Happy Birthday, my darling!

Three years ago, you entered my world and changed my life.

Three years ago today marked the end of five days of labour, two days of oxytocin, one broken water in Ikea, nixed forceps and an emergency cesarean.

Three years ago I was introduced to you, cone-headed, (you) groggy from all the drugs, (both of us) and nearly dead from the experience (again, both of us) yet still totally in awe of this little tiny bundle of fight and energy and sheer force of will.

I watched you in your incubator, and pushed myself to get down the hall to the ICU, to just sit beside you and marvel over it all. I moved aside your IV and monitors to stroke your tummy and cradle your sunglass-wrapped head. I pushed through the scary words, like infarction and stroke, and watched the incredible NICU teams at St. Paul's and Children's take over with their vast knowledge and intense competency.

I have watched you grow into a tenacious, fearless little boy, and you amaze me every day. You show no hesitation to jump into life and run with it, and you are gentle, kind and thoughtful. You are loving to your little brother, and somehow understand the fragility of a baby.

Through the sleepless nights, constant worry and all-consuming act that comes being a parent, the best part of all of it is still feeling your little arms creep around the back of my neck, stroke my hair, and hear you whisper "I love you, Mommy".

I love you too, darling. Happy Birthday.