A Birthday Letter to My Son
By Molly Bice-Jackson - 9:05 PM
As I was laying next to you in bed tonight, a thought crossed my mind that pierced my heart--It was the last night I would ever cuddle my 3 yr-old son. Tomorrow you will be 4! Such a big and wonderful boy!
You are an absolute delight. The words that come out of your mouth are precious. The way you say "to later" as if it were a time and destination. The way you casually throw out the phrase, "I'm pretty sure." Your enthusiasm when you share a bit of information with me and exclaim, "Did you know that??"
You love going to school. You love being the snack helper and line leader. You LOVE being in charge and telling me what to do. Down to the very nitty gritty. (How to hold my hands when I pray, where to sit, what to say, how not to dance and sing while we drive...the list goes on.) You love chocolate. MAN, do you love chocolate. You love your cousins. You love going to church. You are obsessed with your best friend, Soren. You love smothering your sister with enthusiastic squeals of "Zoe. Zoe. ZOE!" You. Love. Life.
The way you call a mustache a "pistachio" slays me. The way you ask for a "lollipopsicle" from the bank teller makes me giggle. And the way you remind me that life goes on, and life is short, and life is precious and amazing, brings me deep peace.
I will never forget that rainy night 4 years ago when I met you for the first time. I asked the nurses to bring you to me in the hospital bed in the wee hours of the night so I could just stare at you and cuddle. There was so much confusion and pain and joy bundled up in my heart. You gave me a second chance at motherhood. At life. I still lay in bed next to you and study your beautiful face. And you still amaze me.
Thank you for all you have taught me. I love you beyond measure down to the tips of my toes and beyond. You are my sweet, special baby boy. Happy Birthday to you, big boy! 4 years old and counting. Such a joy. We've survived this far together--let's keep going. I'm amazed you aren't scarred (maybe you are?) from your first year of life. I was such a wreck I could barely function. Be patient with me and I will be patient with you.
I love you, I love you--