Letters to My Son

My sweet boy,

Just now, I let the door to your bedroom (slash, Daddy’s office and the way to the bathroom) fall closed a little abruptly and I woke you up with a cry. I cringed and scolded myself for being so careless but you sucked your binkie back into your mouth and fell back asleep within a few seconds. Disaster averted.

We’ve been having a rough go of it the last couple of days, you and me. You’ve been a tired and cranky boy who doesn’t want to eat and doesn’t want to sleep. So unlike you. I think you may finally be getting ready to pop out a couple of teeth like you’ve been threatening to do for two months now.

But here is what I want you to know: your “rough” day is another baby’s great day. You are literally the easiest, happiest little boy I have ever met. If you fuss at me for a minute or two before getting to eat, I’m shocked at you. That’s unheard of, my son. You, in all your perfection, are a rarity on this earth.

I’m going to tell you something that maybe some moms would not: your Dad and I were not trying to have kids when I got pregnant with you. Don’t get me wrong! We wanted kids; we just didn’t think we were ready. But God obviously knew what he was doing. Within moments of knowing you were inside me, my greatest fear was that something would happen to you. Within moments of seeing you for the first time, I loved you more than I have ever loved anyone on this earth. Within a few short weeks, I could no longer imagine my life without you. Over the past six months, I’ve almost forgotten what life was like before you.

You are my whole world.

There are so many things that I want for you, my son, but more than anything I want you to know that you are loved and supported. Always and in everything. Sometimes, when I’m sitting with you on the couch or cuddling with you in bed, I get a little heart achey for a second because I know that you won’t remember any of this – these moments that are so special to me will only be known to you through these letters and pictures and stories I tell. But I console myself with the thought that you will come away from it knowing how much I love you. You will emerge into awareness – that magical barrier you cross into memory making years – knowing that I love you. You won’t be able to put your finger on where that knowledge came from originally; you won’t be able to point at the time you first knew it. But you’ll know it. I’m going to make sure of that.

I love you, my handsome.

Always and Forever,

Mom

Letter to My Son

Dear Son,

Do you know that I love you? Every time you jump inside of me, my heart jumps with you. Even when it keeps me awake at night. Yes, it would be great if you wanted to sleep when I do, but I’ll take the  midnight bumps and kicks if it means having you.

I’ve been having the sensation of missing you lately. Odd, since I haven’t really met you yet. But I read this book that tells me how you’re growing each week and you should be nearing three pounds by now. Three pounds! You weren’t even a pound yet the last time I got to see you in an ultrasound. And so now I feel like I need to know how you’ve changed. Could I see your fingers more clearly? Would you let me get a better look at your face? You were so shy (or annoyed?) last time. You kept turning away from the ultrasound or shielding your face with your hands.

I day dream about what you will look like. Dark haired and dark eyed? Or blonde and blue eyed, maybe, like your cousin. You’re sure to have big, chubby cheeks. There’s no getting around that one, I’m afraid, with your Dad and I for parents. If I run down the list of features, I generally end up hoping you get most of them from your Dad. He’s just so handsome. But no matter whose side of the family you take after, I know you’re going to be perfect and I can’t wait to kiss your tiny nose and nibble on your puffy feet. (I’m sorry – you’ll just have to put up with that. I get it from my Mom – your Nana – the urge to bite things that are cute. Your Nana calls those bite-worthy bits Sweet Meat. Maybe it makes us a little weird, but I promise it’s a sign of affection.)

Even more than I wonder what you will look like, I wonder about what you will be like. Quiet and serious? Or wild and funny? Will you love to read? (I’m reading Jane Eyre to you right now. It’s not likely to turn out to be your favorite book, but maybe you will inherit my love of reading if I read something that I adore. Plus I’m hoping you’ll be attached to the sound of my voice.) Or would you rather run around outside and invent new worlds for your games? I hope you’ll do plenty of both.

I had a dream last night that you were here. I was lying in my bed, holding you. Some other things happened in the dream but you were the only part that made me a little sad when I woke up. I was sad to find that you were not there for me to hold and to kiss.

I can’t wait to meet you. I tear up at the beautiful promise of the moment I get to hold you in my arms. But on some level, I’m going to miss this: the constant companionship of you being a physical part of me. The constant bumps to remind me you are ok. Not just ok, but healthy and strong. I already fret about how out of control it will feel to have you separated from me. It makes me a little nervous for the years that are to come. I’m apologizing right now if I turn out to be one of those obsessive, worry wart mothers when you are a teenager and young man. I promise to do my best to fight the urge to control and protect, and to just let you be you. To make your own mistakes. To forge your own way. To learn to believe in yourself.

But for now, I’m glad to have you where you are. I will keep you safely in here for a few more months. Know that I love you more than I ever knew possible.

Love,

Mom