‘Twas the night before Christmas, and here in my house,
not a creature was stirring, except for me.

Something kept waking me up,every fifteen minutes.
Then every twelve. Then every ten. Nine. Eight.
Indigestion. Discomfort. Not contractions.
It couldn’t be. It was too soon.

You were scheduled to arrive on the 26th.
The room was booked. My bag was packed. There was a plan. We had a plan.
But the best-laid plans of mice get all stirred up.
Everyone was asleep, and while visions of sugarplums danced in their heads, I paced. I breathed. I paced. I breathed. We had a plan.

But, that night you had your own plan.
As you always do.
You decided to come early.
You hate to be late.
You were impatient and anxious to get this party started.
As you often are.
You wanted to make a grand entrance.
A flair for the dramatic.

So on Christmas Eve,
in the middle of the night
in the middle of a blizzard
I woke your father, in spite of myself.
He rose from the bed to see what was the matter.
And away to the hospital we flew in a flash.

The doctor spoke not a word,
but went straight to his work.
Suddenly there you were,
right before my wondering eyes.
You entered this world with a bound,
on your own terms, ahead of schedule,
more rapid than eagles,
so lively and quick.
Your eyes, how they sparkled!
Your dimples, how merry.
My bundle of joy, my early girl.

Happy Christmas to me.
It was love at first sight.