On the day you were born, I remember leaving the hospital with you in your little carrier, thinking (and actually saying out loud) Are they really letting us go home with him?, with unbelieving wonder, a little bit of fear and oh so much love mingling in my belly. They did, of course, and off we went on the road that is mother- and childhood, taking wrong turns, riding in the middle of the road, and stopping every now and again to take in the beauty flying by.
Part of me can not wait to see you grow up. To see the schoolboy, the teenager, the man you will be. I want to see it all, I want to see you spread your wings and fly in whichever direction you choose.
The other part wants to stay in this moment forever, with your contagious happiness, your inquiring curiosity and your unconditional trust.
Chances are it will always be like this, I guess. It doesn’t matter though, since I also know this: You will always be perfect, because you’ll always be you.
I love you.