To my Sara,
Four years ago today, I asked you to marry me. A year and a week later, you made me the happiest I’ve ever been when you said “I do” on that muddy trail in New Paltz. Even though we pissed some people off by eloping, and even though it poured so badly the night before that we had to change our location last-minute, and even though I wore jeans instead of my wedding gown, the day was perfect — simply because of us.
It’s always been us.
When we decided just over two years ago to set out on this journey to become mothers, we had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. We had no idea what heartbreak and hardships we’d face. We didn’t know what it was like to lose a child, or that we’d sadly learn that horror when my water broke three days before Christmas and our sweet twins, Daphne and Theodore, left us.
We didn’t know that I’d continue on at the fertility center month after unsuccessful month, with you at each appointment (and disappointment) right there, holding my hand and wiping my tears. Month after month.
And what became year after year.
Our journey to motherhood — it’s always been us.
And now, it continues to be us.
I’ve never been one to be short on words, but I struggle with explaining what it means to me that you’re graciously and happily willing to try to have our baby now. I know it isn’t something you’ve always dreamed about. I know there isn’t a burning desire within you to get pregnant. But to see the look in your eye when you see the excitement and hope in mine — I’ve never known someone who loves so wholly, so fully, so selflessly.
You are about us. There isn’t a more loving feeling in the world than to know that the person you married cares so deeply for you and also wants so badly to have a family with you — to raise children together and grow our home of love — that she’s opened her heart to carrying a child.
I know it seemed the obvious thing to do: You have a way through your body to be able to make this dream of ours come true when I cannot. But obvious doesn’t necessarily mean easy. You’re letting go of your fears about pregnancy for us. You’re forfeiting a year of your training — of your dream — for us. The power of that makes my heart explode, and I write this through tears of complete happiness and love.
You are the most special person. You are my wife. And together, we will become mothers.