A Welcome Note

Little Baby W,

Just in case they forget to tell you, before you were born, your parents called you ‘Cletus the Fetus’. I know it doesn’t have the ring of ‘Cletus the Fetus’ but I always thought of you as Baby W - I like that the W can stand for so many great words: wonderful, wishful, whimsical.

Months ago, when you were an itty bitty thing, your mom asked if I would make your bedding. She knew you’d be special and wanted to be sure that everything that surrounds you – especially the first thing you see when you wake and the last thing you see before you drift off into dreamland – is just right. As we scoured through fabric she knew what she wanted the minute she saw it: Elvis.

It might take a while to learn that not everyone is lucky enough to grow up with an Elvis crib bumper but once you do, you’ll know what a great set of parents you’ve got. They’ve spent so much time planning for you and are so eager to let you be who you are – not some cookie-cutter kid who goes with the flow. And that, Baby W, is way cool.

Old people like me like me sometimes have odd beliefs. Mine is that all of the thoughts you have while making handmade things are transferred to those items.

While making your bedding, I heard a song by David Ryan Harris – a song offering his son wisdom that sometimes brings tears to my eyes (if you’re a girl one day you’ll understand this; if you’re a boy, you’ll learn that crying is one of those things us girls sometimes do). When I heard that song, I said a little prayer that it, in addition to lots of love and tons of ambition, was in some strange, crazy-old-woman-who-believes-in-weird-things way transferred to your bedding.

Welcome to the world Baby W. You’re very, very loved.

-Robin