Oh, my little dumpling! How can it be that you are already 12 weeks old?
I have been waiting for you for the longest time. For the longest time, I was certain of your place in my life. I just knew you were coming.
Your brothers, fiercely beloved to me though they are, shook my faith. One after the other, they came, beautiful boys, blessings each, but with them, a creeping feeling that maybe you really weren't coming at all.
For years now, I have been buying clothes for your eventual arrival. Even as the doubt crept in, I would still, here and there, tuck away a little treasure for you in a glory box. I rationalised these purchases by joking that if you never showed up, I had a ready-made box of gifts for my friends with daughters. But as time passed and with it, brought sons, the contents of the box grew and grew and the likelihood of me having to relinquish your tiny onesies to others became uncomfortably real.
I wondered if I could actually bear to see anyone wear them but you.
And now. Twelve weeks. The weight of you in my arms is exquisite in its perfection.
You are a darling baby. So easy to love.
When you finally arrived, I was overwhelmed with joy. And so it went with the arrival of each of your brothers. All three of you have individually and irrevocably altered me – your first cries smashed my heart into a million pieces and rebuilt it with a ferocious strength, but left it vulnerable at the fault-lines.
But with you came a new state of mind – along with the elation and rapture that comes with a new baby, you brought peace. You have quieted a longing that has lived within me; the little voice of doubt that had been growing ever stronger has been silenced. In its place, a stillness.
I am content.