1: about a boy.

Dear Everett,
Weeks ago, I confessed that I was hoping you'd be a girl. I knew I could write about it because I knew that those feelings wouldn't last. You don't know me that well yet, but I'm not good at change. I found boys intimidating. I know girls. I didn't know what I'd do with you. If we're being honest, I've never seen an adult man with a close relationship with his mom that didn't seem a little weird. I knew that Claire and I could have a friendship as adults, but I think part of doing my job with you will mean preparing you to leave us. Like I said, I'm not good at change.

This weekend, I was complaining about the state of our living room, and failing miserably to juggle 2 kids, a sick husband and a chaotic house. The Dada wisely reminded me that we wouldn't always have a play kitchen in our living room. That someday the mess would be gone and you two would be gone and I would miss both.

Being a mother means I'll have to give you both up bit by bit. You don't really belong to me. For now, though, your favorite place is curled up, fetal-style in my arms and that is enough. We're all so lucky that you are here.
I love you, baby bird.
Love,
Mama