My own personal Batman.

 Owen with his Aunt Brittany at his 3rd birthday party on Saturday

 So - many of you know how awesome my kids are. There's no debate about it really - they're just freaking adorable. Owen (the oldest) turns three today and so I thought I would return to an idea I had when he was first born to write something to him but had since bailed on because I'm just lazy and forgetful. For about a year now I've (very) slowly been working on a journal to him and Mac starting with 30 different questions to answer so they know me better, so I'm trying to get through those and write more consistently to them but we'll see how long that actually takes me.

Owen on his 2nd birthday last year.

Back to the matter at hand. Owen is three today. At this time on the day he was born I'd been in labor for about 6 hours and had another 7.5 hours to go before we'd have to have an emergency c-section. I would love to say I was really excited about meeting my baby and that's all I could think about, but really - I was most excited about not being pregnant anymore. Meeting Owen was to be a close second. My pregnancy was not great with him. That's the nicest way I could put that. But through his birth process I got to experience a little bit of everything, just like I did with my pregnancy, and much the same way it's been ever since he was born. I had my epidural wear off twice, the second of which was at 9cm so I experienced the last of my labor (as well as a little before that from the first time) and all of my pushing for an hour and a half with no pain killers. I experienced labor and pushing, like I said, but then went into surgery for a Cesarian when Owen's heartrate rose and wouldn't fall (p.s. trying to stop pushing once you've started is basically the worst thing anyone could ever tell you). Since he's been born, I have experienced most of the good and bad things that parents talk about with babies and into toddlerhood. Owen had trouble breastfeeding, he's covered himself and his crib in poop multiple times, he's had delays and issues, he has given us his first E.R. worthy scare, and he's finally discovering Santa and other awesome traditions that we all look forward to with little ones.

Owen on his 1st birthday

When he turned two last year, Owen still barely spoke - his vocabulary consisted of about 10 words, and only about 3 or 4 that were used consistently. This past year he has worked in Speech and Occupational therapy and done so incredibly well it's like he's a new kid. His vocabulary is now over 200 words, a ton of which has been gained in the last three months. He socializes with other kids for the first time in his life, instigates offering hugs, talks with kids, readily makes eye contact, and only has melt downs every once in a while compared to 5-7 times a day. The amount of progress he's made this year makes me tear up a little each time I watch him doing something that only a few months ago had still never happened. At his birthday party Saturday he played with other kids for hours, said bye bye to those leaving, and hugged his cousins when they left the party. It was the best thing I'd ever seen him do. On Monday, while stealing my watermelon for lunch, he took bites and repeatedly looked and me smiling and said, "Delicious! Mmm yum!" - He's now said, "Love you, Mama" and is starting to learn to construct sentences, and it's simply the most amazing part of my life right now.

For the last month or so, Owen has been really into superheroes and in particular he's been obsessed with Batman since he discovered the cartoons on his Kindle. He has been wearing Batman clothes for over a week now, and runs around saying "Batman!" or "Super! Cape!" all the time. Since he's been so into it we realized a couple weeks ago there was no better theme for his birthday! I made capes for him and all the kids to wear and got to work planning a Batman/Superhero party for him. I really love that he's into superheroes honestly, because I'm a nerd and I can get into it with him. I once read that Batman is one of the best superheroes (this could be debated until the end of time so let's not *really* get into it) because he is one of the most brilliant minds in the DC Universe and he's a tactical genius who uses all of the benefits of technology possible and has worked to master all of the martial arts. He has no superpower that puts him on par with the villains he fights - he's simply that good from hard work and natural talent. He fights his own inner battle between ethics and emotion just like everyone else. He is the superhero that is like everyone. He shows us what it is to pursue something with one-minded dedication, and how that can turn into it's own flaw if you don't keep it in check. He's both a role model and a cautionary tale for how careful we must be to avoid being consumed with our own pain and anger. He's a great superhero to start a comic book love with.

I'm excited to see Owen grow another year older. To watch him bond with his little brother more, go with us on new adventures to new places, to learn new words and new things, and to surprise me in ways that I couldn't even imagine today. A year from now I'll be amazed all over again at how much he's changed and what a great kid he is. A year from now he'll be bigger, stronger, and better - obsessed with different things and with new favorites and silly preferences. But for now, he's still my Batman-loving, PB&J eating, train-set watching, trampoline bouncing little three year old Monkey. Happy Birthday, buddy!

