You came slowly it seemed.
We had to wait to try for you.
You were suddenly there, in my womb.
Eleven days late.
Nineteen hours of labor.
Nine pounds Eleven ounces.
You cried with a purple face.
We waited -- seconds seemed like hours.
Purple. Oxygen. Then perfectly pink.
You suckled in a flash.
You held tight and didn't stop.
You were strong and beautiful and peaceful.
You slept the night that night,
But you've kept me company in the early hours 360 nights.
William, you've given our family such life.
You have been our constant companion.
Your inquiring mind wants to know every detail of dinner preparation,
Lego making, puzzle working, math equations, motorcycle maintenance, fire building, trampolining, chicken feeding, sheep care, Little House on the Prairie, and laundry folding. You inspect and dissect and recreate and unbuild and undo and wear and taste it all.
You want to be in the middle of morning cuddles.
You need naps, you love walks, you love Lucy our dog and ducks and cats.
You adore daddy. You look under the door for him -- waiting for him to come home.
You climb the stairs to the children's room and find a car or an animal and set to work.
You make funny faces. You love a game. You love to laugh.
You love black beans, broccoli, salsa, grapes, blueberries, and meat.
You suck a smoothie down in a flash.
You love to swim. The water makes you laugh.
William, you are one now. It happened in a flash.
The wait was powerfully difficult. Even once you were born,
I was waiting for you to breathe again and again. Listening, waiting, watching.
I was waiting for you to eat right, poop right, be alright.
And you were. You were perfectly right.
Once I got past waiting, I was chasing you.
Chasing time. One is here in a blink.
You are a wonderful work!
Happy Birthday Sweet William August.