Dear Pritchett,
As I write to you on the
eve of your first birthday, I can’t help but think back to this exact day last
year. By late morning, your dad
and I knew you were on your way and we were so excited. Nervous, of course, but excited. After ten months, we were finally going
to meet you! What would you look
like? What would your cries sound
like? What would you think when
you looked at us and matched our faces with the voices you’d been hearing for
months? Such an extraordinary mystery
unfolding…
The day itself was
relaxed. A little bit of work for
Mom and Dad, a visit from Nana, Papa Pat, Uncle Evan, and Jerry who were in
town, and a few walks to speed your arrival along. Eventually, evening came and it was time to go to the
hospital. We were in such good
hands from the moment we arrived and although we never anticipated your dad’s
crazy medical hiccup during our stay, you were born at 3:30am, healthy,
beautiful, perfect.
I wanted to do everything
right from the very beginning. It
was and continues to be one of my greatest struggles as a mother. How could I expect to know much of anything
about what to do in the first moments of a human’s life? And yet I was determined to give you the
best start possible. I focused
solely on feeding you, asking my nurses over and over if I could try yet. Do I wish I had spent more of that energy
on just taking you in, on simply acknowledging you as a person apart from me
for the very first time, on just being present with you? I do. Even one year later, I often find myself caught up in doing
for you rather than just being with you. But in those rare times when I’m able to let worry go and
it’s just you and me? My goodness,
Pritchett, life is joyful, powerful, wonderful. It is just overwhelmingly… full.
In the year since your
birth, your dad and I have watched you grow and change in such miraculous
ways. From sleeping over eight
hours of every day to less than four…
From nothing but breast milk for months on end to finger foods you feed
yourself… From simply watching, to
smiling, to laughing, to entertaining a room… From swaddle, to sitting, to crawling, and within the last
few days, taking steps! Each of
your attempts at walking remind me of a fortune cookie I opened just after we
learned I was pregnant with you: “Have patience. In time, even an egg will walk.” How true that has turned out to be…
It has been a thrill to
get to know you, Pritchett. From
the very beginning I have felt a deep curiosity in you to roam, to explore, to
experience. It is the lion in you
– the savannah stretched before you, the wind at your back. It is the water dragon in you – the
creature not satisfied by one realm alone; you must belong to sea, land, and
sky. The nervous mother in me
worries you’ll one day roam too far but on clear days when I can see around
that fear, I cannot wait to find out where you let life lead you.
To balance that fierce
adventurer’s spirit, there is also a profound sensitivity and gentleness to you. I see it in your innate love of animals
and in how easily you connect with other children and adults, familiar or
not. You don’t hit, you don’t pull
hair, you don’t bite, and on the most microscopic level, I see it when you
occupy yourself with the gold necklace I wear every day as a reminder of my
beloved dog, Choco. You have been
fascinated with it for as long as I can remember. You touch it, you wrap your fingers in it, and never once
have you yanked or pulled it in a way that would break it. It’s as if you understand that it means
something to me – an insight most likely impossible at your age and yet I sense
it nonetheless.
Who you are makes me
proud. I know it makes your dad
proud, too. I wish you could stand
back like I do and see him with you, Pritchett. He is pure light in your presence. Becoming a father has brought both purpose and peace to his life. I thank you for
that and I hope that, one day, you’ll thank him for his love. It is there in abundance for you, my
boy.
It is said that the baby
a couple gets is the baby they are meant to have. I believe it. You
are a perfect fit for our family. We all belong together. You are our son, our little man, our bald baby boy, our
Boogie. How could it be otherwise?
I’ll close by telling you
about how your dad comforted me one night fairly early on in your life. I was bone tired, feeling unsure of
myself, and having an emotional moment not uncommon to new mothers. Dad turned to me and said, “This
part is hard, sure, but can you even imagine your life without him now?” Not in your first year, not in this
next year to come, nor in a million years to follow…
You’ll never
know, dear, how much I love you/
Just know I
love you every day.
Happy first birthday, Pritchett.
Love,
Mom
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