Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Letter #12

Dear Isaiah,

Sometimes I still wonder what our pregnancy would have been like had you turned out to be a girl. I wonder if you'd have received more letters from me. Frankly, the idea of raising a son is a new unchartered territory - even in my mind!

The closer we come, though, to receiving you in this world, outside my body, the more unspeakably excited and tender-hearted I become. You are going to make me a mama.

We've made it to 32 weeks (and counting), although the doctor says you're looking three weeks ahead of schedule. I marvel at the slow journey of pregnancy, yet, when we reach weekly milestones, I feel like its sped by and hardly feel prepared.

Last night, your father put together a crib for you and I watched him. Sitting on the floor, looking up at him struggle over nuts, bolts, and frames of wood, I laughed and giggled over his frustration. You're so small and the crib seems so much bigger than what you will need. But, your dad shows his love and eagerness for you in so many ways (other than crib assembly) and it has been moving to watch him grow through this experience as well.

Thanks to the advice of so many sage women in my life, I have come to know you as my unborn child, not just a gendered being in my body. I have come to accept that I will make so many mistakes - more than I will care to count - and as long as I try my best and keep fighting, you will learn the things that I most desperately want to teach you: love, faith, justice, empathy, resiliency, and humility.

I hope you to be a prophet. An activist. A person who seeks less to matter in the world as much as realizing how much people in the world matter. I hope you to be a lover of gentleness and truth, unafraid to walk alone on our front lawn, during recess, down the street, across a barrio, with another soul, with a unknown Entity.

I have come to accept how much of my life, henceforth, is out of my control. You will learn to first depend then interdepend, then exist independent of me and your father. Those transitions will be painful for all of us, I'm sure, but the strength of my hope and belief that we can do this together is stronger than those impending fears and inevitable struggles.

I am ready to be your mama and that readiness is beautiful to feel.


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