8 months.

Our Darling Baby Boy is 8 months old today.  He’s a crawling, squeaking, cruising ball of wonder.  He’s on his third or fourth cold, we’ve lost count.  As I stare at him, snot dripping down his chin as he stands holding onto the edge of the coffee table and begins to move his legs, practicing to take his first step, I am full of awe, joy, love.  How fast the time has passed.  How much my patience and tolerance have grown.  How much my heart has expanded.

Over the past 8 months I’ve watched my husband become a father, a wonderful father.  I watch him quiet Casey down at night and walk him up and down the hallway until sleep finally descends and I am so content in this life we are building.  He is such a wonderful partner.  My solid rock; he always has my back and supports whole heartedly all of our parenting decisions.  All the things I feel unsure about he is quick to say “of course that’s the way we should do it.  This is right.  This is best.  You’re doing a great job.”  You too Alex.   I feel such solid ground underfoot where once the path seemed so rocky and unstable.  But now as I stare into eyes that are both Alex’s and mine, I feel I am finally becoming the woman I was always meant to be and I can only hope to do my best to help my son become the toddler, little boy, teenager and man he is meant to be.

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