Monday, January 31, 2011
Maybe some day in fifteen years or so you might wonder what your life was like around this time. I just want to you know a few things. Your Dad and I are so in love with you. It feels like two-ton chains tied to my heartstrings to think you probably won't have any memories of all three of us living together. I only wish you could remember the way that you stand at your door and shout "Ma-maaaaaaaa, Ma-maaaaaaaaa" at me each morning around 6 a.m. After those first few cries I walk the fifteen steps to your doorway with my eyes still asleep and my mind still dreaming of what it would like to swim at the very bottom of the ocean. I scoop you up as you hand me your pacifier. You call it a "thankyou" because I always ask you for it once you are awake, and thank you once you reluctantly give it to me. Most mornings you snuggle down between your Dad and I. You always hold your fuzzy yellow-trimmed blanket tightly to your cheek. You copy how I lay on my pillows, very upright and stiff like a tiny toy soldier with sinus issues.
You usually close your eyes tightly and pretend to sleep for a few minutes. Sometimes in your effort to pretend to sleep you actually do doze off for a few extra minutes. Other times your pretend sleep erupts into a quick smile and soon breaks loose into deep belly laughs. Like you know, that we know, that you were pretending all along. Once you grow tired of pretending you pull down the top of my blankets and wiggle over until your face is hovering a few inches above my chest. I can usually hear your quick determined breaths through your stuffy baby nose. You use your strong little fingers to move my shirt down until there is a nice round patch of skin for you to nuzzle into. You lay your soft cheek onto my chest right where my collarbone meets my neck. This is how I fist met you in the hospital. Skin to skin. I'd like to think that each morning you are attempting to recreate that moment when you first felt my love pour all over you. I think about it each time you demand to feel my body heat. The way you feel up against me peacefully listening to my heartbeat is the highlight of my days right now. I can't think of any way a mother could feel more needed and loved. You are letting me know that me, just laying there being me, is quite enough for you (something that I've heard the opposite of quite a bit lately). Once you've had your fill of my warmth you usually crawl towards your Dad and wake him by grabbing a fist full of his hair. If it is a weekend morning he usually tells you "Okay, okay, I'm up" and takes you to go play trucks in the slanted morning sun of the living room. I wish you could remember all of this someday.
I want you to know how happy and stable your life has been. I know it really doesn't make sense for two people to try so hard, and suffer such loss in order to have a child, and then split from one another two years later. I don't understand it either. But your house hasn't been full of yelling and fights. I'd always imagined couples who split to do so in very dramatic and fitful manners. But our separation came by way of whispered secrets, and truths written on pages of notebooks. But I know one thing for certain, you were meant to be on this Earth, in this family. You were wanted, hoped for, and prayed for with all of our might. I don't want you to ever think for one second that we didn't love each other enough to bring a beautiful soul like yours into this world. We love you, we love you, we love you.
And I'm so sorry.
p.s. I found us these two heart pillows the other day. One for your bed and one for mine. Will you be my Valentine?