A Letter to My Infant Son
You’ll be one next month, and I can’t believe how the first year of your life has flown by. Your existence is a manifestation of how God works, of prayer, of faith, and of perseverance.
You don’t know this, but after your sister and before you, I was pregnant. Me and dad were so excited, and so blindsided when we found out that the pregnancy could not progress. We were told our baby could not survive, and that we would have to say goodbye to our baby’s life, before it even really got started.
After that loss, I didn’t think I could ever be pregnant again. I knew my body could do it, but I didn’t think my mind would be able to. I was traumatized. Heartbroken. Devastated. All the synonyms you can think of. There was no way that I could envision opening myself up for more possible pain when that loss had almost broken me completely.
But I prayed. I prayed, and I prayed, and I prayed, and God told me to go ahead and do it anyway. Try to get pregnant again and watch Him work. So that’s what we did, and not long after that, you announced your existence on a pregnancy test that I surreptitiously took in the bathroom while Avery was eating dinner.
Here’s the thing. I knew immediately that you were a boy. I just knew. God told me that you were healthy and that you were a boy. There was never a doubt in my mind. That’s not to say I didn’t worry, but deep down, I knew.
And then come December 14, you were here. In two and a half pushes, you were out of my womb and in my arms.
You will never know how much you healed me. You took my broken spirit and breathed new purpose and confidence into it. I’ll never be able to repay you for what you’ve done for me, but as your Mommy, I’ll definitely spend my whole life trying.
And in your first year of life, you’re surely coming into your own. You can easily go from slapping me in the face to giving me the sweetest kisses, and that’s basically my personality in a nutshell, so I know we’re soulmates.
In your next year of life, I’m excited to see if your undying love of “Baby Shark” continues, and I hope that you grow out of your biting phase (pretty, pretty please). I ask that you stop trying to assault the dog (he’s nice, just get to know him!) and perhaps, would you consider expanding your discerning palate to include at least three or four more vegetables?
I want you to know that me, your dad, and Avery will always be here for you. And get ready, because once you start walking, it’s a whole new world! Also, I’m counting on you to LOVE my singing. Daddy and Avery and I have artistic differences, so I need you to back me up when I ask Daddy to stop playing John Legend for the umpteenth time.
And when it’s four in the morning, and you’ve woken up crying because you want to be nursed, I hope that you continue to cling to me so tightly when I pick you up, as if we are about to sky dive out of a plane and I’m the one with a parachute. That happens to be the perfect metaphor, because it sums up how I feel about you.
Before you, I was living an amazing life. I had a perfect daughter, and a great husband, and then when I lost that baby, it felt like I was shoved out of an airplane, but then you came along, and you were my parachute. You got me back on solid ground.