As I write this, I’m in our office. Down the hall, in our bedroom, I can hear you signing a bedtime song. Mary Poppins. The one you sing to Beckett, without exception, before every nap… and every night, before bed. It’s one of the sweetest sounds in the world to me — even though, bless your heart, you’d be the first to admit that you can’t really sing. Our little guy has been fussing more than normal the past few days. I almost cried earlier when you told me that it’s because he started teething.
It reminded me that his little toothless gummy smile won’t be here forever.
But just before a tear could free itself from my eyes, I smiled.
Because even though there’s a new character in our life, I’ve seen this movie before.
The one where I try to hold on to the way things are.
Because I think life can’t possibly get better.
Until it does.
The one where I want nothing more than to stop time in its tracks.
Until I see where the tracks go, and remember who I’m with.
Four months ago, our world changed in the best possible way.
After years of being a family of two, we delivered our son the way we’ve always done life.
Me, and you.
Our love for him was instant, and unconditional.
A place in my heart was opened that I didn’t even know was there.
What I didn’t expect, and couldn’t have known until it happened, is that a new place in my heart would come alive… for you.
The you that’s everything you’ve always been, plus everything God knew you’d be.
The tough you. Who battled bedrest, and fought through labor, no matter how hard it was.
The sweet you. Who reads books in voices and never loses her patience, no matter how hard he is.
The one I promised to love nine years ago without knowing what was coming down the road.
It was the easiest promise I ever made. I didn’t need to know that road. I just needed you.
The girl in the white dress who became our family’s white hat. Our knight in mommy armor.
Back then, I only loved you.
Now, there’s something I actually love more.
Watching you love such a small person. Who’s part me… and part you.
Happy Ninth Anniversary, Amy Demos.
Thank you for saving me from trying to build a time machine by showing me that the only thing better than what’s happened is what’s next.
As long as I’m with you.
Read more of our anniversary letters here:
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