We often simplify our memories, forgetting the small choices, the unexpected moments, the little adjustments that made them what they are. But to me, the real beauty lies in those untold details.
I spent most of last week in the hospital. A frightening incident on Tuesday led to my admission, and I stayed until Friday. The doctors called it “strike two,” since I had already been hospitalized overnight once before. If there’s a strike three, they’ve warned me that I’ll likely have to remain in the hospital until I deliver you, Conrad.
I can’t help but smile when I say your name—even though your dad and I haven’t officially agreed on it yet. Conrad is the closest we’ve come to finding a name we both like, and for now, that’s who you are to me.
Let me tell you why I love that name. Years ago, I read a book series called The Summer I Turned Pretty, where one of the main characters was named Conrad. He was complicated, but also intelligent, responsible, and mature—the kind of person who ultimately wins the girl’s heart. For some reason, I imagine you being like that. I might be completely wrong, but only time will tell.
During my time in the hospital, I worked hard to finish your crochet blanket. When I was pregnant with Delilah, I made her a beautiful, oversized granny-square blanket in my favorite colors—mint and turquoise. It wasn’t perfect, but it became one of my favorite projects. Back then, I wasn’t thinking about having a second child, but now, it only seems fair to create something just as special for you.
Back in December, your dad, Delilah, and I wandered through a craft store, picking out the yarn for your blanket together. In some ways, it was a family decision. We all imagined you having a preference for green, so we carefully chose shades we thought you’d love—even as an adult.
I’ve been working on this blanket ever since, sometimes slowly, taking breaks, collecting granny squares along the way. Funny enough, the first time I was admitted to the hospital overnight, I asked your dad to bring me my crochet supplies. He brought everything—except the yarn! By the time I realized I couldn’t continue without it, I ended up ordering some through a delivery service that, surprisingly, brought it straight to my hospital room.
Since they didn’t have the original shade we picked, I had to adjust the design and chose a soft cream color instead. In hindsight, that unexpected change made the blanket even more beautiful. Now, it’s a checkered pattern of green and cream, a design that was never planned but turned out exactly as it was meant to be.
I carried that blanket with me everywhere in the hospital. I worked on it while being wheeled from one room to another, while waiting for a sonogram, while talking to specialists. My goal was to finish it for you—and I did.
This whole experience makes me smile because, in the end, I could simply say, “I made this blanket for you.” But the truth is, there’s so much more behind it. Life is like that. We often simplify our memories, forgetting the small choices, the unexpected moments, the little adjustments that made them what they are. But to me, the real beauty lies in those untold details.
I hope you both keep these blankets forever. I hope they keep you warm while you watch movies, while you sleep, or even while you cuddle with your own kids someday. And I hope that whenever you see them, you’ll remember me and know that I loved you deeply—even before you were born.
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