Domestic Bliss Report

Motherhood is hard work. If we don't stick together, we'll all fall apart.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Love letter to my son

With your little brother coming, you haven't been able to come in and cuddle in the night like you used to. I want you to know I miss that. I miss your sleepy smell, the weight of your head on my arm, being wrapped in love from my "boys."
I miss touching your soft cheek in the dark, aware that someday it will be covered in downy fuzz, then stubble, then whiskers. You may grow a beard and I won't be able to see that little cleft in your chin you got from me.
I hold your hand. At this moment, it still has the little dimples at your knuckles from babyhood. Someday, though, someday sooner than I realize, the dimples will be gone and the mature veins will be showing. Callouses will appear and they won't be little boy hands anymore.
I ruffle your hair, more like mine than either of the girls'. How I miss those curls you had until you were almost two, the reddish glints where the sun touched. How long will you keep that hair? Forever, like your daddy? Or will it fade before you can buy yourself a beer, like your grandfather's?
I love you, Huckleberry. My cuddlebug. My baby boy.

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