Monday, July 20, 2015

Hello there, friend,

Three years ago, my son was born. After a half a day of laboring and an hour and a half of pushing, my husband and I finally found what what we both suspected: we would have a son. What we didn't know is that he would weigh ten-and-a-half pounds. It still blows my mind, and I carry his birth like a badge of honor.

But here we are three years later, and he's suddenly very much a boy and not so much a baby. And I'm trying not to get sentimental about it. Instead, I try to focus on what is now: sitting quietly together while I stroke his arm, how he loves to help with the laundry, his little voice reciting his favorite books.

This morning, we sit the table -- his sister, him, and me -- and work on our summer journals. I write down the gratitudes in my heart, embellishing them with stamps and washi tape, and they simply draw. I remind him how to hold a marker and her not to tell him how to create, and I feel it, the joy of this moment. There is so much good ahead and we are still on the threshold.