Dear Thomas,
Can we talk?
Did you know that when I was pregnant with you, your father insisted we keep the gender a surprise and find out in the delivery room? Yes, he did. It was torture.
I still wish I would have known you were a boy because then I might have had a little extra time to prepare for what God had placed into my life.
You know Mommy. I have two sisters. Mostly girl cousins. A whole bunch of aunts. I know nothing about boys.
So when you came along, I was in shock.
For the first few months, you were cool, not too different from a baby girl. You ate, slept, pooped. (You were really good at all three.)
Then you learned to sit up. Then crawl. Then walk.
Lord help.
Since you started tottering around at 10 months, my life has never been the same. I know a lot of people say that, and they’re being overdramatic but I mean it.
You started breaking things. Heavy, durable things that an 11-month-old babies should not be able to break. You had (still have) a temper. You are heavy-handed. All those things together mean you’re my little hurricane, tearing through my house all day.
But I love that about you. You keep me on my toes. Being your Mommy means I have to be on 24/7 and that actually suits my personality.
You are constantly on the move, always into something different and you are never quiet. Not ever. From the time you wake up you are babbling in your crib, to the time you go to sleep, you babble yourself to sleep.
But you know what? I love that you are here. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for a second kid, but ready or not here you came. You truly make this family complete and there is nothing I would rather do than be your mother.
Love you tons,
Mommy
