A word from Mom

I desperately love my son.

In the seven weeks we have been home with Owen, he has sprouted a lovely head of hair that actually sticks to his head (as opposed to sprouting out like peach fuzz), developed a delightful vocabulary of sounds ("mama," "dada," "nana," and "boom boom" are his favorites), and learned to wave, clap and eagerly look at books. All on our watch.

It's encouraging as well as breathtaking to see that the love and care we are giving him on a daily (and nightly) basis are somehow making a difference. Admittedly, Chip and I spend most of our waking hours in a daze from getting up with Owen in the night, so it's very difficult for me to see the forest for the trees. But when I am able to step back for just a moment, I get a clear view of how my son has grown, and how his confidence, humor and independence have flourished. I can also see how he has changed me.

I am humbled every day by Owen, as he teaches me about patience and tenderness. Because of him, I am learning to slow down, to enjoy the holding/rocking/bouncing that he requires so much of, to laugh more, to not sweat the small stuff.

I thought I knew what it meant to parent a baby, but Owen has challenged that and made me a better mother. He's also made Chip a better dad and Jane and Caroline incredible big sisters. He happily watches the flurry of activity in our household as he sits and drools over his blocks and stacking cups -- and I get the sense there is nowhere else he'd rather be. This is no small thing, seeing as though we took him from the only home and family he'd ever known. He has come so far. I'd like to think that I have, too.