On the day you were born, your family gathered around us in the hospital bed, and with eyes wide open, you followed every face and every voice. We watched in awe at the miracle you are. Holding you for the first time felt like home.
And when we brought you home, you were so peaceful and sweet. I spent so much time loving your newborn smell, staring at every detail of your hands and feet, enjoying your squeeze of my finger, and memorizing your perfect face. I spent a lot of time just being grateful for another miracle.
A couple of months later, an unrivaled personality set in. Your smiles and laughs are truly infectious, and you are mischievous in every way. You were not as quick to talk as your brother, but behind those eyes, you are endlessly scheming. You love to dance, sing, crawl, and talk.
Within 24 hours of your birth, we found out that you had a heart condition--a pulmonary valve stenosis, and within 4 months, you had a procedure on your heart by catheter. I have never been more scared, and I have never felt more helpless. But God saw fit for you to not shed a tear or be in any pain from the moment you came out of surgery until the moment you left the hospital the next day.
I wish I could explain to you what it is like to love you. I’ll use words, but the soul-gut-love just cannot fit in them. The switch from one son to two has undone me. I never feel prepared. I never feel control. I never feel accomplishment. Instead I feel overwhelmed, incompetent, and entirely helpless. I have no hope of mastering this role anymore, but God is having me give in. Give in to ER visits. Give in to filthy carpets. Give in to spaghetti caked hair, muddy shoes, Spiderman instead of smocked, and exhaustion. But motherhood, with all its unspoken mysteries, has consumed me in a tidal wave of the most beautiful helplessness I have ever beheld. God is using an unexplainable LOVE to break the idolistic strongholds of my world.
And at the end of each day, when we put you to bed, your dad and I exchange knowing glances. Those expressions are something that only a mother and father share. They say, “You know. And I know. But there are no words for this miraculous…thing that we are beholding together."
I hope you know that you will never outgrow our love. We love you unconditionally, and we will walk with you through every part of your life--even and especially the parts that aren't pretty. We want you to fall desperately in love with Jesus and know that as He forgives your parents, He forgives you, and He loves you more than we ever can or will.
I love you with all that I am,