As the sun slowly fades, I feel the anxiety rise. Night is coming and soon it will be just you and me. You and me to battle through the night.

I’m not sure why the night is worse than the day. The struggle is still there. It is the fear of not being enough. The fear of failing as your mother. Why is something so easy for some mothers but utterly difficult and impossible for others?

I suppose nights are worse than the day because it is just me. No one there to encourage me or help when I’m at the worst and you need me the most.

And yet… Those nights are the nights I remember the most all these years later. Those nights that it was just you and me trying to figure out this whole mother / son deal.

I suppose I should have listened to that little voice that kept saying to request another ultrasound. Just to double check. But I told myself I was just being silly.

“98% sure!” the doctor said. “You’re having a girl!”

Congratulations! Welcome to the world of pink, frills, dolls and dresses!

Silence…. All the tending, monitoring and hustle and bustle in a delivery room that happens after the joyous arrival of a new baby, all went totally silent moments after you were born. Who knew one little question would turn my world upside down.

“What is his name?”

“His”… Three letters. One brief word. And one colossal failure of a mom.

Had I just listen to that voice, I would have had another ultrasound and we would have known we were expecting you.

You. The greatest blessing we could have ever asked for.

Our son.

But what should have been the greatest moment of meeting our child became to me like I was meeting a stranger. As if I was holding someone else’s child. And as crazy as it sounds, I felt you didn’t know me either.

Oh, the conversations you and I had before you arrived. Of all the great things you were going to be. How precious you were to your Father and I.

At that moment, it felt like I had those conversations with someone else.

I was so unprepared for you. You didn’t even have a name until the next morning. What kind of mother doesn’t know their child’s name when they are born!

God and I had a nice heart to heart that first night. The God of the universe. The One who gave you to me. He knew well before any of us who you were going to be. So I sat at His feet and told Him He had to give me a name for you. He told me you were special. You would be “Ethan”. A name that I would never have thought of on my own. The perfect name.

Ethan means strong and optimistic, solid and enduring; permanent. The name Ethan appears eight times in the Hebrew Bible (1 Kings 4:31, Ps. 89 title, 1 Chr. 2:6 and 2:8, 1 Chr. 6:42 and 6:44, and 1 Chr. 15:17 and 15:19). He was a standard of wisdom to whom King Solomon is compared favorably.

It was only right that your Father give you your middle name. And he gave you the best middle name you could. His own.

Ethan James

Now that you had a suitable name, I began the process of trying to make up for my failure.

Those nights….

Those nights when it was just you and I, I would have those same conversations with you again. Only this time, I had them with my son. And told you all the great things you were going to be. How precious you were to your Father and I.

Though we still struggled with nursing and something that should have been natural for a mother to provide for her child just did not happen. We were still rewriting those memories the best we could. We were still creating the bond the best way we knew how.

The night, the quiet, still dark, would remind me I failed you and with nursing struggles, the failure just grew. Increasing the anxiety. Even though I felt alone, there was always a quiet peace. A strength and hope that morning would come and all would be well.

Morning always comes.

The darkness of night can make things look worse than they are.

The first light of the morning, as the sun just pierces the horizon, and the darkness flees.

The sun always rises. Morning always comes. The Son is always there.

I will always remember those nights. When I was at my worst and you needed me the most. God got us through. I’ll remember the fear as the sun went down and my anxiety rose. I’ll remember the doubts and the hopelessness of failure. But what I will remember the most is the time we had together. Making those memories and helping each other through the night to see the morning light.

You see, dear son, the morning always comes.