A love letter for my son..
To Wilson
You should know I dreamed about you when I was seven. I tucked my dolls into bed every night before I turned out the lights. I named them, dressed them, fed them. All my dolls were girls. There was Courtney, the oldest. Brittney, the biggest. Blue, the smallest. Kim, the Christmas surprise. One night I had a dream about a boy, a baby, my baby. After that, I wanted all my dolls to be boys. It's not easy to find boy baby dolls, but I found one. I was 10, too old for baby dolls, but I named him Madison and he became my favorite. When we were preparing car seats and cribs for your arrival, Madison was our Guinea pig. It was his plastic head we repeatedly smacked on the handle of the car seat, practicing, instead of yours. I'd kept him, heaven only knows why. The remnants of an old dream, I suppose.
The moment you came into this world, I cried when you did. I'd never seen anything so beautiful. I asked if they could make sure you were really mine. You were just so pretty (your dad assures me boys can be pretty until they are two, then they become handsome). You had a button nose, dark eyelashes that went forever, and your finger rested just below your lips as if you were contemplating the wonders of the universe you'd just arrived in.
From your first smile, to your toddler pantomimes, you've always expressed with your eyes what you can't always say. Silent poems in blinks, winks and wide-eyed surprise. Your mommy is a talker, Wilson. My mommy says I've been that way forever. I don't know how to change. The only way I know how to express emotion is to speak. The only way I can receive emotion is to hear. I hang on your every word, and push you to the point of frustration for more. I assumed you'd be just like me...forgetting you have a father too....forgetting that you are your own person. Crafted by God, sent by angels, received by a girl who dreamed of you when she slept at night.
You live in a world you've created. You live in a place where every object, not just people, has emotion. Every blade of grass has a name. Every crash of thunder tells a story. There are monsters in your closet and robots under your bed. You sing songs I've never heard, and see castles that I've never seen. I talk, but Wilson, you LISTEN. You notice everything and you bring it inside to a world I don't always understand. You touch to be touched, you scream to be heard, but you find peace in silence and simplicity. You understand what it means to live in a moment in a way I'm not convinced I'll ever know.
Your mommy is a talker, but baby, please know I want to listen. I want to hear every word you can't always say. I want to know why the fire truck is sad. I want to sing the song about the castle in the trees. I want to know what happens inside you when I don't understand what you try to tell me. Teach me to listen. Teach me to live without my voice. Teach me to love without "I love you".
Everything I've ever wanted is encased in your tiny body. Every dream I've every had, every story I've ever told, every tear I've ever shed. I know it doesn't always seem like it, but I don't want anything in return but that you know that. In whatever way it needs to be expressed, mommy loves you. You are my perfect.
From my dreams to yours,
Mommy
