Tomorrow is your first birthday.
Tonight I held you and fed you your bottle just before bedtime. The room was quiet and dark and it was just me and you as you drank your milk in my arms. I started telling you about the day of your birth and the circumstances that surrounded us when you were born. When I held you for the first time- you were so warm and cozy and snuggled. I laid you on my chest and touched your skin and your hair, your soft little lips. I traced your face a thousand times to memorize your features and absorb as much of you as I could. Your fingernails were long and your ears were wrinkly and your legs folded up beneath you. You laid on my shoulder with your head turned towards me, and I felt you breathe in and out as you peacefully slept.
I was telling you these things as you drank your bottle and you started laughing at my words. Like, giggling and snorting, you thought it was so funny. Every time you calmed down I would say something else and you would lose it again, choking on your milk. And there I was, weepy and emotional, thinking about your newborn days as you smiled and laughed at me.
And that’s the way it has always been with you.
Lincoln, you were sent to me to be a comfort, that I know. You needed me as much as I needed you- I nourished you and in return you nourished my soul and my heart and my spirit. I will forever be thankful to you for this year you have given me and for the way you make me feel.
Tonight, you finished your milk and I finished telling you my story. I lifted your body up onto my shoulder to pat your back as your eyes got heavy and eventually closed. You again faced me, cheek to cheek, and I felt your warm breath on my neck. I rocked and rocked you and begged time to stop just for a few minutes so I could hold onto you a little bit longer before you turn one.
What a year it has been. Happy Birthday, my sweet Lincoln.