By Chelsea Ewing 
Dear Son,
You weren’t planned, I’m not going to lie. But don’t ever think that you were a hiccup or a mistake. I know what it is to know that a parent didn’t want you, that no matter how good you were, you were never good enough for them.
And you will never get to feel like that.
Instead, you will get to feel my kisses as I blow raspberries on your cheeks until you decide you’re too old for that.
You will get to feel your father’s arms and my arms around you each night as you sleep. You will be held close to my chest, and loved for all you’re worth. I need you to know that, because despite how hard my parents tried to get me to understand that I was loved, I still felt the absence of your biological grandfather. I don’t anymore, but I did.
I want you to never feel that kind of abandonment.
He will never get to leave his mark on you the way he left his mark on me. He let me down, but I will never let you down.
In a way, I can count his abandonment of me as a blessing. Yes, I wish he loved me, but if he had, you wouldn’t have your Poppy, and I wouldn’t have my dad.
I hope that when you grow up you will desire to be just like your dad, who is a loyal, loving, strong man who practically bends over backwards to provide for our little family. I hope that you will desire to be like your Poppy, a hard-working man who hasn’t truly had a day off since the day I was born.
It’s going to be hard, watching you grow up. You’re my son, which means that someday it won’t be cool for me to hug you, or kiss you on the cheek. You’re just a baby now, and you sleep in the same room I do, but someday you won’t. You’ll grow up, and I will love it and I will hate it.
We will more than likely argue, and fight, and I will hate any girl that you bring home simply because you’re my baby and I’m going to meet her thinking she’s not good enough for you until I see her the way you do.
I will probably smother you sometimes even though I will try not to, and you’re just going to have to accept that it will happen sometimes and forgive me when it does, because I truly can’t help myself. You’re going to have to remind me to back off sometimes. In fact, you’re going to have to remind me of a lot of things, because my memory has never been all that great. Your father loves to tell me how often I forget things.
If you end up being more like me than him, crappy memory and all, I need you to remember one thing: you will always be loved.
Your Mom
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