A Painted House

Dear James: Due Date Letter

Posted on: January 5, 2011

 Note:  Readers from my former blog will be familiar with the monthly letters I write to my babies for the first two years of their lives.   As each new letter will be posted here I will be moving over all previous letters to my archives for continuity.  Thanks for your patience as I work on all this administrative stuff!

Original post date: April 5, 2008

Dear little one,

Today’s a big day in your life; it’s the day you are due.  You may not choose to arrive today, but this date will always be a point of reference for your birthday – you were two days late, or five days late, or should you hold out until we have to help you along, ten days late.  In which case you should know you’re just giving me ammunition for the rest of your life, to guilt you into submission when it pleases me.  “Remember the time you put Mommy through a whole ten extra days of being hugely pregnant because you weren’t ready to be born yet?  No?  Well I do.  Put your shoes on, we’re late.” 

I was given the option of choosing your birthdate for you, in fact today could have been THE day, regardless.  But for now your Dad and I have decided to wait.  It’s been my privilege to carry you for the past 40 weeks, we thought it only fitting you have the privilege of choosing when to join us.  We know that God will give you a gentle nudge with His big toe, if you’re proving unmotivated.  But to be honest, it was tempting.  We’re practically giddy at the thought of your arrival.  (Case in point: your Dad just woke up, walked out into the hallway, and asked me if I’m in labor yet.  You know, in the twenty minutes since I left him snoozing in bed.) And you should see your grandparents; if one of them doesn’t have a minor stroke due to the shear excitement of it all, we’ll be thankful.  Your Dad and I have planned for you, and prayed for you, and prepared for you, and now it’s all we can do just to sit here and wait to hold you and call you by name, outloud, for the first time.

Oh yeah, you probably don’t know that.  Your name is a secret.  We decided early on that it would be cruel to withhold much information about you, considering how long this family has been waiting for you.  So your gender, size, and even the innerworkings of my body to bring you here have been fairly well broadcast across all major cable TV networks.  Your name, however, we kept to ourselves.  We love it and are so excited about it and couldn’t be more convinced that we’ve chosen the perfect one for you, our firstborn child.  But it’s been this big secret for so long between just your Dad and I that I’m sure we’ll find it odd to publicly refer to you as anything but the nickname we gave you early-on, so we didn’t slip up.  Incidentally, I should apologize for that.  See, Mama has a love of all things mexican food, and therefore when you were just teeny I gave you a nickname representing something near and dear to my pregnant heart: Taco.  And now I’m pretty sure your Grandma will never call you anything but.  I’ll do my level-best not to let her get a sweatshirt embroidered with that and your number, should you ever decide to play sports.  It’s the least I can do.

I will tell you that your arrival has been met with a little bit of trepidation on my part.  Not that you weren’t planned or longed for or anticipated, you are most certainly all of those things.  But this is new to me, too, this whole motherhood thing.  I’ve been a daughter and a sister and a wife, but never a mother. And for the past five years it’s been just your Dad and I; we’ve done everything together, and everything alone.  And now we’re about to be a family of three and that’s unfamiliar territory.  But we’re so ready to take on that challenge of raising you and loving you and teaching you about life and the One who loves you so much more than we ever could.  This year has been the most difficult we’ve faced (someday I’ll tell you about the life of a medical resident) and you’ve been a constant source of joy and hope.

You may not choose today as the day to join our family out here, and we’re ok with that.  For the most part.  But please make it soon, there are two people here (and a few more in several other States) who want nothing more than to welcome you into this world.

Love,
Mama

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