Insomnia (or, A Letter to My Future Child)

A Letter to My Future Child (1)

Hello Love,

I often lay awake at night, wondering if you can feel how much you are already loved by us. On those sleepless nights, I write these letters for you, for someday, so you’ll know you were thought of long before you arrived.

When your dad and I were dating, and we first started talking about being “serious” (like, MARRIAGE serious, which was terrifying and exciting at the same time), I told him something I was just realizing myself. I had dreamed about my wedding since I was little. I had pictured the flowers, my dress, the guests, the food, and so much more. But the person I was marrying was always just a blurry sort of image. They weren’t that important, right?

But once I met Dad, my Prince Charming had a face. He had a soul. He had a heart. He had deep brown eyes for me to look into as I imagined saying my vows to him. And suddenly, all the rest melted away. The flowers, the dress…none of it mattered as long as I had him.

It works this way with you, too, but more deeply. There is a room down the hall that is yours, but you don’t know it yet. There are empty frames on the wall, but when I picture the family photo, your image is blurred. I don’t know your face, age, voice, name, personality…but I know you. I feel a deep, inexplicable sense of love, care, and desire to protect that I didn’t know I had in me.

On those sleepless nights, I let myself imagine the memories we will make together. I imagine comforting you when you are sad, celebrating your milestones, bragging about you to other people. I imagine doing the things you love, together.

What I don’t want to imagine is what you might be going through, and to do so makes my heart ache. Maybe you are laying awake too, feeling afraid or sick with a cough. Maybe you are still wound up from a day of playing in the snow that’s falling now, wet and dense outside the window. Maybe you are going through painful times and unsure if there is an end in sight.

Maybe you are wondering about me, too.

On those sleepless nights, I want to take you into my arms, stroke your hair, rock you to sleep, and feel your breathing become steady and the tension leave your shoulders as you realize that you are safe with me, for good. But I have no way of knowing how long it will be until you are in that bed, in that room reserved for you. So I’ll just say that another night, someday, when neither of us can sleep, I will be there. These challenging, waiting days are numbered. I promise.




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