Dear Baby,

The memories of you being a teeny baby in my arms are harder and harder to find now. You have been tall forever. Talkative forever. That girl and this girl seem like two different people. It’s impossible that nine years ago I didn’t know you at all. You were this foreign object that squirmed around my belly. Squirmed constantly.

I felt that I was more pregnant than any woman ever had been before. I felt that the fact that my body didn’t seem to understand how to go into labour naturally meant I wasn’t meant to be a mother.

I felt that again this year as we all struggled to figure out this ongoing anxiety that has torn you down, and as we try to build you back up again. This week at swimming I saw you smiling and happy for what felt like the first time in too long. I just want you to be as much of you as you can possibly be.

Because I’ve seen you and you’re amazing when you let yourself be free.

That is the thing that has made me the most angry at this thing that takes over your brain sometimes – that it doesn’t let you be the most you. That it has taken you away from some of the things you loved the most. That is what angers and frustrates me.

Because after those days when I thought my body’s failure was telling me that I would continue to fail you, I felt love like I’ve never known before. I wanted to be with you, holding you all the time. I wanted other people to see you and love you and know how special you are. I cried just looking at you because I couldn’t believe that you were mine and I get to be the one who loves you.

It feels as though you’ve been here forever, but still that nine years is unbelievable. We’ve only just met.


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