Today you turned one year old. There are only 8 minutes left of your birthday, but I wanted to be sure I wrote you something. The older you get the more important I realize it is that I write down these moments for you - that I capture every good thing you do. I want you to look back and realize that even if you were an "accident" that you are a wonderful, blessed, beautiful "accident."
The first few months after we took you home from the hospital, your daddy would always look at you and he'd say over and over, "Can you believe we made this?"
For the longest time, we couldn't.
We would stare at you and every single part of you was perfect. Every part of you still is perfect. Somehow, your father and I came together and, though we are flawed, made something perfect. Last week, an old woman at the grocery store kept calling you "Milagro." I didn't understand most of what she was saying, but I knew she was calling you a miracle. And it's true. If two flawed halves coming together to make a perfect whole isn't a miracle, what is?
You talked with that old woman for a long time. I let her reach out her soft, gnarled hands to pet your hair and smooth your collar. I don't know what she was telling you, but you smiled at her. You seemed to understand. She smiled back at you so big. She was just standing there, soaking up the happiness that you radiate so easily. Maybe she had babies of her own, and to her you were a beautiful reminder of her earlier years. Who knows? I will never understand exactly what you were to that woman, but I know you brought her joy.
And that's just how you are. Everywhere you go, it's like somebody opened a window in a stuffy room and then there was you - this big whooshing breath of cool air.
You make it so easy to have faith in the world. Everywhere we go, there are more people who want to marvel at you. People are opening doors for us. Helping us carry in our groceries. Saying kind things to us. People who would otherwise have said or done nothing see you and they are reminded to be kind. They are reminded that it is okay to smile, that is okay to make eye contact, okay to offer up complements. There is something about seeing a baby (especially one as warm and beautiful as you) that makes everyone realize that we're all people, and on some level we all deserve to receive love.
Your father and I have only known you for a year, but we are already helpless in our devotion to you. You were born because we needed you to be, whether we knew it or not.
Thank you for being here with us. Thank you for being our Sun.
Happy Birthday, Oliver. We love you.