I was afraid I would love you too much. I was afraid I wouldn’t know how to live my life after you were born. I already loved your father practically more than I could bear. You were such a surprise. All the things I thought I would adore, I despised. And when I thought I would get bored, I was fascinated. I never knew myself less than when I looked at you. I get sick thinking about what I would give to have some of those moments back.
I never wanted you to be anything. I just wanted to believe that you would live forever, that after I would inevitably go, you’d live on and on and on. You would never know pain, you would never suffer, only feel sadness so you would know joy. I tried to love your sister in the same way I loved you. But oh, sweet boy, you were such a surprise.
I had expectations but they were all wrong, but they were all surpassed. There was no soundtrack, no artifice. Just truth like I’ve never known it. A reality of affection that was never subjective. Your baby skin, your fists and fits, your little blue lips.