Dear William James, (A letter to my son c. 2009, post-hospital.)

I missed you so much this sign at the ferry made me weep.

Sweet William,

When are you coming home to Mommy? It feels like an eternity since we fell asleep together listening to the crickets and frogs of your jungle mobile…your head resting on my chest and your little chubby arms wrapped around me in a baby bear hug. What I would give for that now.

I am sleeping on a couch that my legs hang over the end in someone’s home that is so over air-conditioned, I feel like a corpse on a slab. I am saving money  to get us a bigger place in Brooklyn, where you will have your own room that we can fill with toys and stuffed animals and put glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. We can leave the windows open for fresh air and I will make you home-made baby food in the blender. We will spend afternoons in the park together and I will be sooo proud to have you in the baby seat of the shopping cart at the grocery store. We will get a pet goldfish and a guinea pig so I can teach you how to love gently without harming. “Nice baby, nice baby,” I will coo to you as i guide your chubby hand over your furry little friend.

Every night I will sing to you, and in the morning I will smile and kiss you as soon as your eyes are open. I even have gift cards to Baby Gap and Fao Schwartz for you! I am going to buy you whatever you smile at first…and next spring I will take you to the carousel at Central Park, and Coney Island in the summer…

Oh my sweet. When are you coming home to me?

Love,
Mommy

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