Tonight, while you were pretend buying things from the supermarket (wall) and cooking eggs, pepper, garlic, tomatoes, and cheese (puzzle pieces) on your oven (table), and telling me to be careful because it’s hot —
You, to me: Are you having fun?
Me, smiling: Yes.
You: Are you happy?
Me: Yes, I’m happy.
You: I’m happy, too.
You’re 2 years, 7 months, and 2 days old today. I’m still not used to being so happy I could burst into tears. I have been feeling like this a lot since I was pregnant with you, which is somewhat funny, because we didn’t plan on having children. We couldn’t imagine ourselves as parents.
My parents separated when I was your age, so my only memories of the time before that are the ones I’ve formed from seeing pictures. I had a good childhood though. They both loved me, and we all did our best. And I wouldn’t change a single thing, because I believe everything led me to this.
I had no idea what I was missing until you came along. Your father has been my home for over 16 years now. But the day you were born was the first time I have ever truly understood and felt what family means.
When you ask for family hugs or look at pictures of the three of us hugging and kissing, with that smile of a child who knows he belongs, my heart swells to the point of exploding. I know I belong now, too. And I am flooded with gratitude and a joy so immense my body cannot contain it. I am happy, not just for you, but for the child I was, because this, this was worth the wait.