We met you on a Tuesday morning.

We met you at 9:35 on a Tuesday morning.  Tomorrow will mark three weeks.  I don’t know how that’s possible, despite all the warnings on how fleeting these days would be.  I don’t know how each day you look completely different than the face I woke to the day before.  You defy all laws of space and time and love.  You look identical to your dad, but I know you are my heart living outside of my body.  I had a long phone call with a stranger today about you, and what you mean to me and your dad.  I talked about how I don’t think I’ve been able to fully appreciate you… not when we found out we were pregnant, not the many months I carried you, and not even now that I see you sleeping here in front of me.  You see, I don’t know how to be as grateful as I should because that would mean I’ve accepted the incredible gift you are.  It’s sort of like knowing that the light can only exist because of the darkness.  If I were to truly see you for as perfect as you are, I would have to also really dig into the gravity that you could have simply never been.  I don’t think I’ve let myself fully experience that.  I don’t know when I will.  We spent years waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop and sometimes I still don’t know how to live outside of that place.  To accept the grace and goodness in front of me, fully.  Maybe that’s wrong.  Maybe it’s normal after our journey to meet you.  But each day I see you and hold your little hand that holds my finger back, and each little whimper you make while I nurse you to sleep, and each time you look at me with your father’s eyes, you begin to soften that place in my heart that allows me to embrace how good you are.  That I don’t have to doubt it.  That this is real, this is our new life, that you are our son.

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I can’t thank my dear friend Makenzie enough for being present with us for the birth of our son and capturing these photos we will always cherish.

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