A Letter To Your Son

Dear Baby Boy,

I already know the name that your parents are going to call you.  I’m saying it in my head now as I think of you.  I’m hearing the way your mother says it, and wondering if I will ever be able to make it sound half as beautiful as she does when I whisper it to you.

No, I’m not wondering.  I know I won’t.  No one will.  No one will ever be able to say your name or touch your face or rock you to sleep in exactly the same way that your mother does.

You’ll see.

And you’ll also see, little man, that your father is one hell of a role model.  You will do well to follow in his footsteps.  I hope you’ll grow up understanding just how lucky you are to have him as a guide.

But that’s not what I want to tell you.  You won’t need me to tell you how much they love you, because your parents are two of the most loving people in the world – and you will know from the moment you take your first breath that you are cherished.

No, little Y., what I want to tell you about is the rest of us.  Those of us who are waiting eagerly to meet you.  To hold you.  To smell your new born smell and touch your new born hair.  We’re waiting to see you open those big brown eyes of yours and see if you observe your surroundings just as cautiously as your older sister.

We are waiting for you.

We are looking at the world around us and wondering how we can make it better for you.

We are anxious to help teach you about the good in the world and to fill you up with praise and encouragement.

We – I – want you to see your parents the way I do.  I want you to see their grace as much as their intelligence.  And I want you to know how blessed you are to be born into such a loving family.

I want you to know that you are enough.  You couldn’t possibly be anything less than that.  Your parents will have big dreams for you and they will believe in your ability to achieve those dreams more fiercely than you can imagine.  And at the same time, they will already know that you possess every single thing you need to make your way in the world.


But for now – we’re still waiting.

And soon you’ll be here, much too small for dreams or futures or plans.

Small enough that we can, for a while, protect you from anything that hurts.  Shield you from sadness and disappointment.  Surround you with love and faith and security.

And while your parents are trying desperately to keep up with it all – the feedings and the late nights and the exhaustion and the diapers and the raising and caring of this brand new tiny person – we will be here.  I will be here.  Cheering for them.  And for you.

I want you to know, Y., the one thing that everyone deserves to know.

That, more than anything, you are loved.  You are wanted.  Your happiness and health are prayed for.

Already, sweet child, you are loved.

Even before you are born.


That crazy lady that your parents will make you call Miss Britt, all the while telling you not to listen to anything she says.

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