In the season of gratitude.

For my first official post, I thought I would begin with something I have a personal connection to and it's personal for several reasons. First, I know the family in question and have known them for half of my life. Second, I'm a parent.

When I found out I was pregnant with my oldest son, it was not planned. My husband and I were shaken with shock and an overwhelming fear of failing the child we didn't even have yet. We were terrified that we weren't ready and had no idea what our life would be. I went through a troublesome pregnancy, fraught with hyperemesis gravidarum (severe morning sickness), gestational diabetes, hospitalizations, endless amounts of bloodwork, and finally an emergency c-section after 14 hours of labor due to what we discovered was preeclampsia. At the end of it all, we were given a beautiful and perfectly healthy baby boy - and we fell in love. It wasn't an overpowering surge of motherly bond, but a simple and matter of fact event where I finally met the child who I already knew so well. We'd already been through so much together that nothing else needed to be done. My first words to him were, "Hi, Buddy." Since then, I've learned that none of us are perfect parents and that there is no way to be prepared for a child nor is there a perfect time to have that child. It's always hard, it's always exhausting, and it's always truly awesome. This is not the simple, casual kind of awesome - parenthood is the formidable, breathtaking, awe-inspiring kind of awesome.

 

So let's start here: in August of this year, the U.S. Department of Agriculture reported that it will cost an average of $241,080 for a middle income family to raise a child for 18 years (you can read about it here). That doesn't include the cost of college, nor does it cover the fact that often now kids don't move out until their early 20's due to the economy, job market, and student debt. Now imagine if, each of us, upon deciding that the expense, the stress, and the responsibility of becoming a parent was worthwhile - had to sign up on a waiting list to go through a rigorous approval process where an outsider will deem whether you're prepared and fit to become a parent. Imagine that once all that was over with and you were finally given approval, you then had to pay an additional $50,000 up front to be able to have your child. All so that you could realize what many believe as an inherent right in life as well as one of the greatest joys in life.

That's what couples go through every single day when they have to tread through the waters of adoption. My friends, Adam & Megan Martignago have worked, struggled, and endured for almost five years to have and adopt their first child and become parents. Over the course of about three long years battling with many miscarriages, tears, and infertility issues, Adam and Megan chose to begin the adoption process so that they could become parents. On April 24th of this year - after many false hopes and prayers answered, "Wait," - they met their son, Luke Roper. He is beautiful, he is adorable, and he made them a family. With every passing day, Luke steals a little more of Megan and Adam's hearts, however, they still struggle to pay the adoption costs so that Luke can finally be fully and legally their child. There is a mountain of debt looming before them, and along with those costs, they are still working to afford the cost of living and raising an infant son. It's a hard balance to strike when you're working so hard to pay your bills but at the same time don't want to work too hard or you might miss out on the beauty that is your child's one and only first year.

 Adam, Megan, & Luke

I write this all because I believe that at this time of year more than any other, we become aware of our responsibility to help others. We become aware of the gift that is family. In this season of gratitude, humility, and love - won't you please join me in helping this family who so deserves to be unburdened from this weight. Amidst all of the joy, wonder, and sublime bliss of spending time with your own family this holiday season - share some of that with another family in need; a family who wishes, more than anything, to become whole.

You can donate to Adam & Megan's GoFundMe site here. You can also share this story with your own friends and family by clicking the share buttons at the bottom of the post. Over the coming weeks and months, I'll continue to post about the Martignago family and share with you how they're doing and the progress that is being made on their journey to finalizing their adoption of Luke Roper.

If you would like more information about the Martignago family here are links to their various websites which you can follow too:

The Operation Eventually Facebook Page
The Martignago Family Blog
The Martignago Family Adoption Fund

Thanks for your help, and have a wonderful holiday!

Who They Are to Me.

Originally posted to my personal blog: Rockets, Swords, & Shields on November 15, 2012.

