Love Letters to My Little One

I feel like I've started a million letters to you in my head and I haven't written down a single thing.

Not that I'm blaming myself. These past 7.5 months have both flown and crept by, enveloping me in an identity that feels both foreign and intuitive: mother. And not just a mother. Your mother.

That feels important.

If you ever read further back on this blog one day when I'm old and gray (honestly, at this point I'm already skipping straight to white), you'll see that you were my third pregnancy. Finding out about you was bittersweet. I was overjoyed by the sight of those two lines, but I was staring down the barrel of a reality I was all too familiar with. The two previous losses clouded what should have been pure joy with worry and heartache.

But oh darling, how we've more than made up for it.

You are joy personified. I've worked with children most of my life, and I've never met one filled with more laughter, more curiosity, and more delight than you. Your smile can't even be contained to the horizontal- it goes vertical too!

Before you arrived, I tried not to spend time wondering how my life would have been different had those other pregnancies led to children. I didn't want to know who they might have been or what life they might have had.

But looking into your huge blue eyes, rimmed with strawberry lashes, I don't see any of the struggle, the worry, or the fear. I see exactly who the Lord knew we needed; not just me, not just our family, but anyone who will know you. I see a human I knew and felt from the very first ultrasound. I knew you were a girl, I even knew your name, and everything you've done since has confirmed that you've been with me all along.

Perhaps if my first two pregnancies had come without complications, I wouldn't cherish everything like I do now. I wouldn't grasp the absolute miracles I witness every day, maybe even ignoring them completely as "nature" or "normal development." But these are incredible moments with an incredible creation that I've been allowed to witness. And I will never, ever stop praising.

The world we brought you into feels like it's in shambles. Some days I feel like it might swallow me whole. But your world is bright and joyful and safe. And I'm going to fight to keep it that way for as long as I can. Thank you for sharing your version of this world with me. I feel like I'm alive like I've never been before.

So here it is: an imperfect, rambly first letter to you. It's late at night, the dishes are actually clean (thanks, Dad), the side hustles are in good places, the dogs are fed, and even the laundry is folded. I'm exhausted, but I'll always make time for you. Not a second goes by that I'm not overwhelmed by my love for you, inspiring me to do more, love more, be more. I'm sure I'll be writing you love letters for the rest of my life, some maybe just in my head, but here's the first.