We've been writing letters to the wee one in a notebook so one day he can read about what we were feeling during this season. When cleaning out an office at my parents house, my sister and I stumbled on letters my mom had written us when we were babies, letters I don't know if she even remembers she wrote, and it was so special to read them. I consider this site somewhat of a general journal of our life, at least in the snippets of writing, so I am including my letter from today just so I have it in this place as well.
My sweet boy,
Three-ish more weeks. Give or take. Your arrival comes in a very full season for us, but it feels like the only thing that matters. We have tried to be working on our new home, finishing up our second cookbook, celebrating the plethora of May birthdays that you will also be contributing to, and staying present with friends and family, but you are what I think about in and through it all. Our life has changed with you in my belly - you've slowed me down, I don't cook as much and I'm blaming you for my grocery basket being filled with chips and ice cream instead of green vegetables; my wardrobe is extremely limited and we're trying to furnish a tasteful and understated nursery for you down the hall. Life has looked different these past nine months, but nothing compared to what is around the corner for us. Our whole life will change in the matter of a day, hours really. You can read and prepare and talk about that, but I don't think we really have any idea.
I tear up when I imagine you being laid on my chest for the first time. I am so fearful of the process but so anxious for you - to hold you and know you. Your dad and I just lay in bed and watch my belly at night, your most active time, and guess what body parts of yours we're feeling. We pat your buns (which could be your head and if so, we're sorry) and tap your legs (or arms, who knows), trying to guess if you're going to be tall like your dad. I think you are but that's just a suspicion based on the appendages I feel you jabbing into my rib cage. You will be lucky to acquire traits from your dad - I know I repeat that in these letters, but may it further convince you of how madly in love with him I am. He is such a wonderful person. My favorite. You will grow up to admire and trust him, and oh, will he make you laugh. He will teach you things and care for you deeply, so I just ask that you respect him. I now share his heart with you and it is our duty to love him well. We are so lucky to have him.
I have two close friends who are in the throws of medical appointments and surgeries with their sick babies. It breaks my heart, and while I desperately pray for their families, for miracles and healing of these babies, I am so hopeful that you are healthy in there and getting everything you need. The truth is, and what I have witnessed from these brave mothers, is that you are not my own, and I will not always be able to protect you. I have learned that hurt and sickness and disappointment and terrible things happen and that is part of the world we live in, unfortunately. I believe we are called to live faithfully here, to be gracious characters in our own story and live generously even when things don't seem 'fair.' You'll realize soon enough that things rarely are but life is incredibly better when you get over that and see how special and beautiful it can be anyway. I hope to live a life that sees the beautiful and positive - to be a good example of that for you. I imagine you will make that easier for me as I get to bear witness to your life. Gah, I can't wait!
Your room is not done and I don't think we have enough socks for you but we are as ready as we'll ever be. We're imperfect people who are going to love you like CRAZY.
Hope you're well and snuggled and snoozy in there. Enjoy your alone time. You're a few short weeks away from so many people who are dying to hold you. You're really in for something great, my sweet boy.
I love you,