What is this?

This is a very long, open and public letter to Baby Bean McGyver, the little boy curently residing in my belly, to be evicted in December, likely during Christmas dinner.

I promise to back everything up in print to read to him during the sleepless nights. Oh, and in case you are wondering, the title did come from a horribly catchy Gwen Stefani song that is always stuck in my jukebox brain.

I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing. Thanks for stopping by!

Saturday, 31 August 2013


Hey baby,

  I was planning on starting this post about 10 minutes ago, but the cat came over and demanded my attention. Then left. He's like this, you know. Anyway, in other news, today I am really wanting shrimp and just found out that I actually can eat them (making sure they are well-cooked), which makes me super happy. I guess it made you super happy too, because you started doing backflips Cirque-du-Soleil-style at the same time.

   Tomorrow, September 1st, is Father's Day here in New Zealand, so I thought maybe we could talk a little bit about this man that is responsible for half of you. We'll find out what half soon enough, I guess.
  This is him, last week, at the zoo. I'm happy to report that I have several pictures of him eating strange things, picking his nose, making funny faces:

 This is both of us a few months ago, looking pretty as always.

 This was a great day during the summer, very close to his birthday, and he was showing off his toys.


So, what to say about Daddy? Yes, he always wears a hat. Has a drawer full of them. And sunglasses (actually, I always have them on too. We'll find you a baby sized one.). He rocks the beard now, but there was a goatee phase and even a baby-face-clean-shaved phase.
Underneath the hat, there's a lovely light brown, soft and straight head of hair. And underneath that hat, there is a lot more.

There's this wonderful smile and the sense of humour of a 12 year old. There's a love of animals and a deep desire for DIY, even if it doesn't always turns out...perfect. There's a very handy man, who knows his way around machinery, big and small. There's a passion for everything with an engine, from remote controled cars to real airplanes and war tanks. There is a great shot, even if he doesn't go out hunting as much as he wants to. There's a man who respects weapons and understands discipline, but had a rebelious fase and came out of it even better. There's a hard worker, a creative one, who thinks outside the box to solve everyday problems. There is a sometimes doubtful sense of fashion. There's an espectacular skilled pilot. There's a great chef. There's an amazing friend, that goes above and beyond for a mate in need. There's a man who cried during our wedding vows. There's a man I chose to live for and with, whom I respect and love for everything he does and is.

There's a man who puts his hand on my pregnant belly and asks every 5 seconds "Is he moving now?", because he is in awe of this little alien thing we've created. There's a man who's been trying to convince me to buy a stroller from the second that faint second line appeared. There's a man who listens while I go on and on about Ergobabies, birth plans and other random things we are discovering together. There's a man who can now be seen in baby stores, picking up teeny tiny socks from racks and showing them to me with such love in his eyes, I can barely breathe.

Your Daddy, bean, is a man. He is flawed and wonderful and real. I can assure you he is going to make mistakes: trust me on this, we've known each other for 10 years. Don't worry one bit, because every single mistake will be balanced with love, fun, laughter, learning, living and hopefully, growing. You, me, him, we'll grow together. Deal?

Random fact about Daddy you'll use for your advantage at some stage: he once had his tongue pierced. Ear too. It lasted a long time. He grew out of it, thank God.

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