On the day he turned two his cries for “mama” woke me up early. I pulled him into bed with us and he quickly fell asleep on me, just like when he was a baby. I found myself uncomfortable, not quite as uncomfortable as the same day two years earlier, but uncomfortable nevertheless. Not wanting to adjust and risk waking him, sleep never found me. Instead I stayed awake with my big baby boy sleeping soundly in my arms, something that doesn’t happen often. I thought about the gift it was to carry him for nine months, the painfully long ten days he was overdue and the joy when he finally came on his own, just hours before I was scheduled to be induced.
I thought of the strength it took to deliver him, how I didn’t think I could do it, then I did. I thought of how exhausted I was staring into his squishy little face for the first time, too tired to lift my arms and squeeze him, filled with relief and joy and peace. I thought of his first night home, kneeling in family prayer, Jeremy holding him wrapped like a burrito while two year old Madeline, sitting on my lap, uttered her sweet prayer.
A hundred memories flashed through my mind, all revolving around this tiny child of God who has brought so much light and happiness into our lives. He has been a delight since the moment he first existed.
Happy Birthday Luke. I love you.