Every Little Ounce of You

I wrote this at 4 am one morning and there it sat, in my drafts. I wanted to read it and reread it to make sure there was nothing I would forget to say to my son who was an only child. Whose status as such would soon change. But I see that I will always have somthing more to say , something more to write to him. But I have a lifetime to do that.

Dear Cole,


We have been so wrapped up in life that even though I have been writing letters to you in my head for weeks, I haven't had the time to write them on paper for you. Which was something I have been wanting to document for you. The days when it was just us and you. And the days keep passing us by, life keeps passing us by and pretty soon, there will be two of you.


And so here I am, much later than I wanted to be here, telling you, telling the world through sobs and tears, just how very special you are. Just how much magic you alone have brought into our lives.

You are so excited right now awaiting on the arrival of your baby sister, Ellie. You kiss my belly. You ask me every chance you get, "What's Ellie saying?" I usually reply something along the lines of "She says she loves you", "she says she can't wait for you to hold her", "she says stop tickling her". And it's never enough. You want more. You are fascinated by her. Your reply is always "And what else?" So I indulge you, and I tell you more of what I think she might one day be saying. And you smile. You smile oh so big. Because you love this little girl so so much and you don't even know her yet. And it makes me feel so good about the little man you have become.

It doesn't bother you at all that I can't carry you, or rock you, or run after you. Because even before you could look at her and see her in all her cuteness, you loved her. You loved her when pieces of me had to be given to her. You loved her when I had to stay in bed because I was sick. You loved her as I lay in bed, too nauseous, and dizzy to make you breakfast. You loved her as you watched tv alone eating your cheesestick and apple sauce lunch just waiting to rush to my rescue as I ran to the bathroom. You loved her as you patted my back as I crouched over the toilet and said "You're ok Mommy. You're sick because Ellie is growing." You loved her as you handed me water and a wet towel to put on my forehead. You even loved her when I wouldn't let you lay in bed with me at night because I was nauseous and I said you talked too much which made me dizzier. You loved her without conditions. Without strings. Without even having really known her.

But this is you. My sweet little man. Our everything. Our reason for existing.

I am struggling here to capture these moments in time. These moment when it was just you and me and Daddy. These long days we spent getting to know one another. Uninterrupted, yet interrupted constantly by phone calls, and emails, and visits, and laughs, and joys, and sadness, and disciplines, and long car rides, and short car rides, and silent trips to school , and trips to school full of Christmas music or the La La La song (New Soul). You learned how to press the pause button on the DVR yesterday, and that is just what I would like to do. Pause time. So that I may never forget how magical our time together and alone has been.

I took the picture below of you on December 2, 2010. Amidst a chaos of activities. We were at the Houston Zoo with Uncle Mark.  You were having the time of your life. Uncle Mark was racing you around the zoo in the stroller. I was smiling in between ligament pains from a growing belly, trying hard to keep up with you. Stopping to rest every few steps and breathe through the pain. Daddy was here and there. Back and forth between you and me. And I asked you to pause so I can get a picture. And I ran to give Uncle Mark the camera. 

I love this picture already. That you let me take it. I will always look back upon it and say: That was the shirts I had to trick him into wearing. Those were the days he refused to wear anything but blue jeans. That was our last trip as a family of three. He was on his last last weeks of  being three. Daddy was not happy to be taking so many pictures but he was still smiling, and there I was, my tummy and my heart heavy, 31 weeks of new life snug inside me, trying – and failing – to stop time. 

I love you. Every blue jean strand of you. Every car of you. Every year of you. Every little ounce of you.

Thank you my precious boy. Thank you for letting me have you all to myself for four years. I'm ready to share you now with your sister. 

Love,
Mom