Three years ago, a silver-haired doctor placed you in my arms for the first time.
I was exhausted, worn thin from hours of panting and pushing and praying.
You were perfect, with wrinkly toes, dark hair, and impossibly deep eyes.
That first meeting? It is the only time in my life when I have believed in love at first sight.
You were brand new, yet I felt as if I had known you my whole life.
Tomorrow you will be three years old.
You love garbage trucks and playing outside.
You ask for Johnny Cash or Mumford and Sons whenever you ride in the car.
You are Pai's little shadow and Mommy's catcher-of-spiders.
You live and love and play out loud.
You rarely meet a stranger.
You see God in sunsets and bugs.
You are kind and compassionate. And stubborn and headstrong. Sometimes in the same moment.
You complete our family in the most wonderful and unexpected ways. We love you. Like crazy. From the tips of our toes. Forever and ever.
Happy birthday!
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