My Dear Danny,
You entered the world with a bang. Not breathing and hardly alive, you gave the team in that delivery room quite a shock as you came to life and immediately peed on the doctor that revived you. Typical Danny. You love creating a scene and if it has to do with bodily fluids, all the better.
It’s hard for me to imagine that on the day you entered the world, I was totally unaware of the major change about to happen to my life and my heart. It wasn’t until you were a few days old that we got the call that you needed a family–maybe for a little while, maybe forever. By the time we met you, you had already managed to charm a slew of nurses and doctors that were tending to your daily needs. As I have told you a thousand times, I loved you the minute I saw you. I didn’t know how long I’d be able to be a mother to you, but I knew that if you needed me, I would love you and be your mother forever.
- Photo by Rebecca Tredway Photography
Because I loved you so much, so fully and totally, I loved your first mother, too. How could I not? She gave you life. You have her eyes, her tan skin, her jet-black straight hair. She wanted you to have a good life, she just needed some time to figure out if she’d be able to provide that for you. I admire her for the way she’s been able to support what was best for you, even if it’s painful for her to watch you grow up in a different family. I hope when there are questions you need answers to, she is there to talk to you about those things. I promise to do what I can to keep that door open for you. And I do it not out of duty or obligation, but out of love for you and her.
I didn’t know I could love your family and care about your story and become passionate about your people the way I have. There was a lot I didn’t know before I became your mom. There was a lot no one could teach me. No one but you.
You taught me that wrestling is a love language. You have always needed strong touch, firm hugs, rocking and wrestling. Sometimes I’m not sure you hear me when I tell you how much I love you, but when I swing you around and squeeze you and you laugh, I know you know it. I know when you curl up next to me on the couch and lay your head on my leg, you’re telling me you love me, too.
You taught me to look at life with adventurous eyes. You are capable of getting in far more trouble than I ever thought possible. As a toddler anything with shelves looked like a ladder to you. When we cook together you want to smell and taste all the spices before we add them. You prefer to hang upside down on the swings. If I hear a “Hey Mom” from somewhere up above me, I know you’ve found a climbing tree. You want to ride every roller coaster. In some ways you are a fearless child. That has made me have to take on some of the fear for you and help you understand what dangers are around you, but it has also helped me see the world as a less fearful place. There is a lot of fun in the world you live in. A lot of adventure and excitement. I love that you take me there with you.
You taught me that learning something on your own is a pretty amazing feeling. I thought you would wait to learn how to ride a bike until that perfect moment where your dad would let go of the back of your seat and I would have the camera in hand. But not you. You taught yourself to ride the bike by steadying yourself against the (new) van and taking off. You fell so many times and you scratched up the van, but your determination was amazing. And I wasn’t a bit surprised. I’ve learned in parenting you to let you try the things I think you may fail at because you often prove me wrong. And I’ve learned that the feeling of success I find in figuring out what motivates you and how you tick– the child that came without a handbook and who doesn’t follow the rules I thought all kids followed– is one of the greatest highs in the world.
You taught me humility. Lots and lots of humility. Just when I think I know the “right” parenting answers, you prove me wrong. I can be 100% consistent with disciplining a bad behavior and you can be 100% consistent at repeating that bad behavior until I figure out the consequence I was using didn’t work for you, in spite of what all the parenting books said. You decide during the Christmas concert at church that you actually don’t like performing (after weeks of rehearsing) so you turn backwards during the songs your group is singing, sneaking glances over your shoulder to see that we are still all there. You feel compelled to yell words for bodily functions in front of your grandma, you give me lots of opportunities to get to know your teacher better, and I never know what exciting report I’m going to get from a playdate you’ve been on. You keep me on my toes and I’ve learned that while the usual parenting tricks don’t seem to work on you, you ARE learning. You are smarter than we ever knew back when we thought “smart” meant doing what all the other kids were doing. You are motivated by relationships and knowing you are loved (and sometimes Lucky Charms cereal). You have made me develop a new parenting skill set and I am a less judgmental mom towards other moms in the trenches because of you.
Danny, I can’t wait to see what you teach me in the years to come. I know I have much to teach you, too. I’m so thankful I get to be your mom and have a front row seat to what God is going to do with the unique man you are becoming.