Dear Henry, you're 10!!

Ten.

I don’t even know how that’s possible, but here we are. A whole decade of loving you, learning from you, cheering for you, worrying about you, celebrating you and watching you become exactly who you were always meant to be.

Every year on your birthday I can’t help but go back to the beginning. I think about how tiny you were. I think about the hospital, the machines, the fear, the waiting, the hoping, the not knowing. I think about how your dad and I were thrown into a life we never could have prepared for, and how somehow you were the strongest one in the room.

You came into this world so early and so small, but you were never fragile in spirit. You were determined from the very beginning. You cried when we didn’t know if you would. You fought when you shouldn’t have had to. You made everyone around you believe in miracles because you were one.

And now you’re 10!

You’re not just our NICU story. You’re not just our miracle baby. You are Henry.

You are funny, kind, smart and sweet. You’re your own person in every way. You have taught us that life does not have to look exactly how we imagined it, to be beautiful. You’ve taught us patience and gratitude. You’ve taught us that the smallest things are often the biggest things.

For a long time this blog was where I came when things felt scary. It was where I put all the feelings when I didn’t know what else to do with them. And then somewhere along the way, life got quieter. Not perfect, not without worries, but normal. Beautifully normal.

And that’s the part I want to celebrate the most this year.

We are just a regular family.

We go to school. We do homework. We make dinner. We have messy rooms and busy mornings and bedtime routines that can take too long. We celebrate birthdays, holidays and small wins. We laugh. We get annoyed. We make plans. We change plans. We live this ordinary little life that at one point felt so far away.

And I will never stop being grateful for ordinary.

Because ordinary means you are here!

Ordinary means we get to watch you grow up it means we get another birthday, another candle, another year of hearing your laugh in the house. Ordinary means I get to look at you and remember every person who loved you, prayed for you, rooted for you and helped carry us through those first terrifying 108 days.

Every birthday feels like a celebration, but 10 feels different. Double digits. A full decade. A milestone we once could only dream about.

Henry, I hope one day you understand how loved you are. Not because of what you survived, but because of who you are. I hope you know that your story is amazing, but you are even more amazing. I hope you know that your dad and I are proud of every version of you. The tiny baby who fought so hard, the toddler who made us laugh, the little boy who filled our house with joy, and now this 10 year old who continues to make life better just by being in it.

Today we celebrate you the way regular families do. With cake, candles, presents, pictures you may or may not want to take, and all of the people who love you most. But in my heart, I’ll also be celebrating everything it took to get here.

Ten years of Henry.

Ten years of gratitude.

Ten years of the best thing that ever happened to us.

Happy 10th birthday, sweet boy. Your dad and I love you more than you will ever know. Thank you for making us parents. Thank you for making us stronger. Thank you for making our family what it is.

We are so lucky we get to call you ours!

Love,

Mommy