Two more sleeps. Two. Two women. One boy.
She gave him life. I now help him live it, watch him face it, guard him as he grows. She gave him his blue eyes and freckles. I get to see those eyes sparkle, those freckles dance when he smiles. She gave him his button nose. I watch it wrinkle when he is working hard. The way he laughs, the way he learns, his humor, his creativity. His heart. From her? From me? From both of us. Two more sleeps and this boy will be 8.
Our boy, hers and mine. Birthdays here come with layers of emotions, some messy, and massive amounts of love and gratefulness – for her, for him, for us. There aren’t enough words to communicate how proud I am of this boy. Our boy. He is brave and resilient. Creative and curious. Smart and funny. He is rough and gruff and sharp around the edges, with a beautiful, big heart. Like a geode.
No words can relate the way it felt when I first saw him as an 8-week old baby boy. My soul sighed as time, life and love all rushed in. It all clicked then. THIS is what we would do. We would promise to love and parent this baby and however many more came into our lives as our own, but remember he was someone else’s. It was terrifying. It still is.
No words can describe how my heart burst and broke simultaneously when I knew I would be his, and he would be mine. Yet he would always be hers.
Two more sleeps. Two women. One boy. 8 years ago. Time brought our stories together. Time grows our love, our bond, attaches our hearts through all the messy, beautiful years.