Give me a minute to wrap my head around that.
To be honest, it’s hard to wrap your head around something when you’ve spent the last ten years spinning about. Half the time, I haven’t even known where my head is.
The decade since you were born has been the longest, most stress-filled quarter of my life. I’ve watched you get poked, prodded and wheeled away from me to an operating room over and over again. I’ve seen you choke and vomit so many times, it would be impossible to count. And, there were times that we saw so many different doctors and therapists that I felt like you were a pinball; bounced here and there, from one cold stethoscope to another.
Would I change all of that if I could? Yes. In a heartbeat. Would I change the person you are because of it? Never.
Sure, I wish things were easier for you. I wish that you had more friends. I wish open-heart surgery wasn’t looming over your head. I wish that you didn’t need hearing aids, or sensory cushions at school, and that your small stature wouldn’t limit you.
But, if your life had been easy then you would just be a typical kid. You wouldn’t be the funny, unpredictable, clever, kind, insightful child you are now. Every needle, every analysis, every illness and every remedy made you who you are. And, you are somewhere we never thought you would be.
You are ten.
Happy Birthday to my amazing boy.