on your first birthday.

dec. 3, 2014

dear milo,

one year ago on a cold december night, you were born. the sky was black and the valley was welcoming the first big storm of winter. your perfect body was laid on my chest and i was in awe of you. you looked at me with your deep gray eyes and i knew you. we knew each other, my boy, we knew each other because this was not our first time meeting, it was just a reunion. one we had been anticipating for a very long time.

one year ago, your daddy cried as he held you and my love for both of you multiplied infinitely. you were finally here. you were finally in our arms and we are never letting go. you have filled a hole in our hearts that we didn’t know was there. from the very first time i held you, holding you in my arms has felt so natural, like it is what my arms were made for.

over the past year, you have grown so much. from learning to hold your head up, to rolling over, to scooting, to crawling, to walking, to running. milo, you are amazing. your vocabulary may be limited, but somehow, i always know what you are in need of. your toothy smile can warm my soul even on the most difficult days. the way you lean in for a kiss and lay your head on my shoulder are things straight out of my dreams.

this past year has been filled with learning for your dad and i as well. we have learned how to love differently, deeply, more completely. we have learned to be more patient, more understanding, more humble, more prayerful, more loving, more selfless, more caring, more present. you have taught us all of those things and so much more, my boy.

one year ago, at 7:32pm you were born and in that same breath i was born. i was born to be your mother and when that moment finally came, i was scared and unsure, but we figured it out together. you are a piece of my own heart, living outside of my body. you have blessed my life in ways i could never begin to describe.

milo, i love you. forever, my baby.

happy first birthday.

love,

mama.

from dad's point of view.

this is the journal entry Mason wrote about the day Milo was born.

A couple days ago I became a dad. I feel like I should write things down now. Feelings and such. Stuff that will let my kids and kids' kids know me a bit better. 

Two nights ago, my wonderful wife Lindsey (who is currently sleeping next to me) gave birth to our first child. We named him Milo and he is perfect. 

I was worried about the birth. We didn't find out beforehand whether we were having a boy or girl, and for some reason I had a horrible fear that the baby would come out with some sort of complication. 

Lindsey was a champ. She didn't use any medications during her labor. She hardly complained. I think once she said, “It hurts so bad!” Other than that, though, she was just so focused. She didn't even cry. Seriously. I think she was in too much shock. 

I cried. I hardly ever cry. Not in movies. Sometimes when I listen to music. But hardly ever else. But when Milo was born I burst into tears. That's a cliche, I know. But really, as soon as his little body came out, tears immediately started flowing down my cheeks. 

In all honesty, the tears were for fear. Not fear of fatherhood or anything. Birth is kind of gruesome, and after Linds pushed Milo's head out there was a lot of blood that followed. All I saw was a tiny human head and blood. I honestly thought his head had fallen off during the intensity of Linds' push. I was scared my baby was decapitated. 

Fortunately that was not the case. I soon saw the rest of the baby parts that usually accompany a head. When I saw it was a boy I moved towards Linds to tell her. I don't know if she heard me or if it just went over her head because she didn't appear to register my statement. She was definitely in shock about what had just happened.

A few moments later I was holding my son and he was staring up at me with these big black (probably dark gray) eyes. It was surreal. At one moment I had a strong recognition that I had joined the circle of life that has been in effect since the beginning of mankind. I realized that some day Milo would be sitting in my place, holding his child. And I realized that day won't be so far off, in the grand scheme of things. 

That's part of why I want to start writing these things down. The time is going to pass quickly. I want to make sure I appreciate it as it comes and goes. Like Ferris Buehler says, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”