9 years ago, at 8:59 a.m., my life was forever changed when you arrived in this world.
I honestly can’t believe you’re 9 years old. When I look at Luke, who is one day shy of 7 months old, I think of you at that age. It seems like just yesterday you were that little baby.
Jack, you were my first baby (and no matter what you say, you’ll always be my baby!). You arrival meant that I was no longer just a daughter, sister, and wife. I was suddenly a mother. Being a mother is perhaps the most important and best role I’ve ever held. I’m going to go ahead and apologize right now. Because you were my first child, you were (and still are) the guinea pig. I’ve tested out parenting techniques and styles on you. Some worked, and some not-so-much. No matter what though, please know that I always try my best to get the parenting thing right.
I love you more than you can comprehend. I only hope that someday you experience this same level of love with your own children. It’s amazing. It’s awe-inducing. It’s scary. And, it’s the best thing ever.
Each year, as you get older, I realize how much you really are just like me. Does that scare you? It scares me, but it also makes me proud. I’m sorry that you inherited my picky eating tendencies, the fact that you’re easily frustrated, and that little things will drive you mad. On the flip side, I can’t help but smile inside when you sleep in really late, have to have something “just so” (the perfectionist tendency), exhibit your super competitive nature, and can’t turn in homework that “might” be wrong.
You are a handsome, funny, charming, smart, and amazing son. I thank God every day that he blessed me with you.
Happy birthday Jack. I hope you have a wonderful year.