September 23, 2015


hello, darling, it's your mother.

i wanted to write to you this morning, to say only a few things and to say them clearly, with all my heart.

these photos were taken last week, at thirty five weeks pregnant with you. today we made it to thirty six. do you know how many days, how many minutes, how many seconds that is? enough for me to tell you that whatever that number is, i've multiplied it tenfold in my thoughts and dreams alone for you.

i will tell you first, above all else, before any other sentence, that we really, truly, madly, love you. before our test read that an angel fell from heaven and landed on the inside of my womb, we wished for you. quietly, we would talk about you together, knowing soon you would be here. one day.

it has been the greatest honor carrying you. watching over you. protecting you with my life alone. it feels as though someone came in and rearranged all my parts,  carried them away under an awning outback, making sure only you remained. even my heart feels out of place - there is no denying that it has already expanded the length of mercury in preparation for your arrival.

as i write you, i am in bed, on a cold and crisp first day of autumn. your father is on his piano, like he is most mornings,  and your brother is talking to the crackling morning fire they built together.  when i look to my left, the foggy sky is drifting outside our windows and my coffee has gone a bit cold. i ran out of creamer, and daddy tried his best to make it creamy with almond milk and sugar. your bassinet is right near me, so much so that if i move just an inch past our bed, i can touch it. we have filled it with stuffed animals until we can fill it with you. sometimes, gus crawls inside and laughs hysterically. i think he remembers what it was like, at least, i pretend he remembers. it wasn't long ago that he was sleeping in the same exact space you will soon.

i have been listening to olafur arnalds on repeat for weeks now. i will tell you with my heart bursting outside of itself that his music will always be connected to you. i have listened to him while holding you and dreaming of you and i hope you know that his album "for now i am winter" will be yours, forever.

if ever there is a time where i am not there, please find that album. know that your mother spent most of her days alongside his hymns and piano notes. which means, you spent your days, too, alongside his hymns and piano notes.

we don't know yet, who you are or who you will become. but you are ours. you are our second moon. the beautiful being who will fill our lives with more love than forty-eight oceans. sometimes, your father will be holding your brother in one arm on the couch, and he will look at me with those eyes you will soon recognize, and hold out his other arm, softly saying "i can't wait to fill my other side."

and the truth is, darling baby, we can't wait.  we can't wait for the moment you decide it's time to come home forever to us. we can't wait to show you the world and all we know. we can't wait to show you what it's like to be a moon, what it's like to be loved on the outside.

in the words of beethoven, regarding his immortal beloved, i repeat,

ever thine
ever mine
ever ours

love forever,

your mother 


  1. I am so moved by your loving and intimate posts. Such a reflection of your heart and soul in these words and gorgeous images. <3

  2. Oh, Kerrie! This is just the sweetest. And wow, you have such a way with words! I adore the love you have for your babies. I hope that when I have babies of my own one day, I will be able to express these same sweet thoughts to them. I cannot wait to see pictures of your new little one with your beautiful family! XO

  3. Oh goodness. I cried like a baby myself, reading that. Cannot wait for you to have that second moon baby in your arms. xxx

  4. thank you for taking us on this beautiful journey with you. you are an amazing writer and your children will embrace that. you have a gift, many gifts. blessings.

  5. Your love is so raw and honest and palpable. I cannot get enough of reading your story. So simple and true.