Here it is your fifth birthday already, your golden birthday. I remember your birth in vivid detail – the meconium concerns, the horrible epidural, that first SCREAM, your heft and weight on my chest, all that hair.
You cried (a lot) those first few months, so much so that we made you sleep in the dining room, but after awhile you stopped fussing and we renamed you Maris Sunshine. Life was good with our little family of four. You were rolley polley and headstrong, full of mischief and curly, wild hair. I kissed you ten thousand times before you were a year old.
Then one day God decided you needed a little brother and BAM, you became a middle child. You were born with the soul of a middle child, so I guess it had to happen that way.
Maris, you have weathered a few storms over the years, always with a smile on your face and the matching even temper. When everything around you is chaos, you are a calming whisper in the breeze, a sliver of sunshine on a cloudy day, the quiet waters just around the bend.
I love it when you put your soft, squeezable hand into mine. I love the smell of your hair and the feel of it on my face. I love to watch your fervent play, to watch you build and create and make cakes and art and huge messes with glue. I love your hugs. They are simply the best hugs I get all day long. And I’m a hugger, so I know a good hug when I get one. I love when you tell me what makes your heart happy.
I love you so much, Maris. You are my bright sunshine. You are sunshine for the whole world. You are beautiful, inside and out. You have a deep understanding of things you shouldn’t yet. I see that being your greatest blessing and greatest curse in years to come.
May today be your best birthday ever! May you always be my Maris Sunshine.
All my love,