RITES OF PASSAGE

I wish one day they will invent a thought-recording machine so that all the letters I continuously write to you in my head would be recorded.

every night when I am putting you to sleep (and today was exactly 300 & 1 night since you were born) I tell you a little story: about what we’ve done during the day together or about what we are going to do the next day. sometimes it’s about how amazing you are, and how much I love you. I want you to know this, I hope one day you will understand it fully, the way I understand now all the things my mom used to tell me. I feel closer to her since you were born because now I really know how she felt all these years. all the constant worries that used to annoy me when I was a teenager; all the nights she spent sleepless because of me; all the sacrifices she made so easily and eagerly; her unconditional acceptance, support, and understanding, and always being there for me. a rite of passage renewed, I am experiencing it all myself being on the other side now.

every night when I am putting you to sleep I am remembering another story of my own. when your father and I just fell in love we lived on two different continents – me in New York, and him in Milan, – separated by the ocean but feeling as close and connected as if we were together all our lives. we used to Skype daily, sometimes for hours, doing casual things together like cooking, having dinner, watching movies, or simply talking about everything in the world. it was our temporary solution until he moved to NY to be with me. because of the time difference every time we Skyped it was always getting very late for him, while in NY it was still daytime for me. unwilling to hang up and accept the physical absence of each other, quite often we talked all through the night until your father falls asleep. I loved watching him getting comfy on his pillow in front of the screen, his face looking sleepy, his breathing slowing down peacefully, his blue eyes with long golden eyelashes blinking in a slow motion until they don’t open anymore, and his handsome face relaxing completely in a soft peaceful smile of happy dreaming. once I took a screengrab of him sleeping and made a postcard. that day I wrote:

Love is.. watching you sleep on Skype, studying every inch of your face, and imagining that I lay down next to you, dreaming your dreams, syncing my breath to yours, and feeling so violently happy simply for the reason that you exist.

well, life is such a magical thing and three years later I am watching the same handsome face in a miniature falling asleep peacefully on my arms, feeling the same love doubled and making me so violently happy I could cry.