Three

Three years ago my first son was born. I started scheduling my day around the appetite of another individual. I began examining bowel movements. I started studying sleep schedules. I set out on my morning run with a stroller. I began laughing at spit, speaking like a child, and crying like a rain cloud. I began to be a mother.

Three years ago I even started to hate sound. I hated that I couldn’t give it away, or trade him for his ears. I hated myself for not knowing anything about being deaf, and hated that I had to make a choice for him that he could hate me for later. But I was beginning to know what it means to love my child: to give everything you can to help them be everything they can.

Three years ago I started to understand what it meant to pray. I began turning myself inside out, hoping that God would hear me. I started listening to Him when He told me that we could do this. I learned how much God knows and loves my children, and how much he really knows and loves me.

Three years ago my life began to change when your life began. Even today, after I watched you wake up with a suspicious smile when you saw your streamers; after I listened to you giggle with pure delight at new birthday surprises; after I watched you shake others’ hands with confidence and tell them that you’re three—even today you changed me. Every day you help me smile a little wider, become a little better, to work a little harder and to feel a little deeper.

Three years ago I never knew how happy I would be today. Thank you for every one of the past 1065 days. Happy Birthday.