In the last couple years, a lot has happened. A lot…and to be honest, I’ve been trying to figure out how to process it the whole time but there hasn’t really been a pause to finish reacting to one thing before the next begins. What I’ve realized in the last few months though – and finally figured out how to put into words tonight… is who my sons are to me. They’re my war buddies. The buddy part of that makes it sound cutesy – but it’s not. When I was pregnant with Owen, I went through hell. Constantly and for every part of my pregnancy with him, I was in hell. There were very few good moments and a host of bad ones including twice almost having to have him delivered early. It was with him that I learned what it is to have a friend in an unborn child, because he was suffering everything I was – he knew me, he had my blood flowing through him … he was literally a part of my physical being. He was the only one who truly understood what I was going through because it was happening to him too. When he was born and he was placed in my arms while they wheeled me out of the operating room, my first words to him were, “Hey Buddy.” I had always thought that was strange since I had called him so many things but that for my whole pregnancy; Spawn, Alien, Monkey, Owen – never not once did I refer to him as Buddy, but when I saw him – I knew that’s what he was. I don’t call him that all the time, but it is a name I have continued to give to him for the past 22 months. He has been with me for every single bad day and horrible moment I’ve experienced in the last two years – when I have needed comfort or something to make me happy again despite what was happening, he has been there to cuddle with me and he has always been able to make me feel better…even if it was just in that one small space of my heart.

This year being pregnant with Mac brought me the positive experience in pregnancy that everyone talks about. There was little to no discomfort or problems … until there were. We had two big scares this year – one for me and one for Mac. With Cormac, I went through hell for 4 days while we waited to find out results from a test after a doctor had seen a marker for Down’s Syndrome. I waited in that hell alone with Owen while Corey was out of town for work. The same week we had that scare – we were told I had abnormal cell growth that could be precancerous on my uterus and that it could amount to nothing, or the hormones of my pregnancy could push it to become full-blown cancer - and regardless they couldn't act for another 6 months until after Mac was born and I was healed. So that week was my week to cry, to find comfort in my Buddy in my arms, and to realize I was going to have a second war buddy – because while it was less hectic, this was sure as hell a new war that Mac and I were fighting together. Mac turned out to be fine obviously, and while I had to go through the rest of my pregnancy and wait until after his birth to check the cells again, as of right now it appears that I’m okay and I’ll be meeting with and getting a plan for the future from an oncologist tomorrow...and during and after that appointment as with many that came before it, it’s my sons who will be there to comfort me until Corey comes home again.

I have two sons that I spend more hours with than anyone else in the world with now, my husband included. They’re not my friends in the sense that Corey, Brittany, Shaina, or any of my other friends are – but they know me in a way none of you ever would be able to. We’ve been through hell together, and they’re the only ones who not only were a part of my being in the past, they have a piece of me in them still. A piece that makes it physically hard for me to be a part from them or see them in pain – and this, I know, is motherhood…but it’s something else too. It’s the bond that comes from going through a war with someone and only they were there to know what it was like. That’s who my sons are to me – before they have grown into little boys or eventually men – they’re my war buddies. They’re not only the cause of my scars and stretch marks…they’re the reason it was worth it.

For Us Mamas.

Originally posted to my personal blog: Rockets, Swords, & Shields on May 13, 2012.

 

First, let’s start with the obvious – happy Mother’s Day! : ) I am privileged to know and share my life with some incredibly inspiring mothers, and for that I am grateful every day. I’ve written about some of them in the past but believe me that there are many more. My sister, Kristi, who is a wonderful mother to one of the cutest little girls I could ever ask to have as a niece; my good friend, Amanda, who is an amazing dedicated mom to two kids that are fantastically bright; a girlfriend named Catherine, who embraces attachment parenting in a most beautiful way with her daughter and has been a wonderful personal channel for me to widen my own views of understanding (for which I will always be thankful); and definitely surprising to her – my beautiful friend, Whitney, who is also the Godmother of my son – though she is not a mother to her own children yet, she is a wonderful  woman and member of my son’s world, one that I completely believe will be like the second mother to Owen that every kid needs. I’ve been blessed to have my own second mother and could never thank God enough for her presence in my life for the last 13 years. All of these women – along with those who are not mothers but none the less open their hearts to my son in a way that I believe only a Mom can, makes them mothers in my eyes. Shaina and my sister Brittany – who hold and love Owen with the same adoration that I feel in my own heart, who will be some of the best Aunts in the world. All of these women impress upon me the beauties of motherhood while at the same time showing how little it matters which strategy of parenting you might go with. What matters is your love for the kid in your life…regardless of if they are yours or not.

Which brings me to the next thing I wanted to write about…the oh-so-well-known TIME cover for this week.

