Dear Jadyn,

OK, so I’m getting started about eight months late, but, hey—your brother had to wait until he was almost three before I finally got around to writing my first letter to him.

As was the case with your brother, you were conceived via intrauterine insemination. As was also the case with your brother, you arrived about two weeks after your due date, much to your mother’s dismay.

Beyond those similarities, my experience with your pregnancy and birth was much different than with Zack’s.

For starters, you don’t have a penis. This came as a shock to both your mother and I, since she had been certain you would be equipped with one, and I, despite saying on several occasions prior to your arrival that I thought you were a girl, apparently didn’t convince myself enough to take the surprise out of learning we had a daughter.

“Oh my god, it’s a girl!” I said to your mother, who, for the second consecutive delivery, had to ask me to announce your sex, since I was so caught up in the moment that I forgot to check.

Your mom again gave birth without the aid of any medication, and let us all pause for a moment to give thanks to whatever forces are responsible for my having male genitalia, because, holy moly, I’m all set with that.

Confession: You and I got off to a bit of a bumpy start. I had forgotten how frequently difficult and unpleasant it can be to care for a newborn, and you reminded me in spades. I must admit, I far prefer having a walking, talking and often-humorous 2-year-old to having a 9-pound screaming/eating/pooping machine that sleeps in bite-sized portions and just WILL NOT STOP CRYING NO MATTER WHAT I DO.

The turning point for us came when I began bringing you into bed with me in the morning while your mom snuggled up on the couch with Zack (who continues to wake like clockwork at 5 a.m. every day, and then proceeds to yell “Mommy!” until she fetches him). I would feed you your morning bottle and then we would often fall asleep next to each other, with you occasionally touching my face and playing with my hair. Once we were awake, I would usually sit you on my stomach and play with you for as long as you’d let me continue to lie there.

I am thrilled to have a daughter. To have two healthy children is enough of a bonus, but to have one of each sex is a lottery I didn’t think I’d win. Yes, a small part of my joy has something to do with the fact that having one boy and one girl means that I can now get a vasectomy, which is so nice, because I know my limitations, and they include the complete inability to successfully cope with anything more than a 1-to-1 parent-to-child ratio.

But, mostly, I’m thrilled you’re a girl because I’m getting to experience having a daughter.

And you are such a girl … so different from your brother—above and beyond the whole penis thing, I mean. I am inclined to believe that, even if we dressed you in your brother’s clothes, people would still know you are a girl. There’s just something … so … girly about you.

You have the most beautiful blue eyes, and your hair … well, some days, it looks red—like, redhead red—while on others, it seems to be more of a strawberry blonde. Why it differs from one day to the next, I’ve no idea. Must be a girl thing.

And speaking of girl things: ohmygod you look so freaking cute in your little pink outfits. After having only boy stuff around for two years, the contrast is pleasantly alarming.

Also alarming, but not pleasantly so: your temper. Before he could talk, Zack expressed frustration by getting upset and crying. You also get upset and cry, but you do so with an intensity that could power the greater Boston area, if only it could be harnessed.

After spending months using an incredibly annoying grunt as your primary means of communication, you have discovered the many sounds you can make with your mouth, all of which are adorable to listen to—even the excited screams. You have also mastered the art of blowing raspberries with your tongue and lips, which is a riot—except when you do it two inches away from my face.

Your greatest source of frustration is this whole “I can’t move myself from one place to another” thing. You see your brother walking around, and are clearly pissed that you can’t do the same. You’re not showing signs of crawling any time soon, but already you are pulling yourself up to a standing position and trying to get your feet to cooperate with you. I’m beginning to wonder if you’re going to skip crawling altogether.

You absolutely adore your brother. He commands your attention more than any other person or thing, and you immediately break into a huge smile whenever he acknowledges you—which, thankfully, he now does quite frequently, though he did have a bit of trouble adjusting to having a co-star.

Much like your brother was, you are a happy baby. You are quick to smile and, when you do, you smile with your whole face. When you flash that toothless grin at me, I feel overwhelmingly happy and blessed. (Speaking of which: it won’t be toothless for long; your first chopper is on its way in.)

So, Miss Jadyn, that’s where we’re at. The bottom line: you have me wrapped around your finger.

I love you, Princess.

Love, Daddy

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