You were born twenty-one years ago today. That was the day I discovered the meaning of true love.
Your little fists punched, feet kicked. You stretched and rolled. Oh how fun to watch people’s faces in the elevator when they saw you do your daily back flip inside me.
We’d been together, inseparable, symbiotic, for every minute of nine and a half wonderful months. They had to kick you out, you know. You were quite comfortable, all warm inside your mommy.
And then you were here. Slimy and slippery and kind of gross. You were the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. One look in your eyes, and that was it. I was in love. True love. For the very first time.
I’ve watched you grow, mature. Seen you hurt, held you as you cried. Witnessed your immeasurable capacity to care. To love. The ease with which you laugh. I am honoured you call me friend.
In the blink of an eye you became an adult. To this day, when I gaze upon your perfect face, hold your precious hands, my heart skips a beat. True love never dies.
You are beautiful and generous and brilliant and honest. You are my light, my hope, my dreams. You have come to represent everything that is good in this world. Kindness, love, happiness, promise.
Every moment in life brought you to me. You chose me. You are why I am.
Happy birthday, Brynn.