A Thanksgiving Love Letter

November 21, 2012

Sweetest Boy,

It’s the eve of Thanksgiving, and I am sitting on my bed listening to your cute chatter over the baby monitor as you settle down to sleep. My heart aches with the love I have for you. 

I just want to tell you how grateful I am for you.  The past few weeks have been perfect.  Perfect.  This is the happiest I have been as a stay-at-home mom.  Every day, I thank God that I get to be home with you, that I get to be the one that you run to when you are afraid of the vacuum cleaner, that I get to be the one to hear your new words and witness your milestones. 

A few days ago, I noticed that you were stinky, and I said aloud, “Someone needs a new diaper…”  You looked at me thoughtfully, got a self-satisfied smirk on your face, and then ran back to your bedroom.  You emerged waving a clean diaper and giggling wildly.  I could not believe it.  It was the first moment that I realized that you understand me.  My Noah Nugget isn’t a baby anymore—you are a little boy—you are my little boy, my buddy, my best friend.

And then yesterday, you were eating breakfast when I heard a suspicious rumble reverberating from the seat of your high chair.  You looked up at me innocently and said, “Toot.”  Shocked, and wondering when your daddy taught you that word, I burst out laughing.  You make me laugh every day.

You have your birthparents’ eyes—Drew’s shape, Katie’s color.  Every time that someone comments on your gorgeous eyes (which, believe me, happens almost daily), I am filled with love and joy and thanksgiving—for the gift that you are in my life, for the gift that they are in my life.  I would not be a mother without them.  I will never forget their sacrifice.  

Sometimes, I watch you from the doorway of your bedroom when you are absorbed in a task—when you are concentrating on putting your white noise machine together, or sitting on your globe with both of your chubby hands on the glowing surface for balance—and my heart swells, and I can’t stop smiling, and when you finally look up and notice me there, you smile too. 

Thank you for being my son.  

Thank you for bringing me storybooks and climbing into my lap, saying “Book?  Book?  Book?” until I set aside whatever I am working on to read to you.  There is nothing that I wouldn’t set aside to snuggle with you. 

Thank you for spinning in circles until you fall over when we listen to Taylor Swift together as I clean the kitchen.

Thank you for searching the night sky for the moon—and lighting up with absolute wonder when you find it. “Moon!  Moon!” you’ll say, arching your back so you can watch that spot of light all the way into the house.

Thank you for reminding me how beautiful this world is and how lucky we are to be a part of it—just one mama and one little boy, rocking in our creaky blue chair as we read bedtime stories together—the moon outside our window watching over the whole world.

I love you, Noah.  And of all things under that big starry sky that I am grateful for, tonight, I am most grateful for you.

Happy Thanksgiving, my precious, perfect son.

Mama