Happy Birthday First Son. {G-Rated}. ~ The Grace Between

Happy Birthday First Son. {G-Rated}.

Happy second birthday Wee Man. My sweet wild boy.

It’s 10:11 pm, I can barely keep my eyes open … we {me, your sister, one set of grandparents and my Aunt K.} spent all day baking and sewing and playing and generally wreaking havoc. You hammered on a lot of stuff. A typical day, really. I don’t have much words left for you.

But on this day, February 20, the day of our firstborn son. I have a few words … mostly how much I love you. No matter what. And in these precious toddler moments the “no matter what” looks like dry erase marker on the walls, poop on the carpet, numerous forays into the toilet water, and a full Nelson when I have to clip your nails or change your diaper.

But life happens, and it hurts, and it’s hard, and I’ll always love you. No matter what.

Words about how I pray every day that you’ll never EVER doubt that.

More importantly, how much Jesus loves you. How I pray every day that you’ll never EVER EVER not know that. That you’ll never EVER not believe it.

When you were baptized, Pastor D. read to our sweet Kansas family the following from Ephesians 3:17-19.

“… that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; that you, being rooted and grounded in love,18 may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the width and length and depth and height— 19 to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge; that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.”

I’ll always love you. No matter what.

He will always love you. No matter what.

When we named you, Asher {blessed, happy}, it is because we were.

You continue to bless us every day with your {only} knock knock joke {the punch line is diaper, by the way} … your love of all things Mickey Mouse … your uncanny ability to spot helicopters and planes in the sky long before I see or hear them … your love for your big sister “Mamie” … your wrestling matches with her … your enthusiasm for books … your fake burps, cracking up at your fake burp, and your sweet “excuse me”. It’s mostly unintelligible, but I speak Wee Man.

You love to help me cook, and you figured out exceptionally fast that “cooking” means licking the bowl at the end.

You are still sweet and snuggly and you love your mama and I will hold onto that for as long as I can and treasure each of your soft {albeit possessive} baby hugs for the rest of my life.

You were jumping up and down and screaming with joy over your new train tracks tonight. Don’t lose that.

Happy Birthday. I’ll always love you.


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