Letters to Andrew {2}

Dear Andrew,

Today marks another sad day for me. Your dad and I miss you very much. You'd be 5 whole months today. I'm sure you'd be growing like a weed and I'd be writing obnoxiously wonderful things like, "Andrew's getting so big--he's already grown out of his 6 month clothes and he's only 5 months old!" Instead, I just speak of you in past tense because I have no new stories of you to type.

I was walking downstairs this morning to grab some breakfast before work and saw the greatest beam of light shining through the crack of your nursery door. It made me sad and comforted all at the same time. It's amazing how that happens.

This exact day last year was our very first doctor's appointment. I already knew it, but we were having a baby and that baby was you! We walked into the OB's office quite smugly that we managed to become pregnant so quickly and efficiently. We wanted you more than anything else in the world and still very much want you.

In three days, it's Mother's Day. I can't even begin to imagine all the wonderful things we could've done together on that day. I picture walks in the park, wearing you in the Baby Bjorn, strolling along the riverwalk, having brunch at a quaint restaurant, and snuggling on the couch. Instead, your dad and I will be working on one of those distraction projects we started to get our minds off of the sadness we carry.

Missing you is no simple task. Tonight, I light your candle. At 9:04, the minute you were born 5 months ago today, I light the candle that I placed in your nursery before you were born. It's now downstairs on a bookshelf and I often catch a whiff of you when I walk by. I love that smell. I thought to buy every one of those candles from Amazon so I'd never run out of smelling you. There truly isn't anything I'd rather have than you here with me right now. You'd think I'd have run out of tears by now, but it turns out there is an unending supply in one's body.

We love you so incredibly, incredibly much.

Love,
Mom

p.s. That word seems so foreign to type. It breaks my heart.