Dearest Son, A Letter of Love

 My Dearest Son,

 

Now that you are a grown man, I often wonder if you have any inkling of how you have enriched my life by just being, or how much unconditional love I hold for you. I struggle with these feelings when my mind darkens with insecurities. Dwelling on how I treated my own parents. Asking myself, if I wasn’t a good daughter, could I be a good mother?

In the past, I may have told you and your sister that my pregnancies were accidents. Tales to provide some comedic relief. Only partially true. Yes, I was on birth control pills when you were conceived. But you were never an afterthought. Our plans changed. Apparently, yours did not.

When I was pregnant with you, I told family and friends you must be a boy. According to old wives’ tales, pregnancies are different for the sexes. I held back the part that the possibility frightened me. Having no brothers and a poor track record with male relationships, aside from your father, I felt insecure; lacking the experience one derives from life lessons.

Once you were born, I realized the flaw in my thinking. I shouldn’t label you a “boy”. You were an individual, your own person, and that’s how I needed to treat you.

I liken my fragmented recollections of your first year to a frame of mosaic tiles, each beautiful but when artistically positioned together, crafts something truly memorable. As the nurse placed you on my chest, I recall drawing your scent into my nostrils so deeply that I would know you, even with my eyes closed. You were our precious little 10 lb. 13 oz. bundle of love.

It may seem silly to you, but the first thing we did, as every parent has done for eternity, as you and your wife may one day do too, was take inventory. Gently, I checked each of your miniature appendages, reassuring myself as I noted their number and the tiniest of fingernails crowning each one. I outlined your palm lines with my own finger and wiggled my digit until you grasped it firmly within your fist. When your dad and I were satisfied, I remember releasing a breath so strongly that it surprised me, frozen in that moment. This wave of relief opened the dam gates, and a flood of joy rushed through us. We were now an example of family perfection. Two children, one girl and one boy. The dog will come later.

I think we both know that family isn’t always easy. Like individuals, no two families are alike. Belonging has its challenges. But it is forever. As your mom, this blood bond comforts me. It is the reason I know you will never be alone. It doesn’t matter whether you feel its connection. With or without your belief, it exists. I cherish it and revel in its expansion.

We remained in the hospital for a few days. I was recovering from surgery, and you spent a bit of time in an incubator. Having been delivered by Caesarean section, you were so much cuter than most newborns who could easily be mistaken for aliens if not for their human parents.

During this stay, your pediatrician came to speak with us. With the single word “problem”, the lightness of my joy dissipated as my heart sank from the weight of dread. Comforting words tried to repair the damage done. “We caught it early.” “Years ago, he may have ended up with one leg longer than the other.” “His condition can be treated.” You had a congenital problem with one of your hips. The joint hadn’t formed fully and needed to be immobilized to give it more time. Straps locked your tiny knees to your chest and restricted your movement.

Even with your legs held tightly in place, you appeared a contented baby. Perhaps you still felt the confinement of my womb.

Everything seemed easier this time around. Nursing went smoothly. You slept well, both at naptime and during the night. Your unwavering contentedness made me feel more confident as a mother. When I had only one baby, I was housebound. This round, I could take both you and your sister shopping on my own, giving me a sense of freedom, or probably more honestly, escape. Escape from your grandmother, my mother-in-law. The liberty I experienced was unexpected and welcomed. Your temperament gifted me the enjoyment of motherhood.

Something else was different this time. Your harness made diaper changes somewhat challenging. A fortuitous blessing. Unlike what I had experienced with your sister, where everyone was always snatching her out of my arms to do their cooing, they were now unsure how to handle your restrained body. In effect, they rewarded me with more you-and-me time. A warmth still flows through me as these frames of memory come into focus once again.

Looking at your baby photos, I smile back at the adorable chubbiness that was you. A side effect of your restricted movement. Eventually your Orthopedic Doctor gave us his thumbs up and my heavy heart lifted. Our baby was healthy, along with happy.

Today, at family gatherings, we joke at each instance your mannerisms or speech mirror your dad’s. Nature or nurture is still a mystery to me. The combination of genes from mother, father, and ancestors comes together uniquely resulting in imperfect beings, every one.

 

I remain your biggest fan.

 

Mom

P.S. If you ever need a pick-me-up, just imagine how my eyes and my heart see you.