I remember the night before you were born so clearly because I was so terrified I wouldn't be able to love you as equally as I loved the girls.
You rocked our world when we discovered you were growing inside me. We were under the impression that we couldn't make a baby without a doctor. I felt consistently sick. I joked and told your Dad I felt pregnant and should just take a test...
Joy.
I fully enjoyed your companionship for those 9 months we were together. Just you and I, no one to share our bond with.
6 years ago, I remember being so excited and ready to meet you. However, I was scared that I didn't have enough mom left in me for another baby.
The girls got a different mom than you got. They got a brand new, very young mom. They got a mom who had recently gone through loss, fertility treatments, and the unknown of whether it was even possible. They got the mom who wanted to be there for every second and make everything perfect and right and good.
You had the mom who had grown up a little, who had a new sense of confidence, who had navigated two babies at one time, and who was ready to love more than she knew she could.
Both good.
Both versions of me.
We met in silence. When they held you up over me, not a sound came out of you or anyone else. We looked into each other's eyes. You were meant for me, just as the girls were. Your love was written into my soul, and it has been pouring out of me since that moment.
Tonight, when I tucked you in, you asked me the funniest question. You asked, "Is sleep panic disorder real?" Then you pretended to fall asleep and wake up, sitting up, screaming. I said, "Oh my goodness, I am not sure!" We laughed, and I told you that this was the last day that I would love you as a 5-year-old. Your response was so perfect, "Will you still love me when I am 6? What about 24 and 83?
I'll love you forever, every stage, every version, everything.
Happy Birthday special boy!
All my love,
Mom
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