There appear to be 22 diaries I have written to my son. They were packed, along with his sisters, in two cardboard boxes which I just sorted. They come in all shapes and sizes and colors. I have put all of his, for now, into a box of their own. That's as far as I go for today.
His first diary is a five-by-nine inch notebook with lined pages and a pink and blue flowered fabric cover. The blank book was given to me as a parting gift from colleagues when I left my job in health education at Brown University a week before my wedding.
All day today (November 29!)I thought, I must find the first diary and read the first entry.
It's dated November 29, 1987, 9:25 p.m. Ahhhh, synchonicity.
Tonight, your Dad and I are busy getting the house in shape for your arrival. We hope to have you tomorrow. . . .
As I began writing tonight, I'm remembering that night in early March, as I drove up Rt. 495 from work - late - and in a sudden joyful, intuitive moment, I knew I was pregnant with you. I missed my exit! And the next day the test was even unnecessary proof. I knew you were there.
Your Dad and I were so full of joy. . . .
After all, he didn't come when we expected. He came when he was ready.