Dear David

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Dear David,

I remember the day I fought out I was pregnant with you. I read the test wrong, didn’t think I was, and then took a second look. I was thrilled and scared.

I remember having an ultrasound on my gall bladder, and asking the tech to look and see if she could tell the gender of my baby. She was 90% sure it was a boy. Even though I’d always thought I would only have girls, I had felt since the start you were a boy. I was thrilled and scared. 

I remember your birth: the crazy pain of my only unmedicated labor and delivery. I tried to give up and go home, but you came anyway, fiercely and fast, tearing up my body and my heart. Your little head was so round and covered with dark hair. I was thrilled and scared.

I remember all the sleepless nights, how I nursed you for so long, how I put you in Mother’s Day Out at barely a year because I was so tired, depressed, and shaken. I hope you don’t remember me from then; our life was a little in shambles and I didn’t know where to go. 

I remember your putting together a 60-piece puzzle at two-and-a-half and knowing life with you was going to be wild. You told me at age 4 you couldn’t read, you could just sound out words. I love that you help your friends, read to them on the bus, and have no idea how brilliant you are. I am always, always thrilled and also scared that I am doing the wrong things or holding you back. 

I remember knowing how ready you were for kindergarten but how unready I felt to let you go. 

And this morning, I crawled into your bed and held you before you got up. I kissed and smelled your head. It’s your last day of kindergarten and I am crying because growing pains are hard for Mama. 

I asked you if you were ready for first grade, and in your typical, no-nonsense way, you just answered, “Yes.”

Not surprisingly, I am thrilled and scared. 

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