Dear Isaiah,

Two days ago you turned six months old. SIX MONTHS!

In this time, your life has changed, you body has developed, your everything is maturing with each little inch of life you live.

People often ask me if I write all your milestones down. They encourage me to do so because it’s supposed to help “relive” the moments later on when you get older. Well, the calendar that is supposed to act as your first year recorder is somewhat dusty and neglected. I prefer writing, not simply “recording.”

This site and all my previous writings have centered you, your germination, your birthing, your life. I don’t think the little sticker that reads FIRST SMILE will be able to truly convey the heartmelting moment when you first showed me your pink gums. I don’t think scribbling 20 lbs. 4 oz into today’s record book of your doctor’s appointment is going to preserve the pleasing grins your father and I exchanged at the doctor’s office when we heard your measurements and weight.

Years from now, you’ll read these passages and wonder what all the big darn deal was. You’ll probably think that I, an overly sentimental mother and writer, recorded and shared TOO MUCH INFORMATION with everyone.

Years from THAT moment though, someday, you’ll have your own children and God-willing, I will be writing and recording their milestones, how your son or daughter sucks their toes just like you did at six months old. How they loved to squeal in front of parents but behaved quietly in front of strangers.

Isaiah, I write these things because writing both releases and preserves moments that cannot be replicated. They will act as memory stones when we cannot recall what this feeling was like as new parents. Writing these letters may even come as a tool for me later on, when you’re a wiry adolescent and break rules for fun. These letters may help me remember that all stages of your life are as precious as they are passing. And no matter how far your crawl or drive the car without permission, I will always be behind you. Loving you. Hoping only for the best and most meaningful things in life for you. Because that’s the kind of mom I hope to be: simply there. Protecting, guiding, asking, feeling.

And writing.

You are more than precious. More than anything I could ever imagine or attempt to describe.

You are more than all of the milestones you will achieve. You are greater than all of the gifts you have given us, your family. Your life is more sacred to me than my own heart.

All of these emotions cannot be surmised from stickers on a calendar, you see. Actually, these moments cannot really be preserved by anything, not writings, not notebooks. They are burned into the bricks of our home, into the blankets you love, onto the bottles you throw.

And I pray that your father and I are able to continue to enjoy every little inch of your blessed life.

Love,
Mama