My Sweet Ookie

Today you are four years old.

When I met you for the first time four years ago, I thought you were the most beautiful newborn baby I'd ever seen. You blew me away with your bright blue eyes and plump cheeks and fine blond hair. You looked just as I'd always imagined a baby boy of ours might look.

Your daddy was so overjoyed to see you, and it was very special that he was there. You see, the whole year you'd been growing within me, your daddy had to be at war helping hurt soldiers. He only got two weeks to come home and try to catch your grand entrance; we didn't know if you would decide to show up while he was around. Thankfully you chose September 22nd, just three days before he had to go back to Afghanistan. We were absolutely overjoyed to be a family of four together--if only for a few short days. He unloaded more love on you in the first 48 hours of your life than I ever thought possible.

Just minutes after you were born, the midwife's eyes widened and she called you a "miracle baby." She was the first one to see what none of us had noticed--a big knot in your cord right next to your belly. Like so many other things, I didn't grasp the mounumental gravity of her words like I should've until much later.

But I never want you to gloss over their significance like I did in those first moments.
You are a miracle, buddy. Every day.

Instantly you stole your big sister's heart as she poked at your nose and eyes with delight. And you lept into my heart, helping to fill some of that big hole I felt with your daddy so far away. You taught me that love doesn't divide, it multiplies. When I was worrying over those last days few days I had alone with your sister before you arrived, wondering how I could ever make room to love another person as much as I loved her, you came along to show me that my heart would more than double in size with overwhelming love for you both.

You quickly grew into the sweetest of little guys with the best dimples ever. The mischevious glint in your eyes and in your smile showed early on. When big sister couldn't say "Erik" correctly, you became our always and forever "Ookie." (And yes, we will tell your future girlfriends about your nickname). You babbled happily with your little voice; before I knew it you were stringing words into sentences and that voice became your very own, vocalizing your own little view of the world, showing us that you were--you are--your own special person, unlike any little boy I have ever met.

Those dimples.

You are an engineer who builds contraptions I could never even dream up. You are a dreamer and a thinker. You solve puzzles like a boss. You fly under the radar, constantly discovering new things (and sometimes getting away with them, ahem) and living in that magical world of yours that only you have access to.

Yes, you are all boy, but such a sensitive soul, too. You think and you feel so deeply. You give us hugs and kisses when we least expect it. And sometimes, you baffle us when you begin to speak, conveying incredibly complex ideas, opening a little door where we can peek into your vast, elaborate, imaginitive mind. I can't wait to see where that brilliance will take you one day.

Every day you challenge us to see the unique little boy you are, and you teach us how to step outside our limited selves. I'm so thankful you're mine, my spiderman-adoring, royal-sword-weilding, singing, dancing, designing, building, jumping, crashing, little miracle man!

And I love you more than you'll ever know, my dear Ookie. Happy, happy, birthday--may you be filled with joy and delicious spiderman cake all day long!