My dearest little baby boy,
Words cannot express how deep is my love for you. To put it down would be impossible. It would come out all clichés. Even when I whisper to you at night as you breathe your heavy sleepy breaths, the words are not enough. Inadequate. Not quite right. Maybe there isn’t a word or a sound or even an image that can capture the feeling I have in my chest, my stomach, behind my eyes every time I think about you. Maybe the feeling isn’t meant to be caught or labeled or contained. Perhaps, instead, it is meant to fill us up and spill out in eternal waves of the inexplicable.
Perhaps, instead, I can only let it wash over us—this unnameable thing and feel its presence when we are curled up in bed, reading Hardy Boys mysteries by lamplight or when we are pulling tomatoes from a vine in the garden and our hands touch as we drop them, juicy and gold, into the bowl. Maybe it is in this moment only. And in this one. And this one.
It will just go on forever.