Dearest, loveliest, sweetest most confounding baby,
Happy birthday, son. Today you turn two. Today you embark upon your third year tucked up deep inside my heart & guts. The day you were born was strange and wonderful as we all knew it would be. Windy and warm and submerged in fluid. So much fluid. And then there you were: purple, motionless and HUGE. Within seconds, you were wailing, I was wailing and our adventure began.
Two years later, you are loving, tiny and endlessly sweet and trusting. Aside from your size, you haven't changed a bit. You have always been Lincoln. And you always will be.
I try and try and try to take the beautiful advice that we haven't lost a thing; that that imagined boy never existed. That it's been you all along. It's hard, though. Hard.
Maybe next year I'll tell you that I've stopped crying every day. Maybe next year I'll be braver, calmer and less itching for a fight. Maybe next year I will be closer to having figured out how to make my world smaller yet more infinite at the same time. Maybe next year, maybe next year.
I love you, Link and maybe next year you'll be able to say it back to me.