A letter to my (youngest) son on his first birthday

Dear Issie,

You are one today, and part of me can’t believe you have been here an entire year. But another part of me feels you have always been here.

 I vividly remember the day you were born. I remember arriving at the hospital in the wee small hours of the morning; knowing that soon you would be here.

 I remember the waiting, the praying. I remember the nurse putting you on my chest and seeing your sweet round face for the first time.

 Your eyes were open the first time I saw you, your little lip poking out in a heartbreaking pout. I should have known then you were going to give me a run for my money.

 This year has not always been easy, little one. The road to 1 has been paved with exhaustion, frustration and fatigue.

 But there has been such great joy.

 I wanted a little red-haired boy to toddle after my little blonde boy. And I got you. I got my sweet Issie.

You are stubborn and tough and opinionated. As your mother that has frustrated me. But I hope, when you are older, you remain stubborn and tough and opinionated.

 You have frightened me with your budding since of exploration and adventure. You have gone places I didn’t want you to go.

 But I hope as you grow, you keep that since of adventure and that natural curiosity.

You have always had a big appetite. In the beginning it kept me exhausted. But now you love to taste new foods, try new textures. You are unafraid.

 I hope you keep an appetite for life and a willingness to try new things.

I watched as you sat, crawled, stood and walked earlier than I expected. I watched as you stumbled, fell and wobbled. And I watched my little fledgling get up and try again.

I hope that you will always try, even when life knocks you down. I hope you will always scoop yourself up and keep walking.

I have heard you giggle in your sleep, laugh at birds and chuckle with your brother.

I hope you always find the joy in the moment.

I have, on nights that seemed endless, when I barely had the energy to breath, carried you down a dark hallway and prayed over you.

I pray that when your own life seems dark, and you have no more strength that you too will lift up your voice in prayer.

As much as I love you, little one, God loves you more. I am your mother, but He is your heavenly father. I have hopes for you, but He has a plan for your life.  Before you were born I felt you kick and move, but He knew you, He knit you together. I have combed your red hair, but he has numbered those hairs.

He has given me a precious gift. The beat of my very heart. And that gift, is you.