A Letter to My Son

Dear Oliver,

This morning I checked on you before heading to the gym. You were quietly breathing, fast asleep but not fully covered, so I put your cozy snowman blanket over you to keep you warm. When I returned home your bedroom door was wide open — but the living room was empty and our bedroom door was still closed. A short pang of panic swept through me as I thought of where you might be. I quickly went into our bedroom, happily finding you curled up on my side of the bed, cuddled with your two cozy blankets and sleeping peacefully. 

Today was the second morning in a row that you quietly found your way to our bed, snuggling in for a little more sleep early in the morning. What a blessing! Even when it means you get twisted around, with your feet in my face, cutting my sleep short (like Sunday morning), I wouldn’t have it any other way.

It was only a few months ago that your father and I were making up games and songs and other silliness in order to impress upon you that yes, you should wake us up if you need us and we are sleeping — to let you know that we are here for you all of the time, day or night. After awhile, you began to quietly call for us from your bed (so quietly I am not sure how I heard you), eventually using a louder, but still tentative, voice. Waiting for us to come to you or to call you into our room. 

Now you regularly come into our room without hesitation, knowing you belong. You crawl into bed without waking us, curling up between us. Knowing you are home. That you belong with us. A part of our family, a part of our lives, a part of our hearts. Forever.

I love you, and I am so proud of how far you have come, how brave you continue to be. My son.

With all my heart,
Mommy