Sunday, April 14, 2013


Happy Birthday, boy.
Six years ago at 10:07 this morning,
you arrived, screaming...
a perfect seven pounds, three ounces.
20.25 inches.
Ten of everything of which there should be ten,
one of everything of which there should be one.

I was thrilled.
I was scared to death.

I must have blinked.
I must have fallen asleep, because..

Today ... you're nearly six times as heavy and
up to my hip, and you speak with deliberateness
and wit, and you worry and you fear and you laugh
and you comprehend things and you joke and you wonder and
you question and you create and you love and you dream and
you recall and you read and you imagine and predict and
argue and every one of these amazes me, and


Five has been hard for you.
There's much you don't understand
regarding the shift in the relationship between
your dad and myself.
For all the talks and all the tears,
for all my guilt and all my questions...
you seem resilient.
Your ability to accept and adapt amazes me-
you teach me something new... everyday.

Your smile is my sun, love.
Your laughter illuminates this house.
My gratitude for you,
my pride in who you're becoming...
these only grow.

I know there are days when you're confused.
Those days are not likely over.
Your trust in me only feeds my desire to do and be better,
and your already older soul belies the few years behind you.

I promise you, you don't have to grow up too quickly.

I love you fiercely, little one.
I thank God everyday for giving me you.

Happy Birthday.