Sleeping doesn’t come easy these days, so it wasn’t surprising that I found myself sitting in the recliner of your room in the middle of the night. I was electronic free and I just sat, looking around at a perfectly clean, tidy room.
Your little night-light and sound machine had the room gently illuminated in soft blue light. And a small, stuffed bear sat in my lap. I could just barely see the outlines of all that important baby gear. Your little bouncer. Your little rocker. Your little car seat.I’ve been extremely whiny and uncomfortable lately. The small complications at the end of this pregnancy have me both exhausted and occasionally in pain all day. They’ve also found me emotionally worn down. I’m afraid of you coming too early. Like your daddy, you’re apparently completely impatient and refuse to show up late for anything. Especially your own birth.
But the truth is this: as soon as you get here, I know that I’ll completely forget how bad your kicks and stretches hurt while I’m having a contraction. Or how exhausting my irritable uterus is when I can’t tell the difference between contractions or just constant aches. Or how when your head rolls across my poor bladder I almost die–or pee on myself. I do that a lot lately; pee on myself.
And you’ll arrive so, so soon. Faster than I even think we’re prepared for. As it is they take me off medication on Friday. Of course they want you to stay in there for another week. You’ll only have been growing for 36 weeks tomorrow. But my body may not physically pull that off and the doctor says you’ll be okay if you come after Friday.
Friday. Tomorrow Friday. That’s not even 24 full hours.
I thought about that and thought, “Oh man. Next week. My son will probably be here next week.”
And then I prayed. For you. For me. For your father.
I thought about how exhausting this entire process has been, from our first, heartbreaking loss, through the second loss, to the miracle that I’m carrying now. You. And I thought about the sweet years it’s just been me and your dad. I thought about how special those years are, and how I wouldn’t give them up for anything.
He is an awesome husband and has wonderful parents, I know he’s going to be an amazing dad. I can’t wait to see him fill those shoes because I can’t imagine a better father for you.
When I picture you, you are just like him. Just so you know. Strong, with the deepest sense of loyalty and love I’ve ever met in a man.
For a moment, I reveled in the calm before the storm. This quiet room.
A roll, kick, and punch later, I realized that calm isn’t calm even now. I’m already sitting absolutely still when you fall asleep, afraid to move or talk in case I wake you up.
Then I thought about the future, and how joyful I am for you to join us.
I want to come back to this moment one day and show you. Show you how I felt, what I was thinking, how happy and excited we were for you to join our family. Tell you it was 5:30 am when I was typing this letter because sleep was elusive and I was so full of joy and peace.
You’ll be in my arms so soon.
I don’t want you to forget that I’m willing to this, all over again, just for you. Because you’re worth it. And I want you to know that I felt that way before I even saw your face, kissed your nose, held your hand, or fixed your boo-boos.
The fact is, I love you even now. With every part of my heart and soul. I can’t help it.