Today is Gryffin’s birthday. Jason and I had been married for more than 7 years when we had him and I remember the two of us would gaze at him, when we were bleary-eyed in the early morning or letting him doze on a placemat while we ate dinner, and ask each other again and again, “What did we even do before he was here?”
As though we could barely remember our life before he was born. As though we couldn’t recall who we had been or why we had even bothered waking up in the morning before September 28th. And who knows? Maybe we couldn’t. We were absurdly tired. Barely sleeping. Up all night, bouncing and pacing and feeding this six-pound lump.
And yet we marveled that we had been even the slightest bit happy before he was born, though of course we had been. What I’m trying to say is that his presence in the world recalibrated and expanded our joy in ways we never imagined possible. It still does, 13 years later. Amazing.
Happy birthday, Snacks. May you be filled with an abundance of wonder, courage, compassion and joy like you’ve never imagined. And lots and lots of peanut butter.