My Dear Boy,
Once upon a time in Brooklyn, your daddy and I packed the dogs and all of our belongings into a truck and raced out of city. We were trying to avoided a catastrophic hurricane called Sandy that would eventually turn a city that never sleeps into a slumbering giant turned on it’s back. Listening to the news reports on the radio about the epic storm, teary eyed I held my small belly where you, the size of a pinto bean, were nestled as we drove away from the only life I knew. Gazing out the rainy window at the Manhattan skyline, I made a promise to try to protect you from all things stormy and took comfort that you would be my rock to help me get through the the sadness I felt.
You see my boy, we were moving somewhere to make a better life for you. I sat next to your daddy, a man I just married but still was getting to know, as our truck bounced along the BQE and I knew things would never be the same.
Your second month month in my belly was spent riding across this beautiful country. Your daddy and I sometimes spent hours trying to decide what food to eat along the route to make sure you would get the nourishment you needed to grow. Looking out the truck window, I imagined telling you stories of this great move - the dogs fighting in the front, quirky roadside signs in desolate towns, highways I might never see again, your daddy filming the whole way. I was anxious to get to your grandpa’s doctor’s office in Colorado so I could hear your heartbeat and know you were safe and sound.
We settled into our barely one bedroom apartment in downtown Berkeley and I felt like a stranger in a strange land. This would be your first home, your refuge and I wanted to make it the habitat that would protect you from everything.
I spent days sitting on our balcony overlooking the bay talking to you about my life, my fears, my dreams and how much I loved you. I introduced you to all of my favorite albums ranging from A Tribe Called Quest to The Grateful Dead and Mos Def to Radiohead. I felt your first proper kick while listening to The Highwaymen and, for a while, was convinced I needed to name you either Cash or Waylon in honor of that. I wanted our first dance together to be to Parliament’s Flashlight, so clutching my belly and moving my hips I proceeded to move around the apartment as the song filled the room; Shasta and Gizmo wagging her tails as they watched us.
I would dream about you sleeping in my arms but most of the time I stayed awake most nights anxious I wouldn’t be the mother you deserved. I read books about how to help you sleep, feeding, burping, changing and felt like I was studying for a test that I might not pass. It was when I gave up on the baby books and assured myself that I would know instinctively what was best for you that I felt my first accomplishment as a mommy.
Your father and I talked extensively about your name. Jokingly, he wanted to call you T. Rex and would use that as a trigger to make me upset. Names swam around my head like butterflies in an open field. They all seemed so beautiful that I didn’t want to catch one but rather watch them fly around and around. Each one sounded perfect in its own way for the boy you would become.
I would inspect baby toys and gadgets that loved ones bought and although they seemed like foreign objects, I imaged the comfort that they would bring you. I spent hours inspecting the clothes we received for you and imagined you wiggling around in them. While folding and refolding your wardrobe, I realized that you were the first thing I had never physically touched in my arms, but my body, heart and soul loved you more than life itself.
It will be weeks before I smell you, watch your hands clasp mine, hold you cheek to cheek, place my thumbs on your small feet or listen to you for the first time but so far you have given me more than all the riches in the world. Your presence in my belly gives me hope for the life ahead of us and every one of your kicks, rolls and punches reminds me that my love continues to grow and grow and that there is nothing more beautiful than life itself.
I love you my sweet baby.
Mommy
Written by Deana Morton April 2013
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