A Little Stitious

Dear HB

I have a baby box–a small tub of things just for you. The lid doesn’t even fit on it anymore. It just sits underneath it, like a coaster, catching onesie spillover. Today when I got home, there was a package waiting on me. Someday, you’ll come to realize that this isn’t an all too uncommon occurrence. Typically, I rip into the box right away, eager to try out a new face cream or to start a new book, but today I left it on the counter for a long while. Repeatedly I walked past it, sometimes looking at it, and others avoiding eye contact altogether.  I’m not superstitious (but I’m a little-stitious), and I couldn’t decide if opening it would be a jinx. 

I knew what was inside. It was something for you. Something to put in your box.

Amongst a couple other baby-things, there were two tiny shirts–actually, the same shirt in two different sizes. They say: “Wishes Come True.” 

Do you know how many candles I’ve blown out wishing for you? Or how many 11:11 and eyelash wishes that have gone into the universe in your name? I couldn’t tell you the exact number, but let’s just say you won’t be learning to count that high for quite a long time. 

Today was a rough one for me, HB. I’m accustomed to the mental and emotional strain of this process, but sometimes I get hit with the physical side of it just as a reminder of what I am putting my body through. Today was an extra-long day at work, and I spent much of it looking at the clock, willing myself to make it five more minutes. And then five more after that. In increments of five minutes, I made it 12 hours. Twelve hours in which I did not faint or throw up, even though I knew one (or both) was bound to happen at any minute.

You know what, though? I say all of this to tell you that it’s worth it. You’re worth it. And I don’t even hesitate saying that–not for one second. 

Every pill,

Every stick, 

Every doctor’s appointment and exam, 

Every disappointing month, 

Every tear–

…These are all things I would endure, blow away on an eyelash, and endure again just to see what you look like in the shirt (which is now opened and in your baby box). 

This tough day is almost over. I have learned, through all of this, that regardless of how hard a day is, it will always end and tomorrow will be a fresh start. I will hold you and tell you this story someday when you need to learn this lesson.

As I sit here writing to you, I’m looking forward to tomorrow. I’ve taken my twenty-something pills to prepare my body for your arrival. I’m wearing my favorite oversized red t-shirt–the one with the little lantern on the pocket. It’s soft and cozy, and I just feel better when I put it on, and I can’t help but smile as I think about the words on your tiny folded shirts…

Wishes do come true, HB. Someday, you’ll be all the proof I need. 


Your HM

(three. three. twenty-two)

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