Here's looking at you, Kendall.

The past week, I've been hard-pressed to remind myself that there is an end in sight, somewhere on that frigging horizon.

Between my beloved Ford Escort (affectionately known as Eberta) going to car heaven, tossing myself between rides into Bangor like a drunken mule, and a host of other annoyances, I have been a goteed ball of stress the past week. I have had a poor attitude, I've been on edge, and I've been close to breaking under the weight of innumerable tiny problems.

That all changed on Sunday.

I charged into the hospital as soon as I got the call, my fiance in tow. The elevators wouldn't climb fast enough. My feet wouldn't walk fast enough. Doors wouldn't open fast enough. I had to resist the urge to sprint, such was my anticipation. I stepped into the room, and for a moment, time stopped.

I saw Kendall.

Curled into my brother's arms, making teeny sounds that were her absolute best attempts to cry, was my niece. She had been born not 3 hours before I got there, a tiny, pink, noise-making bundle. Her unopened eyes were cinched shut, hiding her baby blues from the light that encroached on her happiness. Innocence seemed to radiate from the bright pink blankets that held this beautiful, fragile girl. The tired glow from Nick and Hailey was unmistakeable, both of them overjoyed that Kendall was healthy and here.

I knew at that moment that, along with her father and mother, I would strive to protect this gift from God, that she would always know that I was there for her, that her family would be a sanctuary in this ever-darkening world.

I can't imagine what it's going to be like when I'm a dad. I can't imagine the overwhelming feeling of love, rushing to overtake every single sense in your body.

But I think I got a small taste of it on February 6th, 2011, when I met my niece, Kendall Reagan Waite.

Yes, I'm still going to be everything an uncle should be; I'm still going to be the mischievous, funny Uncle Aaron that teaches her how to catapult coffee creamers into the upper atmosphere using naught but a spoon. But at the same time, I feel privileged to just to be close to her, to watch this life develop and mature, to discover how her personality evolves. She's already one of the most fascinating people I've ever met.

Kendall, I know you can't read yet (you're probably still getting a grasp on the whole "seeing" thing), but I want you to know how amazing you are and what big plans God has for you. Your mom and dad love you fiercely, and they'll always have your back, no matter what life hands you. Your Aunt Ami is going to spoil you as much as humanly possible, and I can't promise that your Uncle Aaron and Aunt Janelle are going to be much better. Your grandparents will watch over you, offering wisdom and open arms, just like they did with your parents. You are safe. You are protected. You are loved.

And that's never going to change.

You've already changed my life, and you just got here four days ago.

Welcome to this broken earth that's brightened with your presence.

Love,

Uncle Aaron

(PS: Your father is a LEGO nazi. Make sure you keep all the wing pieces, or he'll steal them.)