You are officially 48 hours old. So I guess, technically, it’s not your birthday anymore.

We are lying in bed at the hospital, in the middle of the night, and I am just staring at you through the dim light I have in the room.

You’re beautiful and perfect and I am so in love with you.

Becoming your mom created a piece of my heart I didn’t even realize I was missing; so thank you for that.
I guess in a way today is my “birth”day, too. It’s the day I gave birth to my new role in life…Mom. I like the sound of that.

I like the way you fit in my arms so naturally and so perfect – like you have always been meant to fit there; like you’re the missing part of a puzzle piece.

I like your soft little whimpers and the way you nuzzle your head against my chest. And I like the way your tiny hand wraps around my finger and holds on as tightly as possible. Like you’re holding on for dear life and asking me to never let go.

The last thing I wrote before you were born was about things I hoped to teach you. This time, I’m telling you don’t worry; I’m not letting go.

I’ll give you space and freedom to explore and fail, but I’ll always be here. To help you back up. To help you find the lesson. To show you how to keep going.

That’s my birthday present to you. Never letting go.