Six years ago tomorrow, everything changed, as I got to hold my little boy for the first time ever.
For the longest time, I was completely convinced that I could never love anyone as much as I loved his big sister. It’s true what they say about little girls and their daddies: Dads are lost forever when their daughters are born.
And I was.
And I still am.
But there’s not a day gone by since in the last six years when I haven’t fallen in love all over again with this little guy.
I am amazed by the simple joy he finds in life: sliding, bouncing, holding extended conversations with the pine straw bunny rabbit, or seeing the blue sky as if for the first time.
I am in awe of his strength when he tears off the fridge door and bounces among the spilled milk and pickle juice, or when he squeezes my mouth into an O to get me to help him say, “O-Pen.”
I am broken by his grace when he walks among the eggs on the couch without a single misstep or crack.
I am in love with the boy when through his tears and stimming he manages to find a way through the noise, the confusion, and the fog to reach out and take my hand asking for big hugs to help soothe the raging within.
And when he looks me in the eye . . . everything changes–again.
Happy Birthday little guy. I love/hate that you’re growing up, but I can’t wait to see the man you become. I know you’re gonna change everything.