October 2, 2015
You’re sleeping right next to me in the big bed as I write this. You’re wearing a gray onesie with black stripes and you’re covered in a blanket that has a bunch of cute yellow lions on it. You are sleeping so soundly, and you are absolutely perfect.
I’ve been waiting so long to write this letter…the first one after you were born. There were so many things I was dying to know about you these past nine months and now, finally, I know them all. I know what your face looks like, what your voice sounds like, and even what you smell like. I know that you love being on your tummy (and I watch you like a hawk when you are), that you always sneeze twice in a row like I do, that you really don’t like your diaper being changed (but you’re getting better about it), and that you have the most adorable dimples when you smile. Of course now I have a million other things I’m dying to know about you (like what your first word will be or whether you’ll love reading like I do), but for now this is more than enough.
You’ll be three weeks old tomorrow and already you’ve brought so much love and joy and light to this world. Maybe you don’t believe that right now as you’re reading this, but I promise you that it’s true. You are the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I see before I go to sleep. Sometimes (okay, most times) I stop everything I’m doing just to look at you sleeping (and that’s not creepy…you’ll understand when you have kids). I’m happiest when I have you in my arms, even if you’re crying your little heart out. My own heart aches when you’re sad and sings when you’re happy. I miss you when someone else is holding you or even when I leave you with Daddy for a few minutes to take a shower. But I always get to have you back with me. I hope you always come back.
I love that we’re already seeing parts of your personality, even though you’re still so little. You’re super curious about the world around you, more so than I think I’ve ever seen in a newborn. You love to sit quietly and gaze around at everything. Your face gets this funny expression on it, like you’re concentrating so hard on trying to understand. Maybe you are. I find myself wondering how much all of this will stay true for you as you grow up, and how much will change. Maybe you won’t care so much about sitting quietly and thinking, but I hope you always stay curious. I can already tell that you’re a smart boy and I know you have a lot to offer the world (hopefully in the name of Jesus).
The one thing I think is strange about having a baby is the fact that everyone wants to know where each of your features “comes from.” Whose nose and eyes and mouth do you have, and where did you get those feet? I don’t see you like that. I look at you and all I see is Jameson. You have a nose that looks like your own nose and you have feet that are your own, too. Maybe there are similarities to me or to your dad or to other members of our family, but I want you to always remember that you are your own person. You don’t have to be like me or like your dad or like anyone else if you don’t want to be. Your identity isn’t with us anyway; it’s with the One who pieced all of your features together in the first place. You are made in His image and as long as you understand the magnitude of that promise, the rest doesn’t matter. I bet your dad would even forgive you if you decided you didn’t want to play baseball like he did. 😉
I can’t tell you how happy I am to have you here with me at last. I waited for you and prayed for you and longed to hold you for so many months and now I have everything I could ever want. You’ve made my life so full of laughter and surprises and color and wonder. You are the best part of every day, sweet boy. I hope you believe that and I hope you know that it’s still true, no matter how old you are. I love you wholly, entirely, unconditionally, forever.