I have a half-finished letter to you that I wrote three days before your due date (and, as it turned out, 11 days before you were born). I remember that evening very clearly; Egidijus had already gone to sleep and I was entering that brimming-with-anticipation stage as I waited for the first signs that your birth was imminent. I couldn't sleep, and felt as though I had so much I wanted to communicate to you, though I didn't know you yet.
Here is the beginning of that letter:
Aug. 11, 2008
11:02 p.m.
Dearest Jonas,
My father wrote a letter like this to me before I was born, and so now I am writing a similar letter to you. You have been very quiet lately, getting ready for your big debut, no doubt. I am trying to prepare, too, though I am struggling to be quiet. Today was my first day off work, but I couldn't resist a bit of house cleaning. I want everything in its place before you arrive, before we bring you home to live with us in our little house here on Monticello Road.
I am writing this in the living room; the glow of the monitor is the only light in this room. Asher, the cat with extra toes, is sleeping on the couch. Your father and the dogs - Rube and Holly - are asleep in our bedroom. Rube and Holly are curled up in their den at the bottom of our closet after a day of playing at camp. Bitty, the black cat, is likely asleep under the bed, as that is her favorite spot. Soon it will be the whole mess of us in the tiny bedroom; your bassinet is ready to move in there the day we bring you home.
Now again, I have that anxious feeling as I await the birth of your brother, Silas. But this time, my anticipation is tempered by the realization that while I am in the final days of this pregnancy, you are in the final days of being an only child. And while you may have fleeting memories of this time in your life, you are unlikely to remember what it was like when it was just you and me and your dad.
There are hundreds (thousands?) of pictures documenting this time of your life, and little videos and momentos as well. Yet, I find myself wishing I could somehow capture it for you.
You are the child who made us parents. As the firstborn, that will always be a double-edged sword. It locks the three of us in a journey of discovery that is both miraculous and, at times, frustrating in its unfamiliarity. We have watched life unfold through you over the past 22 months, from those first days after you were born, which were filled with such stunned awe, to your first smiles and noises and words and movements, to now, when we can communicate with you with better clarity every day.
Each day has been miraculous. Perhaps that word is overused in parenting, but how could it not be? As a parent, you create life and then watch that life evolve. You see your influence on the process, but in other ways, it seems so driven by an inner force that is intangible and timeless. And this force of life and humanity lives and thrives inside you, my precious little boy.
You are full of life. Full of wonder. You love to play with your little farm animal set for hours at a time, creating elaborate dramas in your mind with them, setting them up in different configurations, running about the house with them (and hiding them, much to your mother's ire.) You love music and request very specific songs from the backseat of the car. You love to dance. You have had a sense of humor since you were only a few weeks old, and that sense of humor has only grown over time. You are silly. You are sweet. You are cautious and gregarious at the same time. You are sensitive.
You don't really understand that you will be a big brother in just a matter of days; you are simply too young to grasp that concept. I know the transition will have its bumps and bruises. But I hope you and Silas will grow to be friends and confidants and allies over the years. I hope our family continues to thrive and flourish.
Because we have thrived and flourished over the past 22 months. Your father and I adore each other; we are each other's favorite person in the world. I never imagined happiness like I found with him, and never dreamed I could spend my life with someone who made me feel so comfortable.
Your father and I had a beautiful life together, and it was full and sweet and lovely. But your addition to it made us a family. You have brought out strength and capabilities in each of us that we would never have known otherwise. You have shown us joy.
Thank you.
