It’s been a tough few hours with Michael. He cried most of the way home from spending Thanksgiving at my in-laws. He fussed around the house a little after Pilates class. And managed to grab a soiled diaper from me and sling sh*t around his room before bed. But in this very moment, I am so thankful for every piece of sh*t that landed on my pants.
You see, I just finished reading the saddest birth story of my life. It was tragic. Left me in tears. A mother and father lost their son; again. My chest actually hurts. I am sad. To think that I was so disinclined to become a mother and there are people living sad stories every day, all in an effort to become parents. God chose me and my husband to nurture, educate and raise this little boy and my goodness am I thankful. Michael’s birth came with a little scare, but nothing - nothing - like that story.
Michaels presence has been my saving grace. Just when I thought my life had no direction, I was given a roadmap. I’ve been given purpose. I am shaken to my core after reading that story, but my love for my little man just intensified. That little fire deep inside just got a little bigger. I’ve loved my husband from the moment I saw him shed tears over me, but this love is different. It’s earth-moving, ground-breaking, breath-taking. It’s bigger than I could have ever imagined. It’s so grandeur that it scares me a little.