A letter to my son on becoming your mother

I'm here on the couch, your tiny body nestled in my left arm, my right hand softly typing away. You're in one of those regressions, needing all the extra comfort and closeness to drift off to sleep. Just today, you let out your first real laugh. A sound so pure and beautiful it brought tears to my eyes. It made me think back to the very beginning, to the moment I first knew you were coming.

On our Library: Your father and I are voracious readers. It is our goal to have a house with a library in it one day.

I found out I was pregnant at just two weeks. Your dad and I were at a park, relaxing in the car, and I unexpectedly drifted off to sleep. The exhaustion was unlike anything I'd ever felt before, I felt like I'd just run a marathon. I told him we should get a pregnancy test. I took it at Tia Wendy's house, and sure enough, two little lines appeared. With a big smile on his face, David said, "Yup, I knew it. It's a girl!" We hugged and kissed, though you ended up not being a girl at all. He actually had some pretty bad gender disappointment initially! Three months into fatherhood, I asked him again if he still wanted a girl, and the first thing he told me was, "I can't believe I said that, I had no idea what I was talking about."

Those early weeks felt incredibly long. I was almost afraid to draw any attention to myself because, for one brief moment, you were ours and ours alone. We didn't tell anyone for those first couple of weeks, and it was beautiful. I had never romanticized parenthood. With a ten-year age gap between me and my younger siblings, your Tio and Tia, I knew what it was like to help raise a baby, and I never thought it would be easy. I think having realistic expectations helped me adjust quickly, but even then, nothing can truly prepare you.

I was so happy I cried. We had wanted you so badly. You were made purposely. Let the record show, nothing about you was an accident. You were born during a time of great transitions. Your dad and I were moving from the Oxford house to UCLA apartments, I had just gotten a full-time job, and your father and I had both walked the stage to graduate just a couple of months before. It was an election year. So many transitions, so naturally, I was a bit apprehensive.

While that worry lingered, it was often overshadowed by the growing wonder of what was to come. (Ill tell you a

ll about how curiosity saved my life in a later post). We started to imagine who you'd be, and every tiny flutter became a new milestone.

From that hopeful test to your first incredible laugh today, every part of your story is woven with intention. You weren't an accident; you were a beautiful journey in the making, and I promise to be here for every moment as your story continues to unfold