12:12am, January 7th, 1998.

The most anticipated moment of my life, after 10 months of pregnancy and 17 hours of labor, my son was born. The tiniest, most intense, most amazing blue eyes I’ve ever seen met mine and we quietly regarded each other while the world kept spinning. Doctors, nurses, family members came and went, and we were oblivious, watching each other. He gripped my finger like his life depended on it. My breath and his synced for a moment, and I’m sure our hearts did, too.

My world changed forever. “Welcome to the world, Dru,” I whispered.

Today, he is eleven years old. The most amazing, whirlwind, exciting eleven years of my life, and I thank the gods every moment of every day for this kid. He’s my best friend, my sweet baby, my not-so-wee-anymore little man, my rapidly-growing-up son.

Happy birthday, Dru. May all your days be filled with light, may every pain bring a lesson, may every step take you where you want to go.

Darkness broken by the flash of lightening, the silence of sleep disturbed by the loud echoes of thunder. Rain pours down, tap-tap-tapping on our window. Her breathing deepens as she settles into sleep, and I curl around her, contented as sleep claims me.

Morning banishes the storm, sunlight streams through the window. She wakes, her soft brown eyes peering through the haze of sleep, grins that sweet sleepy smile, and our lips brush for the first time this day – my favorite moment. We snuggle, our warm skin pressing together under our floofy comforter, kittens napping on our knees. We discuss our day, full of togetherness and joy, laughter and love.

She is my love, my partner in life, in business, in dreams. We fill our days with passions and determination, we face fears together, we challenge each other, we comfort each other. I am filled with love and light, joy at her every moment with me.

Happy birthday, Pace. I love you.