WELCOME TO THE WORLD, ALLISON NICOLE

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The world’s most beautiful baby girl, Allison Nicole Gibbons, was born August 6, 2000. Today’s column is just for her, but I suppose you can read it if you really want to.

Dear Allie,

Welcome to the world! It’s about time you got here. You’re late.

Truth is, you were supposed to be here a while ago, but apparently you missed the memo. You see, your mom went in to be induced on July 26. I thought an induction meant, "Wham! Bam! Here’s your newborn, Ma’am!" You, however, interpreted it as, "Yeah, I’m gonna pass today. I’ve got stuff to do."

After about 40 hours of induction-inspired fun, your mom was sent home to wait and let nature take its course. Nature was apparently busy, because she waited for another 11 days.

When it finally came time for the real deal to start, you came through in flying colors. The whole thing started when your mother and I were preparing to go to a movie. As we were getting ready, she said, "Uh, we may want to go to the hospital." Fortunately, my rarely better judgment prevailed, and we went to the hospital instead of the movie. That could have been an unforgettable showing of "Space Cowboys" for some patrons had I opted otherwise.

Your mom checked in around noon, and at 2:26 a.m. the next day, you checked in, tipping the scales at seven pounds, seven ounces. Couple of things: (1) Because they tried to induce your mother, she will tell you later in life, I’m sure, that she was in labor for 11 days. Don’t buy it. (2) She may also talk about the horror of the labor as a guilt-induced vehicle for you. Don’t buy that either. Your mom benefited from modern medicine like you would not believe. We could have cut off her legs and replaced them with five irons and she wouldn’t have known the difference. At least not until the next day.

When you came out, you were, by all objective accounts, the most beautiful little girl ever on the planet, despite the fact that your head was kinda eggplant-shaped and you were covered with what appeared to be cornbread batter. The batter stuff cleaned off, and the doctor said your head will meld back into a normal shape, too. Regardless, I took plenty of pictures of you with the battered eggplant look so that I can show it to any boy who tries to date you before you are 50.

So that’s where we are. Your mother and I are getting used to being parents, and I have to say, I am possibly the greatest first time father ever. Your mother thinks it is because you and I are on the same emotional level. Whatever the reason, I know you take some good, long naps when you’re hanging out on me, drooling and burping, and that seems to be grade A fathering.

You and your mother will soon be coming home, where your room has been ready since, by my count, around 1975. You have more toys than you will know what to do with, but I have a sneaking suspicion your favorite activities will, at least for a little while, still center around drooling and burping. See? You’re just like Dad!

You have a lot to learn as you head into the world, and I cannot wait to share all of my wisdom with you. Your mother can teach you all of the stuff about woman issues. In exchange, I’ll teach you how to score a baseball game. Oh, and why the prevent defense should never be used.

I know you will make your mother and me – and all of your grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins – proud throughout your life. No sense in jumping in too early, of course. These are the salad days, when people wait on you hand and foot. You won’t get this kind of treatment unless you can somehow become royalty, and, I’m sorry to say, Allie, but we’ve checked the lineage and it just ain’t happening unless you marry into it.

It is still sinking in to both your mother and me that we are parents. In the back of both of our minds, we keep thinking, "Should Congress have allowed this?" We’re learning as we go, but I think we’re getting a pretty good grip on things. We have even thought ahead about what the future may hold for you. As your mother and I sat there, staring down at you, we began to talk about all of things you could be in life – a senator, a lawyer, a doctor. Really, you can be anything you want. Well, not anything. You can’t grow up to be a member of the Beatles or anything, but you get my gist. Truth is, if you give it your best, the only thing you can’t be is a failure.

Love,

Dad