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Dear Corwin,

It’s 1:45pm as I write this. You fell asleep on the car ride home. I usually carry you out of the car and up the stairs and lay you down on the bed, but this afternoon, you’re sleeping on me instead. We do this a lot less often now, and I miss it terribly. You’re snoring, and it’s adorable.

We had to get you a bigger car seat today. You just hit 15kg and it’s time to move up. You’re growing up so fast, love. You’re as tall as a 4 year old. You had a hilarious conversation with one tonight. You talked about lightning and thunder and stars. You played with one year old Liam, gave him cookies, and are slowly learning how to not take books away from other children’s hands. A baby cried on the other end of the room and you stood up, saying, “What’s that noise? What’s that?” You looked concerned and wanted to help soothe him.

I’ve written you so many letters, and while every word I write is true, always know that this isn’t all you are. You aren’t just words on a paper. You are so much more than these letters, so much more than the photos your father and I take. It isn’t to show you who you are and who you will become. You decide that. (I hope we raise you well enough for you to choose well for yourself.) It’s simply just to document little bits and pieces of your childhood. To be perfectly honest, I think I do this more for myself than for you.

I write and I take pictures because I’m afraid of forgetting. I’m afraid I’ll wake up one day not remembering any of this. It’s a baseless fear, but I do not want a life where I do not know this love. And if something should happen to me and I miss out on the rest of your life, I want you to have these memories and feelings to hold on to. Because they make up the best of mine.

It’s now 10:47pm as I finish writing this. Motherhood gets in the way of letter writing, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Sleep well, my love.

Love,
Mommy

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