His Face

As I sit here and type in the early morning hours of the second day of the New Year, I find it a little depressing that I missed the first day entirely. I have been flat on my back for two days in the worst, most incessant pain I think I have ever experienced. I cringe and I cried to realize I had to get up to go to the bathroom and frankly I was just mad. I wanted to be able to make dinner for my family, to enjoy our rare shared weekday off, to clean up the incredible mess that has accrued in my absence.

But so long as I was up already, I decided to peek in on my son and leave a message on his dry erase board to greet him on his very first morning of being 12 years old. Or if I was to be really lucky, I would catch him still awake after midnight to wish him his very first "Happy Birthday" for this year. After all, I haven't been able to do a single thing to ensure he wakes up to the notion that he is being celebrated. But in the trail of light emanating from the hallway I did get to see that handsome unconscious face, and once again the world has been set right. He was born 12 years ago today, and my life has been improved ever since. For a few moments as I looked at my firstborn at rest and recognized remnants of the same baby features from say, 11 years ago, I have forgotten the pain that has had me wincing in anguish and instead I was able to concentrate on all the good my life - three really truly incredibly wonderful kids, a husband who works hard every day to give us the best of life's comforts, few but faithful friends, a clean kitchen because my children sensed my frustration, 15 years today of knowing and loving my Savior, and usually, good general health. I'm happy.

Happy Birthday, D.! I love you.