On Christmas Eve

We are laying in your room looking at the stars. We're not really staring at the stars, but we are staring on lights from one of your toys reflected onto the ceiling. You began to cry and you crawl over to me and snuggle into my armpit. I warn you that it's been a long day and you may not want to nuzzle to deep in there, but you sigh deeply signifying you are at complete peace nuzzled into my armpit.

I stare at the top of your head and I begin to cry. This has been a theme for the better half of the year. Me crying not from sadness, but from complete contentment. Knowing that I am the comfort to your fears comforts me. Knowing I am the calm to your stormy moments makes me calm.

2012 is about to become 2013 and the anticipation I have about the road ahead is wonderful, but as you lay here nuzzled into my armpit looking at the stars I don't want 2013 to come. I don't want tomorrow to come. I want to be beside you forever as we stare at the stars.

Jack, I'm not sure I'm doing it right half the time, but when I walk into your room every single morning and you pop your little head up to greet me with the biggest 4-tooth smile, it's those moments that confirm I'm doing it right. You are a very happy baby. 99% of your time is spent smiling and cooing and laughing and exploring. You are rarely upset. I am so thankful for this because it somehow tells me we're doing okay.

I may not be with you every hour of every day, but as you meet other kids and explore new environments I know that it is good for you. I know you are happy even when I'm not around. Merry Christmas Eve to the best 9-month-old I know.

You are the calm to my storm. You are the stars to my sky.