I’m not usually one of those moms who waxes goopy about her kids’ every accomplishment in life, you know? But it’s my boys’ eighth birthday today, and I find myself suddenly nostalgic this morning. As I putter around the house, picking up stray socks and putting away cereal boxes, I keep flashing back to an image of Jonah’s tiny face on the day he was born.
He was a teeny, tiny baby–at least, by my standards at that point. He was just 5 pounds, 4 ounces, and his brother was even smaller at 5 pounds even. But all I could really grasp was that he had clear, searching eyes, and a tiny, pointed chin. Something about his brow seemed so like mine. He was my baby. And as I held him, and looked over at Justin who held Aidan, I knew that nothing in the world would ever make me feel so grounded to it as being a mother.
Those boys have continued to be my joy in life. Watching them grow up together has been an experience that most parents never get to have–twins really are miraculous in so many ways. They are constant companions for each other, and it’s been my privilege to be able to just watch in wonder as they play together and learn from one another and create a world of their own, filled with imagination and glee. Jonah and Aidan are the sweetest, happiest, and most kind boys I could ever have hoped to raise, and I’m so grateful that they were sent to me.
Happy birthday, boys! I love you!