By Lyncon Martinez 
It’s 3 a.m., and I am purely exhausted. I sit in silence listening to you breathe. I stare at your beautiful face, your sweet eyelashes that are growing to look like your daddy’s, yet you have the shape of my eyes. Your eye color changes with the color shirt you are wearing that day, from green to blue to brownish gray.
You have a scratch under your left eye that happened just after the one healed under your right eye. This happens when I take the mittens off your hands for a split second. You cry, and it breaks my heart to see your pain, or hurting heart. It makes tears come to my eyes. I quickly kiss the scratch that will soon heal and trim your tiny nails, yet again, as I hurry to replace the mittens back on your hands.
You have a cowlick on the right side where your hair kinda swirls. I think it’s adorable. Your forehead has some wrinkles from all the funny faces you make and all the smiles you give. Your hair is light brown and very soft and thin. Your adorable button nose is perfection. You have the sweetest dimples when you smile and your left one is deeper, just like your dad’s.
It scares me when you sound sick. I think I pray all day long for Jesus to keep you safe and healthy. You love to put your hands on your face. That is the reason for the scratches and why one day you’ll look back at all the pictures and wonder why you always had socks on your hands. Speaking of pictures, I just had 200 more printed to put in your already full baby album.
I want to remember these moments. These silent moments, these long sleepless nights, these early mornings, these 24-hour coffee refills, messy hair, no make-up, pjs all day, a living room full of toys, blankets and single missing socks. Trash cans full of diapers and loads of laundry that never seem to end.
Even in the pure exhaustion, I remind myself that these days will soon be gone. Sometimes I beat myself up for not getting a single thing done that day. I tell myself to get it together, change your clothes, and be presentable. Then, I hear the soft whispers from Jesus reminding me that this is a season and to give myself grace. A season that He has given us for a reason.
Motherhood is a ministry, and I am living in the thick of it right now. I’m reminded that although I might not feel accomplished, you, my sweet boy, are fully taken care of. Your little heart feels safe. Your body is warm with clothes while your belly is full of milk. You rest so peacefully on my chest as you drift off to sleep, once again, to the sound of my heartbeat. Your comfort, your joy, your safety.
You look into my eyes and see your whole world. I look back at you and see mine too. I see how you have saved me. You have made me strong. You have shown me that it’s okay to slow down, to take a second and enjoy these simple moments. To hold your tiny hands that won’t be so tiny forever. To laugh at the little things. To bottle up your sweet voice, that I pray I remember forever.
You won’t be little forever, and sometimes that breaks my heart, but then I remember the joy you are going to bring this world. The unique gifts Jesus gave you that I get to witness come to life, first hand. As you grow and flourish, I will be right there to support you. I will hold you, hug you, and pick you up when you’re down. I will dust you off when you have failed, and give you my smile when you can’t find yours.
I will cheer you on again and again. I will always be your biggest cheerleader. I will tell you that God created you, and you are beautifully and wonderfully made. That you were made with purpose, on purpose, for a beautiful reason that I can’t wait to watch unfold.
It’s an honor to be your mom, and it’s the greatest joy—having you as my little boy. So for now, I’m going to hold you a little longer, kiss your tiny hands, stare at you for hours while you sleep and praise Jesus for this beautiful love He has given me.
by Victoria Riley 
by Danielle Duncan 
by Katy Ursta 