 

Corey and I subscribe to TIME so we were able to read the article as always. My issue, in all honesty, is not with the article or its subject matter, while I don’t still breastfeed Owen – I don’t have any issues with it at all, it simply didn’t work out that way for us. Owen still occasionally sleeps in bed with Corey and I, as he has since we brought him home as a newborn. I don’t always let him cry for long periods of time, but I also rarely will immediately run to comfort him as soon as he starts to shed a tear – specifically when it relates to bedtime. When he falls and hurts himself, my initial reaction is to smile at him and laugh to let him know he’s okay. I have not childproofed my house, and don’t plan to (mind you there aren’t any exposed outlets for him to get to as it is) because I plan on him learning why he shouldn’t play with certain things rather than hiding them from him. I keep my books within his dangerous reach so that he will learn to love them with his whole heart as I do and to associate them with his perception of home. When he picks up a book, I sit with him and help him turn the pages, look at the words and read random passages so he sees that books are fun and don’t have to be filled solely with pictures as his bedtime books are. I let him feel the paper and understand the delicacy of the pages to that he knows they are special. I do not follow a specific set of rules – and I don’t ever plan to in the future. I parent the way that fits our family and the way that feels right. I hug my son and kiss him as I will for the rest of his life. I let him know that while I won’t race to make things better for him, I will always be there with a kiss and a band-aid when necessary.

The point I’m trying to make – and thing about this cover which irks me (it took me all week to really be able put my finger on it) – is the headline. ‘Are You Mom Enough?’ What does that mean? I read a comment this morning on a blog that put my response succinctly and perfectly: “If you are a mom, you are plenty mom enough.” I told a friend of mine earlier this week that I don’t like the term ‘enough’ because it continues this stupid implication that there is, in fact, a right way to parent. Or that some choices are better than others. That is what makes this weird passive aggressive war continue like it has for decades. How I’ve had everyone from relatives to friends to other moms at daycare to complete and total strangers offer advice to me about how I need to change what I choose to do with Owen because it’s wrong and their way is right. Rather than parents being a universal community where we share our ideas and views in a helpful way like sharing secret cooking tips, we hold it over each other like someone is a failure at parenting when they don’t ascribe to our parenting vision. We act self-righteous and treat others as though their naïve ideas are so sadly inept they just ‘must not know any better’. Like the blog I mentioned before – if you’re a Mom, you ARE Mom enough. End of discussion. A girlfriend of mine posted just this morning a picture of her two stepsons with a caption explaining a small window into her relationship with them – a small quote of it was so perfect, I’m going to share it to further show my point.

"It’s obvious I’m not their biological mother.....they look nothing like me. But inside them, they’ve got my heart. I’ve put more time and effort into them than I have anything else in life - they make me so proud of the little people they’re turning into. I won’t give up on them, give them up, or leave their side - they were meant for me and I for them. Some people might call me their “stepmom” - but I'll be the first to say that name doesn’t do our relationship justice. They are mine, I am theirs, and no “name” will ever come close to describing what we are to one other.”

They are mine and I am theirs. Isn’t THAT what being a parent/mom is about? It shouldn’t be about competing with each other. It’s about doing the best you can for that little person in front of you who needs help growing into the adult they’ll inevitably become. Helping them because you have no other choice not out of duty but because your happiness is so completely wrapped up in theirs that you can’t stop yourself from doing what you can to show them the way into adulthood. You know that one day you’ll have to let them go and feel your heart and soul tear away into a separate existence so you hold them close when you can and do your best to show them they really are tough enough to make it when you aren’t there so that when the time comes you aren’t – they will have the confidence to know how awesome they are.

So yeah, TIME, I am Mom Enough. And so is every other Mom I know. Thanks for asking.

Creating My Masterpiece

Originally posted on my personal blog: Rockets, Swords, & Shields on November 5, 2011.

In college, I read My Name is Asher Lev for a class once. It’s this amazing and beautiful novel about a Jewish boy that – from the time he’s a toddler – has an affinity for art. Long story short – through the problems and the conflict between his passion and his culture, he becomes a painter. A very successful and brilliant painter. At one point in the story, the author (Chaim Potok) goes to painstaking efforts to explain how it feels for an artist to work so hard on a piece, and then to let it go. Basically how letting it go is letting go of part of your soul.

