Dear son,
They say you become a mother the minute you find out you are pregnant. We were in Bangkok when I found out we were expecting you and from that moment on I immediately monitored my every move. I slowed down the pace of my walk, I watched each step so that I wouldn’t fall, I was afraid to get a foot massage and I started heading towards the children’s department each time I walked into a mall.
My 2011 was spent nurturing you in my belly, making sure that everything was perfect. I’d get upset if the someone coughed near me, I did ample research when in doubt of eating something, I made sure my body filtered everything before it got to you. I wasn’t superstitious yet I insisted we wait till I was 3 months pregnant before we announced it. And everyone close who knew were sworn to secrecy!
When you arrived, I dug a moat around our house and summoned the dragons so no one would see you till you were ready. Till I was ready. Yes, I am a protective mother. Protective, paranoid, and not afraid to admit it. I had a great mother and I aspire to be a great one too. Your father jokes saying you were like Michael Jackson’s kid, we were hiding you from the outside world.
You are 8 weeks old on the first week of 2012. I look at you today in your crib energetically kicking your legs, stretching your arms, glancing at me when I speak to you, cooing and smiling when you watch the animals on your mobile rotate, and I can’t help but fall in love with you over and over again.
2012 is going to be an exciting year – it’s the beginning of our lives as a family.
Love,
Mommy
Love this. Motherhood has made you a poet. Or maybe motherhood has brought out the poet who has been lying in wait waiting for the most opportune moment to emerge. And what a wonderful moment to emerge!