Dear Son,
It feels appropriate as we celebrate your 8th grade promotion to remind you of the 24 hours of labor, followed by a cesarean section, that I endured to bring you into this world. I mention this because I know that as we navigate your high school years together, we both might have some…moments…that maybe we don’t like one another and I just want to let you know preemptively that, yes, I will continue to refresh your memory of how it was, exactly, your birth was born and you should always remember to just give me a hug and say thank you.
I also mention this because the day you were born was the most special day of my life. I can recall almost every detail. I can still feel the rush of emotion released when I heard your first cry. I can still see your face for the first time. I can still remember what it felt like the first moment your flesh touched mine. I remember the darkened nights in the hospital room, awaiting the nurse to bring you to me to feed because you had to be under the blue lights in the nursery. I missed you so much when they had to take you back. Even though I knew it was only a matter of a few hours before I would see you again, all I wanted was to be with you every minute. It already felt like it was going too fast.
And it was in one of those quiet, darkened moments that you were handed to me silently, all swaddled up, face squirming with signs of hunger, that I looked down at you and wondered how it was that I could ever love you more than I did at that moment. That I wondered if I would ever have another moment of such pure love again. If I could have frozen time in that moment and stayed with you forever all swaddled up and tiny and perfect, I would have. I will never forget that moment, Son. It lives in me and I try to always parent you from the spot it shines from.
Of course, I’ve failed many times as a parent. I’m sure I’ll fail many more. But what I didn’t realize in that moment, that perfect moment of absolute love that I wanted to be frozen in for eternity, was that I had already failed. Failed to understand that my love for you could only grow. Failed to realize that in surrendering to that one perfect moment, I would have sacrificed the million more to come.
So as you stubbornly insist on getting older and bigger and manlier and we ride the bumpy years of high school together, I want you to know that that perfect moment of love was just the beginning of what I know now has no end to it’s capacity. Please just give me a proper hug now and then, please don’t get mad at me when I cry because we both know I can’t help it, and please please please….don’t ever stop calling me Mama.
Remember: 24 hours. Plus surgery.
Worth every second and then some.
I love you endlessly, Babymine.
Love,
Mama