I did a little math the other day and figured something out. 24 hours a day, every day of the year for 18 years is 157,680 hours. Meanwhile, 40 hours a week, 52 weeks of the year for 18 years is 37,440 hours. That means by the time your child is 18, you’ve essentially been working 4 full-time jobs non-stop. Four. That’s twice as much as a lawyer working 60-70 hours a week. All the hours teaching, playing, rocking, “shh-ing”, healing and kissing boo-boos, building with blocks, singing songs, taking pictures, going on walks, spelling, learning to ride a bike, talking, eating, taking baths, going over homework, science fair projects, - and God knows that’s not more than 10% of what we spend our lives doing. All the worrying and planning - the sheer terror that is putting so much of yourself into this one goal – the hopes and working toward creating this person. Making your whole life the building of someone else’s life. All this – just so you can let them go. Let that huge, massive, complete and continental chunk of your soul…go out into the world, free to succeed or magnificently fail.

That’s what we’ve chosen. That’s the life I’ve chosen. And I’m grateful for it.

Before this year, I understood what being a parent was. I knew that my child would be amazing in my eyes and that I would think he hung the moon. What I didn’t know – or rather: comprehend – was how I truly, with every fiber/atom/neuron/thought in my being, would believe he’s the single most perfect thing I have ever done. I didn’t understand how despite going days without more than 30 minutes of sleep at a time, I would still lovingly rise from my bed to come and rock my child back to sleep. How when I hate him, I love him. And when he does even the infinitely smallest new thing, my heart soars. Stretch marks are battle scars, exhaustion is status quo. And it’s more wonderful than I really could have ever guessed.

Choose now or forever hold your peace.

Originally posted on my personal blog: Rockets, Swords, & Shields on April 19, 2011

So to begin with this week, I’m going to write a response to a blog that I’ve been reading a lot of the last month or so: A Cup of Jo. She wrote a blog today asking how her readers felt about the gender of their child while they were pregnant – if anyone had a preference on what they wanted to have, how they felt when they did or didn’t end up having a baby of that sex, and whether they thought it was ok or a bad thing to have such a preference or hope. I thought it was a great question so I wanted to respond as a blog and share it with all of you rather than just a comment response. (If she actually comes to read this: Hi Joanna!!!)

As some of you know, I am one of six girls with a great many cousins who are for the most part – also girls. My husband, Corey, is one of four boys so that was like a dream come true for me, because I had wanted to have boys for as long as I can remember. The strange thing was though that even though I had wanted a boy my whole life, now that I was actually pregnant, I found myself absolutely terrified of actually getting what I’d always wanted. Mind you I was never really anti-girl, I just wanted something different and didn’t want to deal with any more of the PMS and drama that I had grown up with being around so many girls (not to mention my own cup o’ craziness). I had never been a big fan of dress-up; I had never done too many girly things as a child myself and didn’t really have any interest in doing them now. – But once faced with having a child, knowing I’d be raising it far away from any family…I wanted what I knew. I had helped raise my two youngest sisters and had babysat little girls countless times. I know what their development is, how to take care of them, - what to expect. The idea of having a boy went from being everything I’d ever wanted to the scariest thing in the world – for God’s sake, they pee standing up!

Eventually though, after about two months of panic, my mind returned to where it once had been – back to serenity and resolve. I wanted a boy, and was even more certain than I was before. I wanted that sweet boy that I could teach to be a decent man – a boy I could watch play baseball, soccer, lacrosse, or whatever he set his mind to. I loved the simplicity of boys. Everything that had been worrying me now exhilarated me. I adored that while girls can be counted on to be sneaky, boys can be counted on to do their silly crazy stunts out in the open. I never felt bad about having a preference, because I knew that should we find out we were having a girl, I would end up being just as thrilled with a little baby princess as I was when I found out it was a boy. Corey though, sheepishly asked me once a couple days before we were to find out, “Would it make me a bad dad if I said I wanted a boy more than a girl?” My immediate response was a resounding, “No” – after all, what man doesn’t want a boy? Fathers all obviously love their girls but it’s just an obvious idea for Corey to want a son. And plus, why would he be wrong if I was doing the same thing? :)

