Many years ago, on this day, I gave birth to my first child. Michael was (and still is) perfect. My sweet boy and I did everything together for two years until his baby brother was born. While Dad was at work, we two developed a special bond that I still feel now. We were tight. Better than best buddies. A world of just us.
My life was entirely devoted to him. He didn’t have a babysitter. I didn’t trust anyone (except on rare occasion my mom) with my little treasure. Everything he did was wonderful to me. One of my favorite memories was the first time he saw dust motes slanting in with the sunlight through a window. He reached for them and looked at me with delighted wonder as they swirled, so tiny and out of reach.
With boys, it’s hard to know when to pull back on the sentimentality. I think now is probably good. Mike is his own man now, with a house and a career and, best of all, a wife who loves him well. They recently visited for five days and I didn’t hear one cross word between them the whole time. And his wonderful life is all I could have wished for him way back when he was born on this very same day.
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