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Monday, July 17, 2017

I Waited for You, My Darling

It was just a few months ago when your mother stood in what was to be your bedroom.

Through the dim light of a floor lamp that belonged to her in college, she planned out your space. The anchor decals on the wall. The framed pictures and prints she'd purchased from her friend's Etsy shop.

She was a force in her second trimester. Painting furniture, building your crib, taping off edges and rolling slate colored paint on your walls.

She was all business, pouring energy into her prep-work while she had it. She folded your clean laundry - all your clothes that will last you your first year - with the same focus she brought to her two years of graduate studies. 

She prayed sometimes, although she always felt she ought to do that more. She prayed that you'd be joyful, honest, loving and above all, a good human. More so that she would have the strength and character to raise such human.

But most of the time she fought through her impatience.

Get here already, little one.

When she met you in the hospital (after two rounds of failed inductions, "get here already, little one," indeed) her love for you looked a lot like those initial preparations: focus, drive, with a goal to be an A-plus student in the mommy department.

Pen to the pamphlets the nurses gave her about breastfeeding and your general growth milestones to be on the lookout for.

She studied your eating and sleeping habits around the clock. By the dim light of our heart monitors. Pumping in between in the early morning hours, marking the date, time and amount of breast milk with the precision of a NASA employee.

She didn't know love could look like that. It was a head-over-heels love at times. But mostly with the love that comes with really, really wanting to keep something so precious, so new, alive and happy.

After all, we waited for you, my darling.

Two months have passed.

And it struck your mother straight in her core when she walked into your nursery this morning: you're really here. Your nursery is done. Your clothes are organized by month and season.

You, the squirming, curious, loud, hilarious two-month-old, are really here. Live. In color. And better than what we could have imagined. More than what we could've hoped to wait for.

Maybe it's true what they say. Maybe true love waits after all, just not in the way we were taught. 

Maybe it has nothing to do with sex or temptation on prom night. Maybe it has to do with hoping for the future. Hoping for what's to come.

Maybe it should be reserved for the bits of life that are absolutely worth the wait. 

For our darlings. 

For you


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