My dear sweet boy,

This letter is coming to you exactly one week after your first birthday. The night before you turned one, I rocked you to sleep and stroked your cheek, swooping your hair to the side, even though your hair is – just like mine – stubbornly un-swoopable.  I sat and held you, long after your breaths turned deep and heavy and thought about what the previous year had brought to our family. Of course I had to reminisce about your delivery – what mother doesn’t reflect on the night she first met her child? You were entering the world brand new, and I was entering a brand new world as a mother of two. You were TEN days past your due date, but I believe it was with good reason. You probably knew, better than I did, that I just wasn’t ready for you yet. That our home was still coming together, and my heart was still clenching in fear at the thought of meeting you. It wasn’t until I had a quiet, yet urgent, talk with you and God, forgiving myself for the mistakes I knew I would make and reassuring myself that I could do this, that you came. It wasn’t until I had thanked God for my trials and teaching me patience, that you gave my body the cue to go into labor — you probably knew all along that that was only the beginning of my journey into learning patience.

I  thought about the first time I held you, as you glided toward me through the water. Your first breath of air as you came up and out of the tub, your eyes slowly blinking back drops of water. Your arm tucked under your chin, and I just held you like that for a split-second of eternity. I was so elated at how easily you had delivered. I was proud of myself and proud of YOU. So proud at how naturally we had worked together as a team to bring you into the world. I subconsciously listened to you, when you told me you were ready, and you obeyed when I not-so-subtley yelled at you to GET OUT!! It’s funny, but it’s true.

I thought about the things I love about you:
Your gap-toothed grin, in all its goofiness and hilarity. Your dimple(s) are not nearly as noticeable as Axton’s, and I still haven’t decided if I can even classify your cheeks as dimpled or not, but your smile is wide and contagious. You don’t give it out as freely as Axton did – but it sure is a welcome reward.

You were off crawling around at the park one day and I thought nothing of it, when a friend commented on how independent you were, especially for your age. I had never thought twice about it, that’s always just been you! Wanting to do things your own way and on your own time. You definitely play by yourself more than I am used to my babies doing, and I’m so happy about that.

You’re my second mama’s boy. It drives me crazy….but it drives me. It drives me to be softer, more patient, more in tune with your needs. You pull my hair so hard and so fast I hardly have time to react, but it’s because you want me closer (I like to think so, anyway).

I thought about things I worry about for you:
I see you pulling your ears and holding your head like it aches. I hear your stuffy nose and your croaky coughs in the middle of the night. I notice you not turning your head at low, rumbly noises that you technically “should” be able to hear.

I worry your speech might be a bit delayed, but that’s minor compared to my worry over you being in pain. I hope you find relief soon – I promised you, that night as I rocked you, that we were doing all we could.

I thought about things I hope for you:
That you’ll grow to love your brother, and learn to turn to him as a best friend and confidant. To be brave enough to follow him when he’s showing you the right way to go – and to be even more brave when he’s turning away from truth and you have to take the lead. I hope you’ll imagine worlds besides our own and adventure in lands far, far away. I hope you’ll always forgive each other and go to bed whispering and giggling.

I hope you’ll know how separately and distinctly I love you. I love you the same as I love Axton, but I love you oh so differently.

I hope you’ll leave my home searching for answers and true love, seeking and reaching for dreams and never say never. I hope you come back to me, and excitedly tell me all the secrets of the world you’ve uncovered.

I hope you know you’re loved by me and your father – but I hope you know we learned to love you this much from someone else. A perfect and all-wise Father in Heaven who knows your every inner workings and desires. I hope if you ever question your faith or your religion, you will never doubt your identity as a Son of God. That knowledge will pull you through anything. I hope you have a burning in your heart that whispers of another life before this one, a life where you chose to follow God’s plan, come to Earth, gain a body, and prove to Him and yourself that you could find your way back.

I hope you choose love. I hope you choose family. I hope you choose God.

I love you, my boy.
Forever your Mommy.

ps Today you’re going to go into surgery. It may hurt and you may be scared, especially after you wake up, but I promise we’re only doing it to make your world better. Daddy gave you a blessing tonight and asked for comfort and healing, and we all have faith you’ll come out of this a happier boy. I’m going to be a mess, but you? You’re going to be just fine.