To My Son

To my son,

This is a letter that you will never receive. An electronic envelope so tightly sealed with digital licks. I can't stamp this. I can't send this. This will never wobble in the mailbox while I flick that flag up for a uniformed man to take away. You will never read this... which is why I will be honest with you.

You were planned. That's something I want you to know. You were not a mistake a young teenager made. You are a life that I wanted in my life. Many of your family members would sting like bees with words of “ruin” and “mistake.” And when those words come out of their mouths, it aches in my heart that they could look at you... and see a mistake that I had made. You were no mistake. And you are no regret. These things you will know. These things I will make sure that you know.

But my dear beautiful son, you hurt me so deeply. In the beginning there was a dull pain. You were the fibers of DNA. You were barely a seed and yet you caused pain. But it faded. That pain... that ache... didn't come back for months. After a while you came again. This time with sickness. Before you I could eat anything and everything put in front of me. Before you I had an appetite and still remained petite and fit. But this wasn't before you anymore. Suddenly I'm rushing to the bathroom fighting you above a toilet.

I just wanted to eat.

I could roll out of bed before and lay there for 2 hours just soaking in the warmth from the window. Now I rush to the bathroom moments after waking up. I know it's not your fault. You didn't do it on purpose. I know that's just part of it...

Soon you were a blossoming bump. Barely noticeable but yet I showed you off like a first place trophy. Then you grew. And so did I. I knew you would. I knew I would too. Everyone said I would bounce back... but those stretch marks... Some women have children and they look at those stretch marks as beautiful. They created a life and that's proof. It's a miracle! For them. For me... They're scars. They're scars that remind me that my flawless skin and smooth hips that effortlessly slid on straps of panties to dance playfully in front of my husband no longer have sex appeal. They're scars that I see as flaws that I want to see as beautiful but... I can't. That isn't your fault. You didn't stretch my skin to make me feel self concious in spite. You were just growing. I know that...

That ache... that ache that I thought had gone away... it came back before you arrived. See you were conceived in a woman who didn't know the pain of period cramps. Everyone says the end is the worst part... I didn't expect it to get that bad. There were days where I laid in bed all day because my back couldn't handle that pain. Because you were so heavy. My feet were swollen. My legs were swollen. My self confidence was all but non existent. I don't blame you. But...

Then you were born. You were so light yet so heavy. You didn't cry. Not hearing your cry. Not seeing you. They held you low to unwrap the umbilical cord and my heart was sinking. All this pain and...

you cried. They rushed. It was a blur. Lights. People. Nurses. Then you. Bloody and covered with liquids that my mom had said would be gross but I pulled you in so close to me. You were exposed to the world. You were no longer safe and sound inside of me. You were no longer protected. I was so scared. I still am.

I don't regret you. And you will never be a mistake. And I love you with every fiber of my being. But you caused the most pain that I have ever been dealt physically and emotionally. I don't blame you. But...