Tuesday, 14 January 2014
Dear William - 19 Months
I almost didn't write you this letter. Because I wasn't sure what to say.
Every letter, in the weeks and months that I've been your mother, has come easily to me. I just know what to say. I have little memories saved to share. I have milestones to update you on, so you can look back and compare with your own children when you are grown.
But this letter is one that brings a lump to my throat, because I don't have any good news. I don't even have proper answers or explanations.
The fact of the matter is, I could only give you a family, with a mummy and a daddy, for 18 and-a-half months of your life.
I know that, right now, you are too little, too forgiving, too wild and free to understand or mind. And for that I'm thankful. I hope that, when you ever read this, you won't look at me, or look at your dad, and blame us.
I still feel like I've robbed you of something. I still feel like I've taken what was rightfully yours. In the first time, since I've had the pleasure of being your mother, I had to make a selfish decision. One that wasn't about you, but about me. And your dad. And all of our future happiness, rolled into one.
I don't know what is around the corner for us. I know things will be hard, but I'll never let you see that. I know that you'll be happy and loved and that's all that matters.
All that matters.
I can't write this without explaining to you how wonderful you are. You're a toddler now. A little boy. Not a shred of babyishness about you. Your cries are full of frustration and emotion these days. Every little thing is felt. You have ten teeth. Still slow, but you are coping with them better than usual. You can run. You try and jump, but you aren't physically able to yet. You spin around in circles - as you haven't developed the ability to feel dizzy yet. You can talk well and happily interact with us all now. You surprise me every day.
I love you so much. And I'm sorry.
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