Did you know Daddy took this picture of us? It was just a few days after you were born. We were both napping on the couch one lazy summer afternoon in the midst of a very long week. Back then, every day and every night blurred together. Daddy and I would mumble to each other over our third cups of coffee, saying things like, “Did you feed the dog?” or, “We need to do the laundry—one of us is about to run out of underwear.” One time, I even remember asking, “Why is the remote in the fridge?”
We were sleep-deprived. We felt jet-lagged without ever stepping foot out of the house—but you were worth every 3 a.m. wake-up call. You used to fit perfectly on my torso, curled up asleep on my ribcage. Now, your head is too big even for the crook of my arm. When I hold you, your legs dangle well past my knees. When we snuggle at bedtime, my arm goes numb while you drift off to sleep. I watch you squirm a few times, then after a few flickers of your eyelids, you heed the final boarding call to Dreamland.
How did the years slip past without my noticing? Like watching the sunrise—one blink, and darkness melted into daylight. My eyes were glued to it. I studied the horizon so carefully, but somehow missed the moment when it all changed. That’s what it feels like, watching you grow.
I don’t know how you did it, but you broke me into a million tiny pieces. You rewired my brain and crocheted my heartstrings together. You’ve transformed me into a version of myself I wouldn’t have recognized ten years ago.
The day before you were born, I went to the hospital thinking I had a pretty good handle on things. I left feeling like I should’ve been handed, at the very least, a user’s manual written in seven languages with explicit diagrams and pictures. Looking back, I can’t believe how much time and energy I once spent worrying about things… about deadlines, about people… that just didn’t matter.
You’ve gently pressed pause on the hustle and bustle of life, and I’m better because of it. Today, I move through life more slowly and intentionally. I remember watching you as a toddler, mesmerized, banging the same two blocks together while speaking in gibberish. When you were four, I’d peek into your room as you recreated your favorite movie scenes with your cars. And now, I watch you outside on your swing, trying to touch the heavens with your toes. Thanks to these moments, life is simpler and more precious than I ever imagined it could be.
You are my light. You are my joy after the longest and weariest of days. You are constant smiles and sillies. You love fiercely. You remind me how to keep my heart open and never take this life for granted. Raising you is, and always will be, the proudest part of my story.
Love,
Mama
by Shandyn Paul 
by Jenni Brennan 
by Liz Petrone 
