms even when our arms are sore.