God knew I needed you. I wasn’t as sure, only because I was so scared about going to the dark place again.
I often write about your brother on these pages. It’s not because I love you any less, but because he was the one who went through postpartum OCD with me. It makes me feel good to write about how great my relationship is with him, and how well he’s doing, when I thought for a while that I had most certainly ruined his life. He reminds me that, with help, we can all triumph over the despair of postpartum depression and anxiety.
But you? You remind me of something special, too. Your birth and my experience parenting you as an infant taught me that I really could do it. I could take care of my baby and love my baby and even … wait for it … enjoy my baby. I took charge of making sure I was cared for and being treated, and when you were born, I had the fortune to experience what it should feel like to be a new mother, without all the crying and fear and rage and insomnia and sickness. It was lovely.
I wanted to have you, yet was so afraid of what would happen when I had you. But then there you were and what a joy. I can’t imagine what life would be like without you. What I would have missed out on if postpartum depression had had its way.
I feel so fortunate to be the mother of you and your brother, so unique and special, each teaching me in your own way about love. Each of you is a Valentine that the universe sends me every day.
As you always say, I love you 13 times and 13 times and 13 times and 13 times and 13 times and back. You are my preshy. Thank you for all the important gifts you’ve given me. Thank you for showing me that there’s no guarantee that one awful experience will beget another. Thank God you are here.