My sweet Finn,
If I am being completely honest, two years ago, I wasn't so sure about you. It was ten days past your due date and frankly I was getting mad. The bags were packed and induction scheduled for 8:00 that morning. I tried to wait, Finn, I really did. But I was huge and the doctor was starting to wonder how you would get out. I prayed and prayed you would come, but I was told I could wait no longer. So as much as I fought against it the alarm was set and like it or not, we were going to have a baby.
You had different plans, which I found out around five or so (though I will spare you the details of how). I would like to say I rushed right to the hospital, as the doctor instructed, but I needed a few more minutes with my first baby, just watching him sleep, knowing his whole world would change when he woke. And, if I'm being completely honest (which I guess I am), I stood in his bedroom doorway wondering how I could ever love another child as much as I loved him.
After some sentimental moments your dad pushed me out the door and I spent the next ten minutes scarfing a protein-packed breakfast, careful even in the height of pain to ensure a full belly. Two hours later, you were here. With my eyes still shut from the pain of it all, I heard the doctor calmly state, "Up with the sun!" Your dad told me later it was really an amazing moment in which the sun crept slowly over the hill, breaking the horizon at the exact moment of your birth. I supposed you and I were the only ones who didn't notice.
Two years later and, cheesy as it sounds, you are still bringing us sunshine. And not just with your blondie little head. You can light up an entire day with your soft snuggles, your quiet little voice, your belly laugh.
When we moved here, and even now, I must admit that I worried. I worried we wouldn't make friends, or feel at home, or function as the same happy family I knew in Indiana. But I never worried about you. Partly because you are so young and adaptable. But mostly because you are so darn easy to love. So while family and grandparents hold a special place for you, you're already working your way into hearts here. And let's face it, you're close to impossible not to fall for, what with that sly little smile and twinkle in your eye.
I should have known from that very first day. It was love at first sight with you. You know, the kind you're expected to feel from the moment you lay eyes on your newborn baby, but end up wondering why his nose is all flat, what that awful smell is, and how you will ever keep something so tiny and fragile alive. Now granted, you weren't so scary or intimidating, being the second child and all. But there was something sweet and baby about you that you carried all the way until now, your second birthday.
And I know one day that babyness will go away. Already it is slowly creeping out. Like when you squirm out of my arms in the morning, breaking our sacred snuggle time. Or when you chuck your spoon at your brother's face when he pulls away your cereal (you are very serious about food). Or when you ask me as I head to the steps, "Mommy, are you starting the washing machine?"
But from that first day until now, not one single moment did I ever again wonder how I would love you. And when you are not so little and baby, and when I am not laughing in private when you throw things at your brother or shout "no" at the top of your lungs, I can promise that love will remain. From me, from your dad, and regardless of the endless teasing and fighting, from your brother as well.
Happy second birthday Finn!