My Dear SweetLove, 

And you were baptized. And it was wonderful.

It felt, truly, like living in a movie. And when I held you over that silver bowl, and looked down on your face, haloed by the bowl’s lip, with your white baptismal outfit, and then the priest poured water on your forehead, it felt like I was witness to a film. It was too real, too surreal, mixed.

We hired a professional photographer to record the early moments, before the baptism, and to photograph the family and Godparents. Your dad was smiling the entire time and, for most of the two-hour service, he held you. He held you, fed you formula, and then you were knocked out. Chris stayed up the entire night before, working, then was up for the entire ceremony, until about 12 or so.

He said that, as your Godfather, he’d be buying you a beat up car when you’re eleven or twelve, to tinker with in the driveway. And that it’d be a real beater, worth about 500 bucks or so. He said it was tradition.

And he said this kind of mischievously and grandly and like he really did research this and it was a real thing. And so I believe him. I believe he learned this and that, somewhere somehow, it’s true. It IS a Godfatherly thing to deliver a beat up junker to play with.

Chris and Ryelyn gave us a bottle of champagne, and they went in, with Nana, on a wooden key fob for your dad with your name engraved on it, and a silver jewelry box for me with your name on it. And maybe, if I ever get a tattoo, it will also be your name. That seems appropriate and meaningful.

I wish that I could have recorded that moment, of looking down on you as you were baptized, or that we’d had a photographer for the whole service so I had some photos of you as she, the priest, poured water over you. 

It was, possibly, one of the most important days of my life. And also, hopefully, one of yours. A day you’ve already forgotten, but that will somehow be with you for every day you’re here. Which is a loooong time, I hope.
I love you, kiddo.

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