Mostly, I just can’t wait to meet her. We’re very conscious that we already _have_ a baby: she’s just an “indoor baby” and we’re waiting for her to be an “outdoor baby” (as our friend Melanie put it). There are three people who live in our house already.
But we haven’t _met_ her yet. And that’s what makes the waiting so strange. I really want to meet her, see her, find out all about her, get to know her. That’s what I’m looking forward to most (as Ann posted the other day, with my line about wanting to know Baby’s favorite flavor of ice cream).
But then isn’t this strange? It’s as if you could somehow know for certain that very soon you were going to make a new friend, someone you would know for years and years, for life. The rest of the time, the gift of making a new friend comes as a surprise as it’s happening, and that’s part of the delight of it, I guess. But waiting for Baby feels like an exception that proves the rule: this being able to anticipate the meeting helps illuminate how wonderful it _always_ is to make a new friend.