By: Rhiannon Peterson
I still remember the first time I saw you.
You said hello as two, little pink lines, one slightly fainter than the other. A digital test confirmed it, the kind of news a person waits for months to receive: pregnant.
I was pregnant.
Well, hello there, you.
Shortly after that, we had our morning conversations over the toilet. I learned quickly that you were a picky eater, and to this day I struggle to get you to eat anything other than cheeseburgers and soda.
We had our first doctor’s appointment. I walked into the office with clammy hands, my heart racing. For you see, little one, you were not the first. Not the first to make me nauseous, not the first to make my belly grow, not the first to make my body your temporary home. The last time I had an ultrasound, I didn’t walk out with cute pictures in hand. My head wasn’t swirling with hopes and dreams of a future.
“But that was the last time and this was this time,” I reminded myself daily. Sometimes it felt like I was reminding myself every hour. Still, I couldn’t help but wring my hands together while the doctor told me to lie down. I wished harder than I’d ever wished for anything in my entire lifetime that when she scanned my belly, I would see you for the very first time. I had not made it out of the first trimester yet, and the risk was about as high as it was with the first pregnancy.
Hands shaking, I slowly lifted my shirt. She applied this strange, cold jelly, and your daddy turned off the lights. The room was completely silent as the excitement grew. I told myself to keep breathing and tried to ignore my heart beating out of my chest. The seconds felt like minutes, passing excruciatingly slowly as all eyes were set on the machine.
All of a sudden, the sound of your beating heart pulsed through the room, shattering the heavy silence like a ringing bell. You were no bigger than a raspberry, but you had a heart so strong and steady. I had never heard a sound so beautiful. A weight lifted off of my shoulders. We were going to make it this time. You were going to make it.
The following few weeks passed and my belly grew bigger and bigger each day. As we reached the second trimester, I became more hopeful. We had a second ultrasound and surprise, you are a boy! Our bond strengthened with every song I sang to you. You were constantly moving, rolling around, and even occasionally kicking me so hard that I lost my breath. Hours of planning and preparing for your arrival had me cleaning corners of our one-bedroom apartment I’d never even seen before. I worked so hard to create a space for you in our home. It would be your home too, now. There was nothing else on my mind beyond you. It was always you. I started packing your hospital bag, filling it with tiny onesies and pacifiers.
In the middle of the 3rd trimester, the doctors noticed we both had high heart rates. This meant extra trips to the office, where they would monitor your heartbeat. We got to spend a lot of time together at these appointments. It also meant ultrasounds to make sure you continued to grow on time. Around 38 weeks your daddy and I went to the doctor for a regular ultrasound appointment. While we were there, we discovered there wasn’t enough fluid in my belly, you were running out of space! They decided that it was time for you to finally make your entrance! They sent us home to pack, and we arrived later that evening, full of anticipation and birth plans in hand.
After hours and hours, we finally got to meet you. You were the most sweet, handsome baby I had ever seen. I couldn’t believe after 9 long months, and many before that spent wishing, you were truly here. I held you in my arms and did my best to memorize every little feature; from your fingers to your nose. I felt like I was holding the entire world in my arms. You were so precious, so fragile. Time had stopped and it was simply the 3 of us, together. Our perfect little family. You made Daddy and I complete.
After just 3 short days, the doctor said we could take you home. The wave of anxiety and excitement that flooded over me made me realize that I had no idea what I was doing, and now it was all up to me and Daddy to raise you. The nights were long, you woke up often to nurse, and most of the time I couldn’t remember when I last showered. I was determined to give you the very best life, even if it meant I was too exhausted to do anything for myself ever again.
You started rolling, then crawling, and finally one day I watched you take your very first steps. You were growing right before my eyes, a sweet little toddler with a passion for cars and Cocomelon.
My son, you may not be so little anymore. These days look more like video games, and too many rounds of hide-and-seek. They look like dirty feet and snarled hair from a long day of playing in the hot sun. I no longer spend hours bouncing you to sleep, changing your diapers, or taking you on long walks in your stroller.
I know that someday, our paths may take us in different directions. Someday, your life will take you somewhere new. You will walk down a road I have never traveled before. I hope it is exciting. I hope the people you meet challenge you, and I hope that your eyes are continually open to how much the world has to offer you, and everything you have to give in return.
No matter what you do, where you go, who you speak to, or how much you know, know this to be true: YOU are MY son. Always and forever, until my very last breath. You are the reason I wake up in the morning, you impact every single decision I make, and you inspire me to be the best person I can be. I look at you and I can see that it is all worth it. The world is full of magic after all.
For now, I’ll tell you stories and rub your back until you sleep. I’ll play games with you, eat chicken nuggets with you, explore the world with you. Everything I do, all of this, for you.