3 Years Later, A Dream Come True

3 years ago today, my firstborn wonderful son Gregory was born.

In many ways, I feel like I’m also 3 years old. My life didn’t just change, I changed. In many ways, I was born 3 years ago too.

You see, I’ve wanted to be a Mommy since I was little, but it wasn’t until Jesse and I had been married for a few years before I needed to be a Mom. Like yesterday.

The only problem was…my body didn’t cooperate for many months. I was suddenly terrified that I would never become a Mom.

Just when I’d given up all hope, we found out, 4 years ago on Valentine’s Day, no less, that we would be having a baby. Our ultimate Valentine. The new love of our lives.

Some people bond with their babies during pregnancy, some don’t until birth. I definitely spent all 9 months bonded with Gregory. I treasured every ultrasound like it was my birthday, crying the entire way through, marveling at what I saw on the screen. His third ultrasound pictures were so realistic, I could already see his little cupid’s bow on his lips. I carried his ultrasound picture around with me the entire last trimester. I even dreamt about him, dreamt about us hanging out together. I would wake up crying because I’d dreamt he was in my arms, and when I’d wake up, my still-pregnant belly would tell me otherwise.

When he was finally born (the longest 21 hours of my life!), I’d spent so much time thinking and praying about him that I recognized him. He didn’t feel new, he didn’t feel like a stranger. He felt like mine. Like ours. Like the perfect completion.

I thought I loved him while I was pregnant, but I learned a whole new definition of love that day. I realized that “Momma Bear” syndrome isn’t just for hyperactive moms who helicopter– it’s instinct, undeniable and raw, loving another person more than anything you could possibly think of. That instinct comes from loving someone so much that every hurt they have, every move they make, every emotion they feel, is like it is your own, times 10.

There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t remember how changed I am now that he’s here.

Dear Gregory,

How can I explain to you in such a short letter what a blessing it is to be your Mommy? How can I make you understand the amount of joy we get on a daily basis, just from being around you?

You bring so much laughter into our lives. Hardly a day goes by without your hilarious little sayings and phrases. You pick up new things left and right, and your vocabulary is enormous. You figure things out with incredible precision, and you can focus on one game, all by yourself, for hours. You love to read books and even “read” a few of them to others. You love anything with Thomas the Train or Winnie the Pooh. You have an obsession with closing any and every door. You love to play church, creating a “robe” for yourself with Mommy’s bathrobe belt. You color with anything and everything. You get up before anyone else and climb up the pantry shelves, looking for something to eat. One minute, you’ll remind me how old you’re becoming by getting in and out of the car by yourself or putting yourself down for a nap; the next minute, you’re asking to be “COZEE” or “coodled” and for your “die-die” (pacifier). You don’t give kisses, you give “smooches”.

You care so much about others and their emotions. If I cry, you are by my side in an instant, comforting and saying, “It s-okay, momma.” You talk about movie characters being sad or scared, and you worry about AJ when he falls. You love to boss everyone around, telling them when to be quiet. You absolutely LOVE singing! Your bedtime excuses are hilarious, and you talk and talk in the sweetest voice, knowing we already miss you.

Your imagination has taken over the house in the most wonderful way imaginable. You are always playing some new game, talking with some new character, or pretending some new cup is your “honey pot” or “communion chalice”. I watch you as you motion in the air with your hands, pretending to stir something, or when you dance and bounce around the living room, pretending to be Tigger.

No matter how many times you pretend to be a car, or an elephant, when I ask what you are, you always respond with, “No, Momma, I’m Gregory!”

Yes, son. Never forget that you are our Gregory. Never forget that we will always be there for you, and that you were the answer to all of our prayers for so many years.

Love, Mommy