I know that if we had been given a girl everything would have been lovely, but having Owen has just been so wonderful. It’s exciting to be doing something new, and to look forward to all the things that will be different. Also, he’s just too adorable to not find fascinating. His little whimpers and coos make me constantly excited for the next thing to come from him, and I am just thrilled about seeing every stage that will come in the future. He is everything I had always wanted, and it’s only been three months. I look forward to finding out how similar his is to Corey – if he’ll be that goofy, silly boy who’s always pulling pranks and joking around but then five minutes later is being sweet and loving. I also long to see if he’ll be like both of us in our undying love of music and books – though, I think so far, the verdict on music is a resounding yes. The child loves listening to our albums of Elvis, Dave Matthews, the Beatles, James Carr, and so on – I try to throw in classical occasionally as well, because we both like it and I know it’s good for Owen to hear it, but it’s just too fun sometimes trying to discover new artists that he likes … and I just completely adore being able to say that my child has loved 60’s Soul since he was born more than any other music. :) 

Long story short – I did have a preference. I had a mild panic stage of being scared of that idea for a while, but in the end I got what I wanted – and it’s everything I had hoped it would be. Now if only I could find as many cute clothes for boys as there are out there for little girls…

"I finally got an answer.."

Originally posted on my personal blog: Rockets, Swords, & Shields on February 17, 2011

"All those years that I prayed - that I begged on my hands and knees - for God to make me more, give me more, make me better, make me stronger, make me saner, - make all my dreams come true - I finally got an answer. You. Right there in one person, all I'd ever wanted to be or do." 

- Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood

In five days, Owen will be a month old. I am completely incapable of comprehending how that happened. I still feel like we were just at the hospital going through labor. Over the less couple days I've been becoming acquainted with the reality of being a mom by myself - you see, my mom left on Sunday and Corey promptly got sick Tuesday afternoon so this week has been very much just me and Owen. We have camped out in the living room, giving Corey the master bedroom and some space so he doesn't hear Owen cry in the night, and the most "fun" part has been that Owen started going through what I'm deciding must be a growth spurt yesterday afternoon so he has been eating every 1 1/2- 2 hours (mind you, he eats for 30 minutes at a time) so that isn't leaving much time for any kind of normal sleep pattern, or eating, or anything really. Thus the reason that it's 2:30 in the morning and I'm writing a blog...

I decided to write this blog however, with the idea in mind that since Owen is turning a month old in a few days, it would be cool to write either a blog centered around him or a blog kind of letter addressed to him. I think it's turning into both in a way, because the letter part is still forthcoming. So enjoy, or don't if you so choose. 

To my beautiful little man, my Buddy, my monkey,

There are some things that I never liked about being pregnant with you. It was an exhausting process, that for a majority of the time was painful or in the very least uncomfortable. Labor was every ounce of the most pain I've ever experienced in my life (yes, my child, I had an epidural - but that was only effective for certain portions of the labor - and by no means did it save me from the most painful part towards the end), however, at the end of that particular day twenty-six days ago - I got you. As you can tell, that has not washed away my memories of how things really happened, as so many would like to pretend it does, but I will say that regardless of how miserable it was - you are worth it. 

Over the last few weeks, I have been your source of sustenance, comfort, and security. None of that will change any time soon, but I do want to tell you that even at those moments when you frustrate me most - whether it be your obstinate way of refusing to eat even though I know you're hungry, or you're cries and temper tantrums simply because you're bored and want more attention - even though you utterly exhaust me at those moments, I can't even find myself capable of getting upset for more than a few seconds because I look at you and find myself overtaken by feelings of happiness just at how beautiful you are. It amazes me how mellow of a child you have been since birth, after such a complicated pregnancy, and I am endlessly thankful for how perfect you are despite how many things could have gone wrong throughout my pregnancy and specifically the end of my labor which led to your birth by c-section. Despite all of those possibilities though, God still was kind enough to give me a son with no health problems, who has the most beautiful face that can literally calm me down no matter what I'm feeling simply because I am so grateful. 

I know that this is only the beginning, and that your abilities to exhaust, infuriate, and utterly wear me down will only increase over time - but I also know just as surely, that my feelings of gratefulness will always accompany my consciousness whenever I think about or look at you. I will never forget how incredibly thankful I was when you were born and your Dad said that everything was okay. I will also always remember how saddened I was for the couple down the hall from us in the hallway on the postpartum floor who had to give birth to their child at 25 weeks due to complications and early labor - and how much more appreciative I was to God again for giving you to me in such perfect health and beauty once I was reminded how easily things can go awry. 

Owen, my baby, my son, - I write all of these things so that you know that despite all of the hardships that may befall us throughout life and parenthood, you have always been - and will always be - worth it. I love you..