Dear Oscar,

It’s been a long time since I wrote one of these for you, because I had no idea that being a mother would be so all-consuming and that it’s near impossible to be a mother and be anything else at the same time.

Every day you make you me happier than the day before. How can I express this? It’s like climbing a mountain. Each time I reach a new peak and see a new breathtaking vista, you take my hand and lead me to a place that is even more beautiful.

In the 37 years I lived before you were born, I had no idea that I could laugh as often, cry as hard, fear as much, or sit so still, inhaling your scent, which to me is life itself.

I love nothing more than closing my laptop, putting away my books and papers, and sinking to the floor to help you with your puzzle, watch you mull over your flashcards, or sit unmoving as you drive cars and airplanes up and down my arms. Every time I have to walk out the front door without you, my heart is cracked in half.

You don’t say many words right now, but you are so smart you take my breath away. I love watching you find the letters on refrigerator that match your flashcards. I love watching you concentrate while solving problems and I love watching your face light up as you laugh at something on tv.

I quietly mourn the loss of your chunky thighs, baby roundness, sweet lightness, and your once ability to curl in a compact bundle against my chest. You now want to walk instead of being carried, but you still want to hold my hand.