This started out as a simple facebook post, but I keep fiddling. For posterity and such, I’m moving my edits here.

There was a tough pregnancy – a Trisomy-18 scare, a gestational diabetes scare, a sudden stop in fetal movement that landed me in the hospital six weeks before his due date.

There was a rough delivery – he decided to come 10 days early, face first with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, and swimming in meconium-filled amniotic fluid.

There was colic.  There have been recurring pneumonias, possible asthma, a call to poison control, high fevers marked by sleep walking and hallucinations, and the smacking of the head on pretty much anything within gravity’s tumble.

He was a tornado – pouring it all into every minute, collapsing when he was finished. His emotions were intense and variable. One of us was usually laughing or crying. Early on, he taught me he’d be my last child.

But he finished the job of freeing my heart.

He is the funniest person I’ve ever known, orders of magnitude smarter than his mother, responsible, affectionate, loving, and fierce. He’s got notebooks of poetry on his of desk and pictures of LeBron James thumbtacked to his bedroom wall.  From the earliest days, he been driven by an unnerving sense of justice.

He’s True North.

I know we’ve been traveling together longer than we can remember and nothing has kept me in the fight stronger than the possibility watching him blossom beyond all imaginings.

Happy twelfth birthday Jackson, my baby and my heart. I know I’m having trouble letting go of the little boy. I’ll work on that.  But just one more throw back picture first…


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