your son, my son

I didn’t sleep last night. Did you?

I was dreaming about your baby. Is that weird? Did you dream about him too? Did he keep you awake with his kicking? There’s a bag by my bed with three onesies and 6 tiny pairs of socks. I think, even in the dark, I was aware of it.

We’ll meet today, you and I. It will be undeniable that you are very pregnant, with a baby you plan to put in my arms.

It’s so deep, and so real, that I can’t wrap my mind around yours. Instead, I think about what I will wear… what I should say. I will think about silly things like my hair and my shoes, because I can’t imagine what I will say.

I want you to like me, today, because someday in the future you might hate me a little, you know. Or maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll love that I love him, that I carry him everywhere and watch him sleeping and love the smell of him.

Did I mention I’m a narcissist? Enough about liking me already, right?

So we’ll meet, and we’ll talk, about little things like the weather, and major things, like your son, my son. In the back of my mind, I’ll be filing as much information as I can. How do you laugh? Do you talk with your hands? Will you be okay? Because I plan on knowing you, always, but if at some point we lose track, I want to tell him what you’re like.

I will sit on a couch, or a chair, and try to tell you that I will love your son, my son. At the same time I want to say if it comes to that moment, and you can’t let go, I will be okay.

Because one of our hearts is going to break.