Dear Son,

I know we haven’t met yet. Like, officially. But, boy do I love you. And it’s getting so close and these last couple weeks have been increasingly hard to wait for that breathtaking moment when you birth into this world and into my arms. I remember how your big brother and sister’s eyes blinked, the first time they took in all the light. And how they lifted up their head and peered up and our eyes met. There was this knowing, that we belonged to each other. And somehow in that moment, it felt like home. I don’t think I can ever forget that.

Life is just so much waiting and we’ve been waiting all these nine months as you’ve been growing and I’ve felt your movements as you’ve stretched and kicked and I’ve loved knowing that you are alive and well and full of energy. There were these times when I thought I was all by myself because your brother and sister had gone to spend the night at Grandma and Grandpa’s, or they were out on a date with Daddy, but then I’d feel you twist and nudge and I’d remember that I actually wasn’t entirely alone. Because you’ve been here with me and I’ve been taking you everywhere I go.

And often at night, when I’d wake up and talk to God about the pain I feel for the world or the fears I have about life, I couldn’t help but notice you were wide awake, too. So, I’d pray for you and our little family and I’d think about the labor that is coming and how a mama never really finishes laboring for her children. I plan to pray for you your whole beautiful life. It’s my privilege, really, for my own mama still lies awake at night, sometimes, praying for me.

I’m so excited that God made you. That He thought you up a long, long time ago and conceived you in love, and that at this specific time in history, He’s been knitting you together in my tummy and you’ve been growing and He’s been designing a masterpiece. How you’ve stretched me. And this mama of yours still worries about her figure and if I’ll still be pretty after the strain of carrying three kiddos but you’re worth it, my son. A thousand times, you’re worth it. You know what, I think I’ll just get rid of those pre-pregnancy jeans.

I just want you to know that we’re all on the edge of our seats, excitedly waiting for you. Hopey’s been trying out your soft blue blank-y but I’m thinking she may have gotten a little too attached. And Gideon’s been practicing up on his soccer and building train tracks, and he’s a little worried that you’re gonna break all his toys but he’s still ready to show you a thing or two about race cars and tractor pulls and fix-it tools.

Your Daddy has long given up his dream of owning a truck or some cooler faster car, and he’s been looking for a van or something bigger with more seats so we’ll all fit right in. That way, we can go on lots of garage sales together and you can crush your share of Cheeze-its into the car-seat.

And I want you to know, my love, that this world is hard and it’s marred and broken, but still it’s beautiful and good and you won’t have to go at it alone because you’ve got all us. We’ll do our best to make you laugh. We’ll eat popsicles and then make things out of the sticks, and jump in piles of leaves and we’ll run barefoot through the grass and catch lightening bugs and plant seeds and tip over rocks to look for bugs.

And we’ll show you how we boogie in the living room, with the music up loud and I’m sure Hopey and Gideon will teach you all their wildly uncoordinated dance moves. And you can sit on Daddy’s head and call it wrestling and I might even break down and let you take all the pillows off the couch and stuff them in the bathroom, right next to the toilet so you guys can play in a cave. 

Daddy and me will tuck you in and Hopey will sing you songs and get you your sippie and Gideon will introduce you to ramen noodles and we’ll all take turns holding you close and we’ll never stop learning things.

 

I can hardly wait, my son, for you to burst out into all this glorious light. You’re welcome here.

You’re with us and you belong. You’re gonna love this life.