Dear Luke,
You are 8 weeks old. I think. Maybe 7. I have a hard time remembering. You will find this is one of the hazards of being the youngest of four children.
This isn’t the first time I have forgotten details about you, poor little guy, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. While holding you in the pediatrician’s waiting room the other day, I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen in a while. “You had the baby!” she exclaimed. “What’s his name?” And I paused. For a long time. My mind went blank, and I caught myself wondering, which kid is this?
I’m sorry about that. I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings. Mommy’s head is crammed full with information, see. There are four of you now. Four birthdays. Four people to feed. Four people to get dressed in the morning. It’s a lot.
I’m afraid one day you will look at our photo albums and wonder where your pictures are. You will notice there are volumes of photographs of your oldest brother, our firstborn, and just a handful of you. I’m sorry about that, too. You are changing so quickly, and I keep saying to myself, I have got to take this baby’s picture. But then I spy your siblings playing “kitty” by dumping juice onto the floor and licking it up on their hands and knees. Or I notice they have dragged my freshly washed sheets into the back yard and are using them as cocoons in their caterpillar game. These things are distracting (and maddening). And when I finally do manage to pick up the camera, I realize your 2-year-old brother has done something weird to it, and now I can’t turn it on.
This is why there aren’t more pictures of you. Also because I am a fool and keep telling myself I have time, I will get to it later. When I know the opposite is true. If there’s anything I don’t have, especially now that you are here, it is time. I have learned from your siblings these newborn days slip away so quickly, like sand through my fingers. In no time at all, you will be licking up juice off the floor and meowing, too. I know this, and still I don’t pick up the camera.
But here is what I want you to know: I might not take your picture, I might forget your age, I might even forget your NAME, but I am absolutely nutty about you. I mean, head over heels crazy for you. I’ll be honest, at one time I wondered, can I possibly love another child the way I love these three? But then you were born, and in an instant you were mine, and I was yours, and the answer to that question was, of course. Of course I can.
I want you to know, while I’ll probably never sign us up for a Mommy and Me class, and the closest thing you have to a mobile is a ceiling fan, I sing to you all the time. Silly, made-up songs, just to see if I can get you to smile. Those first newborn smiles are so precious, and yours nearly bring me to tears with joy.
I want you to know about the hours I have spent in the rocking chair with you, just the two of us, late into the night. You are so sweet and snuggly, and your little head fits perfectly into the crook of my neck, and it is at those times I wonder how there could ever be a more precious child than you.
You should know that while I have relaxed into motherhood, I still find myself waking at night and placing a hand on your little chest—your bassinet is right next to my bed—just to make sure you’re still breathing.
My precious baby Luke, you might have shown up into this world uninvited, and your babyhood may be woefully undocumented, but never doubt for an instant that you have my heart. Even if I am always calling you Mark.
I’m so glad you’re here.
Love,
Mommy
(Betsy Swenson can be reached at sliindelife@gmail.com.)