Dear Benjamin: 2 Months

Benjamin. My wide eyed, music loving, peer into your soul, 2 month old.
I am again behind the 8 ball in writing this letter to you. Sorry we have just been having so much fun that I haven’t taken the time to sit down and write about it.

Before I knew you, I never knew what the face of learning looked like.
And bubs, I am seriously blown away by how much you are taking in on a daily basis.
Your dad and I will call it out loud “babe, come in here, look… He is learning something”

You have the widest, wisest, sharpest eyes I have ever seen.

When we step outside onto the front porch, you listen to the birds and look in their direction with an inquisitive face.
When I hold you under the trickling beads of the shower’s water, you smile yet keep your cool because you know that though water is awesome, it could also get in your eyes and nose at any second… So you stay quite alert.
When I listen to music you literally coo along. A song not like your talking voice, but a voice all it’s own.
Yesterday I cried wondering what both your talking and singing voice will sound like when you are a toddler, an 8 year old, a man.

Every night I have been praying for you. With your 14lb 9oz perfectly swaddle wrapped body in my arms, I look down at your face… your gently moving pacifier… The smile that sits behind it… Your eyes that wait to close unil I kiss your cheek.
And I pray.
That you would sleep soundly.
That angels would surround your bassinet while you sleep and protect you.
That your dreams would be peaceful. Joyful. Heavenly.
That God would be shaping your heart and preparing a way for you to live out the powerful part of His story that you were made to play.

And then the real stuff hits when I start thanking Him.

Thanking Him for the blessing that we’ve been given in taking care of you.
Thanking Him that out of all the people in the world, we were given the one and only you.
Thanking Him that we had one more day with you in our care.

And asking for a million more.

These have been really special times for you and I. My time at home with you is drawing to a close. I am preparing to head back to work out of the house 3 days a week, and I have been preparing you for the mornings that you may not hear my voice, and the afternoons that you may not feel my arms rocking you to sleep for your afternoon nap. We may not be able to giggle all day like we have been, but trust me baby boy, every last ounce of me wants nothing more than what we have had these months, for the rest of our lives.

You have given me more joy, more purpose, more energy, and more love than I knew was possible.

As you begin to stare at your dad and I with alert eyes, a knowing mind, and a calm and wise spirit… I am beginning to understand that I have so little to do with who you are. You were born you. I will help mold and shape you in this world, but you were created outside of it. You are the closest thing to heaven I have ever known.

So keep on learning my little sponge. Keep on sitting up straight, impressing all of our friends and family with your strength. Keep on with your reserved giggle that only comes out when it is truly deserved. Keep on with your tongue sucking bubble drooling. We are so in love with all of it.

And you.